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Making it through the Big-C section to the other side of me

July 1, 2012

Part of the Big-C section I had to get through: urine bags strapped to my legs from catheters in my back connected to my kidneys to strengthen them against the toxic effects of chemo

In surfing sometimes the wave you’re riding sections, and what that means is it breaks in front of you and then reforms in front of front of you. The challenge is to ride across the soup of the broken wave and then connect in the reform and ride the wave to the shore. Before I was diagnosed with the Big C, I was riding a wave of live, tucked in the curl, but then the Big C came into my ride and sectioned in front of me. And I rode through that section dealing with chemo, nausea, weakness, hair loss, lack of sleep, nerve damage, loss of taste, blood transfusions. A friend of mine said, “The thing I admired about the way you fought against cancer was that everything you went through you saw a way to make you better.” And to do that, I had to cling to the best, but acknowledge the possibilities of failure: the spread of the disease, the tumor possibly not shrinking, or not coming out of anesthesia.

Getting beaten down but struggling toward the dim light


For every one thing I learned to understand cancer to beat it, I’d find out two facts that showed ways I could lose to it. Cancer is like a great white shark, its behavior can’t be categorized, it defies it. Its behavior is unpredictable. So all of this lurks under the wave of my life. It casts  a shadow from below.

Thin but still trying to punch my way through the section

I have to acknowledge all these possibilities. SO I’m powering through the section trying to make it through to thge other side. Then i tucked into the hollow tube of a CT-scan that showed the tumor had been reduced and could just be scar tissue, so I slide through the section into the reform of fulfilled hope and I’m back in the curl riding the wave of my life again.

My medical port getting disconnected from my last chemo treatment two months ago.

So here I am on the other side without any testicles, hair returning to my head, thinner, legs numb from temporary nerve damage done by chemo. Weary and exhausted from the battle. I concentrated so hard on the focus of my own revival, I had to push through all the negatives trying to take me out of my continuation. Now, I didn’t have to fight them. All the energy I devoted to keeping my deflector shield up against the disease and the side effects of cancer disappears when I lower the shields. And I’m mentally drained. I find myself drowsy, wanting to sleep and sleep. And when I wake I just marvel at everything in front of me, back in the world of me, and I’m speechless with the awe of the everything, my pressed lips quiver, and my soul cries from the back of my eyes again and dribbles down my cheeks as I humbly smile into the light of a new sun.

Standing on the other side: the light in my eyes reflecting off the glittering and rising wave of life in front of me

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