My Choice(s)
This is a Jerusalem Thorn. These thin green strands are hard to capture with a macro lens. I was lucky to shoot this plant after a rainy night. The large circles are sun kissed drops that fade into the background when you shoot up close with a large lens opening. They are called “bokeh” and they lend a fascinating artistic edge to any image. I cropped the picture very tight to highlight that one gleaming drop and to cut back on the tangled strands, lest the viewer’s eye wander too much.
My wedding season is over and miraculously I am still alive and feeling strong. Remission is treating me well!
Fall is looming and I have lots of choices to make on how I want to spend my time. Last April when I got the results of my scan, the doctor thought I’d have 4-6 months left, but perhaps an experimental infusion would give me more time.
Two rounds of the infusions, although exhausting and difficult to bear, worked beyond our wildest hopes. It didn’t just slow down the cancer, it killed it!
I’m grateful that I was able to get to 3 out of 4 of those weddings, so it seems logical to plan more infusions. But the physical and emotional effort plus the amount of time it takes to recover seems more daunting than ever. I’ve almost reached the top of that mountain peak; I don’t want to slide back down.
Today I made a big choice and it’s haunting me. I told the scheduler at City of Hope I’m not going to my September appointment for routine blood work as well as a visit to my oncologist to plan about more infusions. Perhaps I’ll continue my “sabbatical” for another few months. I want to pretend I’m cancer free and attend concerts, baseball games, plan big trips, and eat a homemade Thanksgiving meal with my family.
Going to the hospital to receive treatment and check ups is difficult; it’s hard to focus on where I need to go and to brace myself for each appointment. I am surrounded by people sicker than me: in wheelchairs, walkers, canes; in hospital beds being rolled in the corridors, along with patients walking and dragging their IV poles, hairless and grey. I feel their disease and suffering.
I may not make it to all the events I have marked on the calendar. My mortality looms closer compared to other people. But hooking up to an IV for a day and a half dose of more chemo and other medicines to possibly prolong my life means I quarantine at home and watch everyone else live outside my recovery bubble.
Sometimes the one choice you make opens up other choices for a better future, albeit a short one.
I’m gambling my life on that premise.
For musical inspiration, here’s a song by R.E.M. from their album “Automatic for the People”, which is celebrating its 25 year release. They were one of my favorite bands and I sure miss their music.