Thursday: Feburary 9, 2012

I cobbled together three or four hours of sleep and got to the Clinic in time to sit with Didi and pray. Gratefully, she took charge. Her words proved strong and powerful.

The connections I have made are keeping me oriented as I flail about in this whirlwind. Complete strangers have become brothers and sisters in arms, something for which I'm grateful.
 The well-guarded me has become more open and vulnerable. There's a new sense of self. The static of a confused life has slowly being tuned to a channel I can hear.

I scrolled through my iPod and found my musical selection for radiation: U2's “Miracle Drug.”

The songs are in your eyes
I see them when you smile
I've seen enough I'm not giving up
On a miracle drug

I met with nurse Jeannie and the doctors for my weekly consultation. Jeannie was pleased that I weighed in at 230. I've actually gained weight, which she said typically does not occur.
 

We talked alone for a few minutes. With Jeannie, the filters disappear. Emotion push to the surface. She handed me a small stack of gauze pads to dry my eyes.

“They're sturdier than tissues,” she said with a smile.

Drs. Hearn and Greskovich made their weekly appearance. Their first question is always, “How do you feel?” The answer today was that the effects of treatment have begun making unwanted cameos.

I told them that my manic energy has receded. Naps are no longer an option but are a requirement. There's a cough and a persistent annoying ache in my chest at the tumor sight. My tale of woe did not impress.

Thursday also is  my designated day to go to the office before lunch with Mike. I met for a few minutes with the editor to who has been assigned to work with me on this story/project/journal. It seemed to go well.

I assumed everyone in the office knew of my lung cancer. I found out otherwise after some of our colleagues organized a collection to buy Mary Lou and I a gift certificate from a restaurant delivery service. I began receiving wonderfully sweet e-mails from colleagues who had not heard.

Cancer has given me permission to make peace with a few folks in the office who didn't deserve my coldness. My eyes have been opened to how petty and mean I have been. And I hope they forgive me. Saying, "I'm sorry," has never been easy.