Nurtured By Nature

It's realio trulio November here this week--cold, gray, more trees bare than colorful (by a good margin).  Nevertheless, I have found myself really noticing and appreciating the beauty of my daily drive.

Both the cancer center, where I have my Monday chemo infusions, and the fitness center, where I do my Tuesday through Saturday cardio workouts, are close to the intersection of S. Dixie Drive and Dorothy Lane.  For those of you who know Dayton geography, that's a straight shot down Patterson Boulevard from our Oregon District home.

It's really a lovely drive.  Patterson, with its trees and bushes on the boulevard strip down the middle, runs along the Great Miami River, where I almost always see geese and ducks, and often gulls and a heron or two as well.  Plus, just that once, an eagle catching a fish.

Just before the river curves away to the west, I go past one of my very favorite pieces of public art, the statue celebrating cycling:

Passing it never fails to stir good memories of the many hours I have spent cycling our fabulous trail system.

At this point in the drive too, the sky opens out over the wide curve of the river, and I can savor the textures of the clouds. 

Just past the cycling statue is Carillon Park, against the backdrop of the Calvary Cemetery hill (actually a glacial esker)--gorgeous a week or so ago when the trees were in full color, but still beautiful in a more austere way now that they are mostly bare.

On down the road (Patterson turns into S. Dixie at about this point), I am struck by how many plantings of burning bush there are, still ablaze in deep maroon red.

It's a lovely drive, and it keeps me grounded in the rhythms of this beautiful planet of ours.  A significant part of my healing journey!

UPDATE:
Lots of news!  I'm officially halfway through chemo: 6 down, 6 to go.  And I have dates set for radiation.  Last chemo is Dec. 26, the Feast of Stephen.  Jan. 5 will be the day for the scan and setup for radiation, with the daily sessions starting Jan. 15, continuing 5 days a week for 6 weeks.  So I will have a three-week break from the last infusion to the first zap.

And thanks to a fortuitously timed cancellation I was able to take advantage of, my arm is now wrapped from shoulder to fingers to help clear out some swelling. It's unclear whether it is lymphedema (a known risk when lymph nodes are removed) or just post-operative swelling, but either way the therapist wants it out of there before I move on to radiation.  Hence the wrapping, plus some gentle stretches to do every two hours.

Rhythm

There's a rhythm to my weeks now.  Today, for example, is Thursday, and that means it's Steroid Crash Day, aka What the Cat Dragged In Day.

You see, Monday is Infusion Day.  I spend a quiet morning at the cancer center, ensconced in a recliner reading or knitting or chatting, while the drugs drip into me through my port.  The process is completely painless.  The only discomfort is how cold the room is, and they supply heated blankets to take care of that.  My chemo drug, taxol, is an irritant, so the first thing they give me is a big slug of Benadryl, Pepcid, and a steroid, all to cushion the impact of the taxol.  That means that after my infusion I generally go home, eat lunch, and hit the sack to sleep off the Benadryl.

Then Tuesday and Wednesday are Steroid High Days: complete relief from all my random pre-cancer arthritic aches and pains, plus good energy--such good energy that I generally don't sleep through the night, waking up for good somewhere around 3:15 to 4:30 am.  But hey, who cares, I'm on a steroid high!

But by Thursday the steroid has worn off, and the piper must be paid for those missing nights of sleep.  Hence, Steroid Crash Day.  Don't expect much of me on Thursdays.

After that, the weekend days tend to be an alternation of pretty normal punctuated by random episodes of complete fatigue.  Nevertheless, I have been able to keep to my commitment of 35 minutes of vigorous cardio five days a week (Tuesday through Saturday).

All in all, the side effects I have experienced so far have been considerably milder than I feared, and certainly manageable, for which I am deeply grateful.  Food still tastes good, and I'm eating completely normally.  Well, higher protein than usual, because that's what they tell you to do during chemo.  I am not in pain. I have not had even the slightest touch of nausea.  Much to be thankful for!

AND, I'm now one-third the way through the chemo! Yay!