Losing farther, losing faster

I talked to my naturopath on Friday. Her intuitive take was that AC would be preferable. She said that she would be able to mitigate the side effects. It also has the advantage being only four cycles instead of six so the last treatment would be on January 11th, instead of February 22nd. That’s a big difference. She said to sit with the information for a while and find out which one felt better to me. I did, and now I’m tending towards AC.

Realizing that I’m in the mode of getting my ducks in a row for this process, I had David drive me to the wig place out on 182nd to buy a wig that looks a lot like my own hair. The woman who owned the shop didn’t charge me for it, saying that it had already been purchased by someone who wished to remain anonymous. I suspect Dave is the anonymous benefactor. I also bought some bangs that can fit under a hat so I don’t look quite so bald. Wigs can sort of be scratchy, so the hat alternative will be important as well. Still, I'm looking forward to the pink wig. I can't wait to shave off my hair. (Is that weird, or what?) Andrine found me some great pink socks that have a skeleton and crossbones wearing a pink bow - which will be perfect to wear during the chemo sessions.

A part of me really wants be done by the end of January so that I can go see Jasper’s play in San Diego. I’m trying not to count on it because there have been so many unpleasant surprises throughout this whole process I’ve had to give up any illusions of control.

Wolf sent me a poem at the outset of this process, when I first asked for notebook pages from friends and family to help me through this time. It’s by Elizabeth Bishop. I find myself turning to it over and over.

One Art

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster;
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! My last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not to hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

-Elizabeth Bishop

One of the manifestations of the stress that has been engendered by my diagnosis is my propensity to lose objects. Things disappear in a maddening fashion, much more frequently than they used to. That’s when I turn to the poem. I practice losing farther, losing faster. I may lose the trip to San Diego. The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Meanwhile, I continue to gain friends and that is a blessing. And old ones are finding their way to my door. My next door neighbor from Port Townsend, Michael, visited this morning for breakfast and we had a lovely discussion, mostly about child rearing, which he’s in the midst of. Suddenly, in his fifties, he finds himself the father of two young children. I felt like a wise old grandmother as I gave him all sort of tips for dealing with little ones, different strategies for dealing with subjects like Halloween candy, a time out versus a“happy chair,”* and how to communicate using non-violent communication (NVC) techniques. Michael was very excited by the NVC information.

My friend Larry Levine (no relation to Michael) and his daughters showed up yesterday. I went to Russia with him in a group led by Patch Adams. We performed as clowns at orphanages and hospitals. That was during the era I had dyed magenta hair and wore the pink wig. His daughters are now living in Portland. They are such a sweet family. It was so nice to see them again. They live in West Virginia on a remote mountain top. He’s lived there since 1972. I can’t imagine such stability. The girls were mostly home schooled. I really appreciate that he’s been so good at keeping up communication with me over the years.

Next week I’ll have a dizzying round of medical appointments. I’ve got to get a chest x-ray, a heart scan, and a port put in, as well as put together a plan with my naturopathic oncologist to help me survive this next episode. It promises to be a busy week. If all goes well, I can start on Thursday. The big question is whether my last MRI is clear. I had one last Tuesday and OHSU was supposed to read it by Thursday. On Friday it still hadn’t been read so I hope to hear soon. If it’s not clear, then it’s another round of biopsies and more delays. I’m learning to relax and have no expectations and, as I said, give up all illusions of control. I can either fight it or flow with it.
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*Instead of a time out, one can ask a child to sit in the "happy chair" until he or she feels happy. Similarly, as the adult in charge, if you find yourself getting stressed out or yelling at the kids, you can put yourself in the happy chair until you calm down and feel happier. And that models the behavior for the kids. If the kid gets out of the happy chair before they are happy, just ask them if they are happy. If they say "no" ask them to sit some more until they are happy. This generally works better than a time out because they don't feel isolated. And it teaches them an internal locus of control. They learn to calm themselves down.