I'm molting, or should I say, I'm very ready to molt this Midwestern (FREEZING!) winter and fly West. 

Today I saw my oncologist and noted to the oncology fellow beforehand, that today was exactly six months to the day from when I left my husband in Hawaii to wrap things up for our move. That feels lightyears away, but today I was feeling hopeful. I've been ready and rather anxious this whole week in anticipation of today's visit. Last night I even made a deal with God. I didn't write it down in a legal contract or anything and I'm not about to tell you what sort of proposal I made, but let's just say that we're both getting a good deal out of that prayer session. I'm spiritual but a bit of a lapsed Christian when it comes to regular church attendance, so I had some ground to make up. Today, I wasn't let down. 

Lab wise, I've been in a holding pattern with my values these last few weeks, dancing around with slight variation but not dropping to transfusion levels. So I had high hopes and a mental checklist of questions for today's visit barring no declining values. As of today, it's been almost a month since I had a RBC transfusion and a month and a half (December 16th) since I received a platelet transfusion. 

I'm still in a plateau with my blood levels, but a much safer plateau than where I've been previously. I really like my oncologist and he's kind of a TV celebrity, being in Froedtert Cancer Center's ads and all, but today I cut to the point with my questions. I made it known that I'd really like to be with my husband for Valentine's day (first/last one we had together was 2012). I didn't beat around the bush and well it paid off, because I've been cleared for travel! 

Asked when I'd like to get the tunneled PICC line out, I kind of jokingly said "today, if possible" and well yeah, that happened too. It was quite the eventful hospital visit, with an appointment with the pulmonary lab for a pentamidine nebulizer sandwiched in the mix, too. That wasn't painful, but the taste from that 15 minute session is something I'm still experiencing about eight hours later. And wow (!), taking out the PICC line was nothing. I was told to take a deep inhale and it was out in a second, never even saw it (not that I really wanted to, either). So for the next few days I just can't: bend at the waist, lift anything heavier than a gallon (sweet excuse), or do any push/pull motions. The nurse made a remark about not doing any yoga and I took that to mean 'crazy', 'twisting' or 'weight-bearing' yoga moves, but in the name of proper healing, I am happy to put it on the back burner for a few days...I've already got physical evidence of improper scar healing that I'd like not to repeat. This sounds like the perfect time to catch up on some overdue Netflix watching. 

I'm now super excited to finally be getting back to Hawaii and to start actually acting like someone's wife. What a crazy idea! But at the same time, it's almost kind of bittersweet to be leaving such a great care team at the hospital in two weeks. I mean, it's like Cheers where everyone know my name (or at least my hair)! But it's not so bittersweet that I'm going to stick around any longer than needed. With nothing else is to be said, I'll leave you with a quote from Elizabeth Kubler Ross:

"Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself and know that everything in this life has a purpose. There are no mistakes, no coincidences, all events are blessings given to us to learn from."

No, nothing specifically bad has happened, nor is this a review of a fantastic investigative drama by the same name. This is a post of what it feels like for an athlete (or at least that’s what I’ve considered myself) to lose their peak performance and have to start back at square one.

Frustrating. Disappointing. Gratitude...which of these three is not like the others…

So while my capabilities are nowhere near where they were back in August in terms of difficult yoga poses, running (in general), or endurance, I am extremely grateful to know that I’ll be ok. I will regain my endurance, strength, and ability to perform these activities and be able to enjoy them all in due time. I’m not facing the future of a life in which I’ll never again be able to enjoy the freedom of an outdoor hike or stand up paddleboarding. No, I am not “impaired”, I am only delayed. So when I get frustrated on being winded while walking up a few flights of stairs too quickly, I need only focus on my progress. Allowing myself to think on the cans instead of the cannots. While I may want to and have in the past been able to handle multiple yoga classes in a day, now I focus on completing my home practice. Whether that be a short and strengthening practice or one that is slow and gentle. It’s the focus on committing to care for myself that has now taken center stage. A focus that I’ve rebuked at times but am continually working on recommitting to.

My best friend through all this has been walking. Whether at the hospital, outside, or on a treadmill, it’s been a release. Whereas yoga, at times has just not been jiving with how I might be feeling mentally or physically, walking never seems to let me down. Its always moving me forward, helping me let go of what challenges are behind, and keeping me focused on where my feet land. I think it’s the momentum of the movement but it continually surprises me in how rejuvenating, powerful, and strong it feels in taking each forward step. While I feel weak in other areas of endurance or strength, it’s comforting to feel like i’m building energy through my walking. So instead of running along towards that ever looming goal of full recovery, I’m walking there. Taking more time than intended but making progress nonetheless, on my own terms.

Having been a pescetarian (fish/seafood eating vegetarian) since 1999, biting the bullet or bull in this case, to bring some red meat back into my diet was not an easy choice. With all ethical considerations aside, I never really enjoyed red meat, so it wasn't such a hard thing to give up. Over the last year, with the assistance or shall I say cooking of my husband, I had started adding chicken more regularly into my diet...when he cooked it, one or twice a week. Left to my own devices, I'm a vegetarian eater/cook, so when he wasn't around that's what I stuck with. So, with the thought of living in Hawaii and access to awesome fresh seafood, I figured I was good as gold on getting adequate amounts of protein and Omega-3 fatty acids. 

Fast forward to last month. My husband was visiting and we had an appointment with my oncologist, who tells me that things are progressing but slower than we'd hoped for. It was December 12th and my levels were good but I knew that in order for me to "get the heck out of Dodge" I had to do something to up my game, because clearly my current course of action wasn't helping enough. So we did some research on nutrition and it seemed pretty clear that maybe it was time for me to give red meat another chance. While I had resisted it for this long, it seemed like a better time than ever to give it a shot and to see if there was any positive effect. Well, this made my husband supremely excited, being the meat lover that he is. 

My first endeavor into meat-eating was Pho, the very next day. To understand, I LOVE Pho and vietnamese cuisine in general but have never had the real deal with beef. So for me, it was a nice little introductory step into eating beef by having some very thin slices of flank steak that were well cooked. And let me tell you, it was different, delicious but different. When you don't eat red meat and then start to have some, it's a hard thing to describe...well, for me at least. I guess the best way I could describe the taste is by saying it was a bit chewy and earthy, but manageable with all of the other spices and flavors I like adding to my soup. It was a good way to start off and not one that caused me major digestive problems. I already have issues with nausea from my course of medications, so can't say that there was anything different that I felt afterwards. My second attempt at meat was certainly delicious, as A (my husband) made a flavorful slow simmering meat sauce for spaghetti and some meatballs for dinner, the day after having Pho. I only had a taste of the meatball (wonderfully seasoned) but did have the meat sauce over my pasta. It was really very good. So, my conclusion at that point was that if it's made by A (and it's well-cooked), it's probably going to be completely delicious so I'll at least try it. Since then, I've let my parents in on the change, much to their happiness since I'm the only veg-head in the family, and have enjoyed my Mom's beef chili. While my beef-eating acumen at this point is very limited, I am well aware that the easiest way of eating and actually enjoy it for me, involves seasoning and disguising the meat in some manner-whether that be in sauce, amidst other foods, or cooking it down. 

So how am I handling the idea of eating meat? Well, it's mixed. While I really want to do it right and only eat more locally sourced products from farms with high animal welfare standards (this concept has my Dad thinking I'm a hippie), I know that it's not always possible. So when I can, I follow that ideal and when it's just a meal over which I don't have control...eh, I might just eat it anyways, if it looks good to me.