Yesterday, I had my quarterly check-in with my oncologist. It's already two years (this week) since I started my cancer treatment--surgery, months of chemo, radiation and Herceptin treatements. Since January, ten months, ago I have entered the (hopefully) final stage of treatment--hormone therapy, 10mg of Tamoxifin, as the long-term strategy for keeping the cancer at bay...and so the ride continues.
I've come to look forward to my oncology check-ins. For the record, I like going to the doctor. I always have. I like the attention. I like being taken care of. I like, if only for 15 precious minutes, being the focus of one's intentions. I also like that these check-ins are milestones. They're an opportunity to reflect on what's passed--an easy marker to look back over 3-4 months and acknowledge the changes, the progress, the improvements to my health and my life.
Yesterday Garrett said, "Looking at my notes from our last meeting in June, I wrote the word 'lousy' and not much more, but today you look great. What's the change?" Four months ago, I was in the process of exiting a job I no longer cared about and about to let go of my home in Pennsylvania. The pressure was still high. I was in the middle of things. I was tired and not much else. But since leaving the job and letting go of a dream that seemed to have run its course, I feel lighter. Things have opened up. My time is my own and I'm now in a position to focus only on what interests me. In this mother-culture of productivity, what a luxurious position it is. Gratitude in spades or as my friends like to say, I am now in a position to deal only with issues of getting from good to better.
Here, two years later, there's a million things still to notice, but also nothing in particular. Writing today is realizing that all of this experience, in some way, is a by-product of the cancer ride and that I want to acknowledge this time, where the impact of cancer feels like both a distant memory, yet also a low, quiet constant hum in my consciousness allowing me the chance to acknowledge change and progress and provides an extra reason to say thank you to all the things that make it possible for me to be here thriving and growing.
The unintended benefit of any dis-ease is that when it goes away, feeling its absence is more noticeable and gives way to most sublime pleasure around simply being. I'm feeling a lot of that lately. Let's see where it takes me.
