Metamorphosis

I have been silent for some time on the blog. Life has returned to a bit of normalcy. Though life is never quite normal after a diagnosis of cancer. I have been busy with home repairs and the daily grind of work, lunches for kids, laundry and all of the things life brings. Summer has slipped away. And the coolness of fall is beginning to have a bite that is all to much like winter. This time is always one of my most favorite times of the year. It makes me want to put on a sweater brew some tea and read a good book. I kind of hole up, slow down and retreat into life like a turtle slipping back into its shell. That would be a good description of the last few weeks. During this time I had a second set of scans to reveal the process that is occurring with the cancer treatments. I drove to Urbana early in the morning for preparation for the scans. Contrast liquid is consumed over a period of time and radioactive tracers are injected into your blood stream for pickup by the CT and PET scans. Scan day is not unlike the diagnosis/staging scans that start the entire process. There is uncertainty, fear, and hope mixed together. You want to be positive but also worry about overreaching that hope and having your hope dashed by the reality of what might be seen. It is a place of calm. Waiting. Hoping. As you lay prone with your chest facing the ceiling, arms stretched over head on a narrow bed that moves you towards a narrow tube, you feel exposed and vulnerable. There is silence in the room. No music, no voices, just the magnetic hum of the machine that is peering into the recesses of your body searching for those dreaded signs of cancer. It is a bit ironic that these cells that have the darkness of death attached to them appear as light spots on the PET scan, shining brightly signaling there existence. Reflecting the contrast chemicals, revealing there continued assault on your body weakened by cancer and the "lifesaving" treatments you have been subjected to. Treatments that sap your energy take your hair, threaten to even take the feeling in your hands and feet, and give you a list of other side effects longer than most can imagine. As the table moves slowly in and out of the narrow tube your mind searches the recesses of your thoughts. Hope is there saddled by fear and the reality that this moment is yet another watershed moment that can define and redefine your very existence. As I laid there arms tingling from poor blood flow, waiting as the minutes slowly rolled by my mind drifted thinking about all that has happened in the last 2-3 months. The lives that have intersected with mine, the beauty that has emerged from the ashes. I lay there encased in the humming machine like a cocoon, wrapped around my broken body. My heart reaching out to a Creator God that has the ability to reach into that cocoon and touch the brokenness and make it whole. A new creation. Well. I prayed. The tears slipped down my face. I rested. In the embrace of God and the warmth of my cocoon. Sleep found me and I slipped away into silent dreams. Before I knew it, it was over. The movement of the machine slowed as I gradually found myself slipping out into the light of the room. Nurses attended to my IV and sent me home to wait. The next day found me back in Urbana to have a consultation with my oncologist. The scans were positive. There has been substantial success made with the chemo treatments. We are well on our way to our projected end date of the end of December 2009. After chemo is finished a month of daily radiation will be conducted to put a final closure to this journey.......or at least this phase of the journey. Once cancer has intersected with your life it never really goes away. The treatments may end, the cells may disappear, most of the side effects return to normal (hopefully), but the lessons and the refining that it forces upon you never really dissipate. The reality of cancer will always be there. It is a constant companion, a strange bedfellow of sorts.