Day 5: Super SloMo

Recently, I've been told how brave and courageous I've been about this whole cancer experience.  While some days, the image of myself in a kickass cape and/or sleek, sexy superhero suit (hey, it's my imagination, I can erase the reality of any unnecessary jiggle if I want to!) helps to propel me forward to my cancer-free goal, it has very little to do with bravery.   When someone with a microscope and intimate knowledge of your insides tells you you have a disease that can and will kill you - ZAP!- if left untreated, but - CRASH!- he has the magic bullet to fix it - POW! -  if you'll just do these things, well then, by God, you do those things. -BOOOOOOM!-  If the alternative to undergoing two surgeries, countless crazy medical tests, uncomfortable recoveries, becoming extremely, painfully hypo, and ultimately turning myself into a miniature nuclear reactor is death...then choosing to be examined, sliced, prodded, taken apart, sewn back together, prodded some more and becoming tired, puffy, grumpy, tired, forgetful, tired, cold, tingling, and glowin' green is an easy one.

This is the same "bravery" we all employ to get through our days, our struggles, our private journeys. To toss some Ian MacLaren atcha: "Be kind. Everyone you meet is carrying a heavy burden."  This could not be more true. We do what we need to do to carry our load and, if we're lucky, find that kindness in those around us. 

Do I sometimes, in those quiet, frustrating hours, get sad about everything I'm enduring? Absolutely.  But either Merriam or Webster defined endurance as "permanence, duration" and "the ability to withstand." (I refuse to link you to the dictionary.)  The source of my perseverance, my insistence on permanance, of my continued duration is not bravery.  It is, undoubtedly, love and stubbornness.  Love of my family, my life, my future, and the futures of those surrounding me.  Love of my friends and my God and my crazy adventures I have had and have yet to have.  And stubbornness?  This is, perhaps, the strongest of any trait you could ever attribute to me.  I'm a sucker for causes and ideas and, once my heels are dug in, you'll need a backhoe and a good pulley system to get them out of the earth. I'm all "Hell No, We Won't Go!"...unless we're dealing with this cancer.

This cancer can get the eff out.

That stubbornness is, unfortunately, the reason why I continue to try to do what I know my body does not want to do.  This morning, for example, I woke up feeling mostly good.  The weather was cool and the storm was still being held back by a gathering of stern-looking rainclouds who appeared determined to enjoy the sunrise before getting to work.  I took the opportunity to take as leisurely-as-I-could-manage walk around the neighborhood.  When I returned, I pushed myself a tad farther, following bunnies around the yard for some fluffy-tailed photo ops.  I had been kneeling down to take a couple of garden shots and, pic completed, stood up. Not super fast, not bouncing up, not springing forth. Normally. Like a normal person.

I am no longer a normal person.

My body is certain of this. My brain sometimes forgets.

Immediately, my brain screamed "WHAT ARE YOU DOOOOING?!" while my body, having no way of effectively bringing blood quickly up to my cranium, starting turning the world black.

See? Hardly worth passing out for.

Again, forgotten functions of the thyroid.  Sigh.  Without thyroid hormones,  blood pressure and heart rate are significantly lower.  Until my rise from rabbit photoging, everything was nice and steady and slow.  My head, however, refuses to accept that new pace as my actual state.  As my conscious brain was truckin' along to its normal, spirited "We Will Rock You," my heart was gently groovin' to "Moon River."  This was not a good dance party mashup.


I lowered myself to the front step and put my head between my knees as my heart flopped around uncomfortably like a washed up fish.  Since lying spread eagle on the porch would probably alarm the neighbors, I waited until the ringing in my ears stopped and my heart regained a normal rhythm to wobbly follow the brick wall into the house and ease myself onto the couch. 

See what I mean?  Stubbornness.

I spent the rest of the day trying to reconcile myself with the reality of my body.  My heart is slower, I do feel weak,  I can't do anything as quickly, and my fingers and toes go all electric and tingly all day long.  I know I need to handle myself a little more carefully in the upcoming days and weeks.

And that's okay.  I've got endurance and love and stubbornness and, on the days when that doesn't seem like quite enough, I maybemightmaybe can eek out a little bravery, too.