I’m Ready

My dad has been writing a bit to help him through his cancer journey. (The apple doesn’t fall far, huh?). He asked me to share this one on my blog. ❤


‘I’m Ready’, that was the name of the song that Pandora decided to play during my usual morning workout. It was sandwiched between a Linkin Park song and one by Breaking Benjamin, which are my normal morning pump up jams.

Why did Pandora pick a song by Nikyee Heaton? A woman I have never heard of nor have I knowingly listened to her music.

But instead of changing the song I wiped the sweat from my forehead and found myself listening to the words. I tried to figure out why Pandora had chosen this song for me.

Did Pandora know that I have stage 4 cancer? Did Pandora know that prior to turning on the music for my workout I had been in the bathroom vomiting?

Not sure if my morning nausea is caused by my medications or from stress. I guess it does not matter.

Did Pandora know that after my surgery my post op tests were bad? I was told that the surgery was not as successful as hoped and later scans showed that the disease had spread. I would need radiation and drug treatments.

Did Pandora know that my radiation treatments were over and that today I was going to my doctor’s office for post radiation testing? Did Pandora understand the anxiety I had been feeling the last few days? Did Pandora realize that I was not sure if I was ready to deal with cancer today?

I do not know what Pandora knew, but I do know that song she chose for me was about resilience, and that was something I needed more of that morning.

I listened to the words, but what caught most of my attention was the song title on the TV screen. I’m Ready. But was I? It was as if Pandora was challenging me to get ready to face this disease another day. Challenge accepted!

I started moving faster on my elliptical, pumped out more pushups, and threw around that 100 pound dumbbell with more gusto. Okay take away 90 pounds from the dumbbell. Once finished it was time for a shower and then a drive to the other side of town for my test.

 

When I arrived at my doctor’s office that morning I spoke to Teresa. Teresa would be taking my blood sample and we talked about the results of my last test as well as the many different treatments I have had since. We talked about how those treatments and the drug therapies would hopefully have a positive impact on today’s test. We spoke about the type of results we might expect.

I talked to Teresa about the anxiety I had been feeling the last several days. But at that moment — as I sat in the chair waiting on her to take my sample a calmness came over me that I had not felt in some time. I felt peace.

I knew that no matter what the results, we had plan A, B, and if needed C. We hoped for the best, but knew we could deal with the worst.

Teresa paused before putting the needle into my arm. We looked at each other and I said, “I’m ready.”

 

Kevin
Optimist
Pessimist
Trying to live in reality
MIZ

 

 

 

 

Living in this space

We moved in April. From one part of suburbia to an even more suberby suberbia. To a house on a street named Sleepy Hollow that we own instead of rent.

It has a fenced in yard, and neighbors we’ve hardly met. There’s a beautiful bike trail right down the street that I have yet to discover past three miles. We planted three tomato plants in our small garden. The house is coming along with freshly painted walls, and a long list of projects we are slowly tackling. We have yet to hang a thing on any wall, so while it feels like a place to live, it doesn’t quite feel just yet like home.

When we were house hunting a friend gave me some advice. Just live in your space, she said. Don’t worry about furnishing it and making it perfect right away, just live in it. Have people over for dinner — gather around your card table in the dining room, put their glasses on your stacks of cardboard boxes. Live in it and slowly craft it into what you want it to be.

I love her advice. I think there is value in accepting things as they are — however chaotic and imperfect. I think there is value in rejecting the urges of consumerism that tell us material items will make our lives whole. And I think there is value, especially, in not waiting until the “right time” to enjoy your life. To invite your loved ones to meet you where you are — even if where you are is right in the middle of a mess.

But still my need for order runs deep. The need for a plan and to execute the plan precisely. It helps me feel in control. On Friday nights I make detailed weekend to-do lists, and on Saturday mornings one of the first things I do is unload the dishwasher because I have to put things away in order to think.

There’s been a heaviness in my chest since we moved into our house…..a heaviness that I can’t explain. I’ve mulled over it incessantly trying to pinpoint its origins. I’m usually pretty good at acknowledging my feelings and why they exist, but I can not figure this one out.

Is it the disorder and chaos that comes with a move? Three months later and we still have boxes to unpack. Is it the fact that I feel thrown off from my writing groove and the long list of article ideas I haven’t been able to bring myself to touch? Is it that I have weaned off of my antidepressants and my body is still adjusting? Is it that I think I want another child, but I’m absolutely terrified of going through all of that again?

Around the edges and always present is my dad and the cancer he is living with. Aggressive. Stage 4. Whatever that means.

This is where I need a plan most of all. I need to execute it precisely. I need to furnish it and make it perfect.

I’ve been waiting for answers since we found out nine months ago. I thought it was right around the corner — the next doctor’s appointment, after the surgery, after the treatment, after the next test. Once we had answers we could come up with a plan, and the other parts of my life would fall into place. If I could just follow a plan, I could have some control.

But there will be no answers. At least not in the form I want. Not in neat predicable timelines where we know exactly how many Christmases we have left. Not in the assurance that any and all treatment will be covered and available. There is no what-to-expect pamphlet, and while there are many resources and support networks available, there is no one-size-fits all guide.

And I have to find a way to live in it. To navigate the uncertainty with as much hope as I can muster. To take each day for what it is, not what it could be or what I want it to be. To find some way to not only be comfortable with ambiguity, but to thrive in it.

This is not easy for me, but I’m trying. I’m trying to find a way to just live in this space. To have people over and laugh around our card table, and mismatched furniture, and to gather around the boxes and the bare walls. I’m trying to find joy in this mess.