Funny what comes rushing back when you least expect it

Published by pam on Thu, 05/03/2012 - 2:27pm

Boy, have I put off writing.  Part of that is because I am in the 'good' week, which means I'm feeling well enough to be productive.  I can walk AND go to the market AND put a coat of finish on the pantry door AND make dinner AND do a couple of loads of laundry.  But productivity isn't the only reason I've been avoiding it.  Writing is one of the of things that has taken on a strong negative association as a result of this experience.  


Before chemo began, I was told to be careful.  You will be us surprised how strongly you'll associate certain things with chemo, a wise woman told me.  Don't eat your favorite foods right before an infusion, or right after.  Pack different activities to keep you busy at the hospital.  Don't do the same set of things, or you'll never want to do them again.


I thought it was a little silly.  But now I know.  A body remembers.  


I wore a new shirt to my first chemo session.  Ryann picked it out for me.  It is a warm rust color, not something I would have picked out for myself.  But the color looks good.  It makes me look healthy.  Looking healthy is a big deal to me these days (does this shirt make me look cancer-free?  You get the idea).  Besides, the shirt makes me think of Ryann. It seemed perfect.


Until the next time I took it off the hanger.  The sight of it made me sick to my stomach. 


Its just a shirt.


Writing seems to have suffered a similar fate.  During this process, I have been writing on an IPad.  The aren't many word processors available for the IPad, so I have been using Pages, then copying my text into the blog utility that Marc suggested I use.  Unfortunately, every time I open Pages, it's like putting on that lovely rust colored shirt.  


I swallow hard.  I tell myself it's crazy.  But a body remembers.  


Throughout all if this, I have worked hard to frame the experience in positive, productive terms.  I try to make the most of each day.  I walk without fail.  I try to be the best parent and friend I can be.  I remind myself that I am tolerating the process fairly well.  It has been entirely manageable.  Sure, there are some uncomfortable days, but nothing that has made me questions the wisdom of it all.  I am grateful for the drugs.  They are hope.  Never, not once, have I wished it would all just stop and I would fade away.  


But when I open Pages and see line after line of text, something quite primal takes hold.  It seizes my belly before my head can doctor the truth. 


Weird, I know.  But a body remembers.  


I have been thinking that I should start writing on a different machine, with Word, maybe, and transfer my blog to a new program, one that will let me find a template that has warm, fuzzy graphics - nothing black.   Shedding the skin that makes me want to wretch might help.  And writing is important.  When I take the time to write, I always feel better.   Besides, knowing that there are people reading - sometimes even taking the time to comment - it does a lot to get me through it all.  This can be bit of a lonely process.  But it's a lot less lonely knowing there is a community of people out there nudging me on.  


So bear with me as I muddle my way through.  I'll do what I can do to trick myself out of the nausea.  And if I can't, well, it always passes.  It just takes time.  



Your writing is really beautiful. It cuts to the core. You have always had this capacity. I believe it is getting even better. Keep up the writing, when you can. I hope we get a chance to visit soon. I will be in touch. K

See you soon.