Getting it.

Today, I’ll go into the hospital for Round 3 of chemo. This is 3 of 5 rounds, and so, I’m almost halfway there. I’m psyched. I feel like there’s an end to this. Or this portion of it at least.

This morning, I tried a different style of meditation. It’s one that my friend said she does: she lights a candle, and sits, writing down whatever comes. I’ve never “written” during meditation before – but, I’ll tell you, it worked.

Sure, there are all the initial thoughts about stuff that needs to be done, etc. Some of which I wrote down, some of which was just chatter. But, then I got to some good stuff, and was writing down some new prompt questions for my workshop that I’m facilitating this morning for some of my women friends.

I didn’t “have it in me” prior to this morning to think up new questions, and so it was a marvelous thing to just have these new questions come – there’s a journaling portion at the beginning of the workshop to explore some of our ideas around creativity and spirituality (hence the name of the workshop!), and I’ve used the same prompts for over a year, but wasn’t sure how I’d “get” new ones. I’ve been so tired, I even thought about canceling today, but I am actually feeling more enthusiastic about the whole thing now.

This morning, it was raining kennels, rather than cats and dogs, and I interpreted the aching, raging winds and the slap of the rain against my windows as a show of this Universal power that I’ve been trying to become open to. That the show of that kind of roar of the elements is proof, or evidence, or a sample of what is available to me, should I allow myself to be available.

Last night, I looked up the cancer blog “Life, Interrupted.” I identified like gangbusters. And, too, I recognize a hint – well, maybe more than a hint – of jealousy. Which sounds preposterous. Being jealous of a woman with Leukemia. But... She’s got a blog on the New York Times website. She’s got a boyfriend supporting her. She gets to occasionally stay in the home she grew up in, in the town she grew up in, with both parents present to care for her. And, she got to save some of her eggs.

So, yeah. I’m envious of that. But, I don’t envy what she talks about for her bone marrow transplant or her experience of chemo. She had to go with transplant, as her cancer didn’t go into remission after the first round of chemo, as mine did. I don’t envy her nausea, mouth sores, or physical pain.

Instead, what I “get” are friends who come to help me pack up for this next round. I get people texting me to ask what they can bring me and when they can see me. I get to acknowledge that I’ve puked once in this whole process and that nausea has been at a minimum, if at all. And I get to state that I got my period this month, which bodes well for how my soldiering ovaries are bearing forth through the chemo.

Also, I’m in remission.

I get to have my brother arrive next Saturday, and know that he’ll play me guitar, and we’ll sing together, no matter how well or not this round goes. I get to have my best friend from New Jersey come out right after Christmas. I get to have my friend Debby deliver a prayer I'm writing to Israel, where she’s going this week.

I don’t have to envy her. I do envy her her blog, but, really, I also get to have people continue to tell me that my own writing means something to them – and no matter the scale, that actually is what is important to me. I have a friend, too, who’s offered to help me if I want to “take my writing to the next level,” and put me in touch with people she knows.

I am not devoid or absent of resources. And these are all external ones. I’ve been trying so hard to dig deep within myself to “make it work,” to make decisions, to do my own cooking, laundry, walk to places that I can get rides to instead. I’ve been trying to hold the ache and the hurt of what’s happened with my dad all by myself. I’ve been trying to figure out what happens when Round 5 will be done – who I will be, what I will do, where I will live.

I don’t need to do this.

My friend came by to do acupuncture on me yesterday, and he confirmed physically what I’ve been expressing emotionally – my systems are exhausted. They/I am tired on so many levels. I don’t need to do more on my own.

I’ve been using coffee to back-balance the fatigue I feel, which makes me a little chagrined, as coffee creates an acidic environment in your body, which means it’s a breeding ground for cancer.

I could identify so much with what the Life, Interrupted author talks about – asking the question with everything you do, Is this the best? Is this the best choice of food or activity? Is this the best use of my time, is this the best thing on the menu, is this the best restaurant, is this the best conversation, is this the best movie to see? Is this the best way to spend this precious Tick Tocking time? No wonder I’m exhausted.

So much of what she talks about, I can relate to. It was strange to read her sentence, I assume that people with cancer will know what I’m talking about. I do. I am a person, I won't say "with," but who has had cancer. I do get it. I am part, now, of a club that I never wanted to be a member of, but which has allowed me to see and experience things that the majority of the population doesn’t.

I don’t take pride in this, but I do take it as a chance to greatly expand my capacity for empathy. There is a whole portion of humans now whom I can relate to, and understand. I know before all this, I would read these touching and emotional stories and accounts, or I would hear of someone with cancer, survived or not, and I would momentarily feel affected. And then I’d move on. That’s someone else’s experience, not mine ("Thank G-d," perhaps I’d add, if I were feeling aware).

But, it is different now. I “get,” as in understand, things that I never would or have. I don’t admire my position, but I recognize the quasi-unique place that I am now in.

What this means, or will mean, I don’t know. It doesn’t really have to “mean” anything. Just that I feel more attuned to a larger part of the human race. And I guess that does “mean” something.