May 4, 2007
On Wednesday, our webmaster son John-paul came home for a visit, and I think the computers breathed a sigh of relief. Charles’ machine had died after an electrical outage, and our connection to the Internet was fractious on even its’ best days. Everything was put to rights in short order, and we can return to our personal fiction of being highly computer literate.
This first week in May is always one of delight at Sanctuary because it is the time of arrival for many of our songbirds. The thrashers came first with their paired melodic offerings – some have changed a bit since last year, perhaps reflecting some nice tunes picked up in their winter home. Wrens were already here, singing loudly all day long, and the rose breasted grosbeaks, rufus sided towhees, catbirds and orioles came one after another. It is at this time that our yard sounds like an avian convention with every group vocalizing at the same time. . . the songs ring down the valley as the sun comes up in the morning and one concludes that life is good!
Several weeks ago, Jonathan Alter wrote, ”My Life with Cancer” for the Newsweek cover story, and this week, Leroy Sievers, a NPR reporter who has a radio blog will be featured in a documentary, “Living with Cancer” on the Discovery Channel. As I follow the stories that are told, their similarities are immediately apparent – and the experiences and emotions that are expressed are very much the same as my own. I am reminded again of the great number of people who belong to the Cancer Club. . . including friends, neighbors, relatives, and so on. It astonishes me that for 68 years of my life, this illness was never a consideration, and now it has become the framework of my days. Energy is limited after this round of chemotherapy, and with my taste buds compromised, I have gone through the first checking of throat and tongue for fungus. (“What? Fungus?” said the brain. “That is so gross!”) According to the Internet, it doesn’t appear as a green fuzzy thing in the mouth, but rather as white spots and streaks. After thinking about it for a bit, the concept had merit because then the problem could be addressed, but my own session in front of the mirror with a wide open mouth and a waving tongue didn’t reveal anything that looked at all like the illustrations shown on Google. The lab reported that nothing amiss was found, but I was told that now the swabs will be sent away and cultures will be grown to see if something less obvious is lurking. (There is someone out there who went to school for a long time getting ready for a profession doing this sort of thing.) It has made me sad; I loved my finely tuned taste buds and did much of my cooking “on the tongue” rather than by measuring. Charles assures me that the meals still taste very good, but I did note on one occasion at his first mouthful of a salad I had prepared, his eyes seemed to water a bit, and when I said, “Too much vinegar?” he replied, “Maybe just a little, but I do like vinegar.” Sainthood comes in many forms.
My lifeline would be a zigzag right now, this 40th day after the last round of Chemotherapy. One day will find me with enough energy to run a few errands and do some cooking and laundry, and the next will be one in which just walking around Sanctuary is a huge chore. Some mornings feel as though there has been a body switch during the hours between midnight and dawn and the one that I haul out of bed is at least twenty years older than the one I tucked in for the night. The blood draw of this week indicated a drop by half from the week before when the added Neupogen shots had returned it to normal. Of course, there is anxiety because this response to the eleventh round of Chemo is so different, and we didn’t find out why from anyone because there is no information to be shared. So, what to do?
Each day, life has to be picked up and arranged into something that can be managed because it cannot be understood. “Live by faith” is a biblical directive that helps a great deal, and also the very direct statements by Christ about not becoming anxious about the future. There are the emotions that need to be beaten back – frustration at a body that cannot be sent forth into house and garden to do those wonderful tasks of living because even if the mind is energetic, the tissues are so weary; sorrow for taste buds that won’t awaken, and the wailing in the background for things lost…i.e. piano lessons with the granddaughters because the energy just isn’t there, and so forth. 
Ah well – on the “Get a Grip” side of life, the stinky cheeses arrived this week, and now all three reside, very snugly wrapped, in the refrigerator. I picked up the French one and sniffed at it this morning, and sure enough, there was some scent that remained on my fingers in spite of the careful wrapping. Now I will research a bit to find out how best to serve them; surely one at a time, and perhaps on the roof or porch with large amounts of wine and bread. Perhaps we will cut them into dainty chunks and wrapped and beribboned, deliver them to our friends saying, “We were just thinking about you today, and thought we would bring you this little gift”. (Or perhaps not!) The month of May will bring children visiting, flowers blooming, graduations, Mother’s Day, and wedding showers. Life goes on, and I am still in it encircled in love and the physical beauty of earth’s awakening – there is much to look forward to, and much for which to be thankful. 
There is a fierce wind today and as I type this I can look out of the high windows to watch gray and pink clouds moving very quickly across a pale blue sky. The branches of the cottonwood off to the southeast are filling up with aerodynamically prudent blackbirds all facing into the wind. Alphie is lying here with his head resting on the sill of the open south window and Charles is finishing off last week’s Sunday New York Times. This is a tranquil ending to a week where death arrived inexplicably to some people, while others were spared just as inexplicably. Humanity tries to grasp the meaning of such events and through all the interviews and analysis and media coverage, there is a sense of seeking tidiness and order that cannot be found in a complicated and messy world.
After this round of Chemotherapy my tongue has lost much of its ability to discern tastes. The sensation is like having scalded it with a drink of a too hot beverage, and it has improved only a little by this 33rd day. I told daughter Janna and was bemoaning the fact that as an avid cook, I miss this sense more than any other loss to date. She determined that perhaps some pungent cheeses might call my taste buds to attention and ordered some for me. The British descriptive paragraph reads as follows: Stinking Bishop – Select Cut – Winner of the 2001 Best Exported British Cheese Award, Stinking Bishop is a washed rind cheese dating back to the Cistercian monks who once settled in Dymock where this cheese is made. Washed in fermented pear juice (also called “Perry”), the cheese develops a stinky, pungent, orange-colored, sticky rind. Named after the Stinking Bishop pear varietal, this cheese is a spectacular dairy experience. 
It is difficult to think about the body as an entity that is no longer a comfortable place for the spirit to abide. Many people live in chronic pain and do so without complaint and with great courage. This time, I think I began to question the limits to my own courage, and it is a whole new subject for thought. Charles and I have visited at length about life in this strange pattern of having the therapy of chemicals carrying me into misery and pain, then slowly getting back to a place where the days are truly good days, only to begin the cycle all over again. As I have said before, we have been told that this is the requirement for continuing life on earth.
Meanwhile, spring has reemerged at Sanctuary with bird song growing ever louder, resumed frog choruses, and bright green grasses underfoot. The weeping willows down by the stream are a dreary brown. They were left there by the very cold weather that came as they were delighting us all with their bright chartreuse green fronds – I whisper to them words of encouragement as I pass by, telling them it is safe to try again. The day lilies lie white and limp, looking thoroughly disheartened, but the maples are tentatively sending out little shoots that peer out around the limp seed pods that had come forth before. So it goes throughout the plant kingdom outside of our doors. This morning, five deer ran away across the meadow, all with their white tails flagging warning and making a lovely pattern of oval shapes in motion as they bounded away – moments later, ducks flew overhead, and Alphie chased up several pheasants. With loud meadow larks song and the light of a just rising sun and breezes moving about, I felt as though I had been invited onto a Disney movie set. I must conclude that it is just such times as these, and coming back to a wonderful breakfast prepared and served by Charles as well as the conversations and laugher we will share in the day that propel me forward, and for now, that is enough.