I’m in a weird place. I feel like I should update, but I’m feeling kind of … blah. A year ago I was just coming home from our annual trip to the Oregon Coast. I had been debating going back to school, and decided to go for it. And by, “go for it,” I mean I applied, registered, and did the orientation in about 24 hours to make the deadline. After my first semester back, I knew I was in love with school. I was having a blast. What a difference a year makes. I had just signed up for my next couple of classes for the Spring semester when we found the lump in my neck. I remember the day I canceled things and put a lot of other things on hold. Now, it’s 1 year after the start of that joyous journey and 8 months after the canceling of it all. I find myself looking back…and ahead.
I’m still 7-8 months from completing chemo. It may go quickly. It may suck completely. It’s more likely to be a mix of those with each day bringing something different. I already know I can’t attend a couple meetings that I’d really like to do. One is impossible — traveling at the height of Winter by plane to a conference where people are loaded with germs. No, can’t do that. The other would be iffy. Again traveling by plane. Again, the plane germs. But the timing…I’d have to delay treatments a couple weeks, and still it would be a last-minute decision based on blood test results. How does one balance taking part in the things that inspire and provide spiritual healing with just getting it all done and over with…and avoiding fevers?
So, I’m trying to look forward, but not to plan. Impossible! I’m a planner; we’ve established that. I’m already wondering and doing the math in my head at night: If we finish end of March, can I enroll in Summer classes? There’s still a great deal of recovery after the chemo ends. I need my strength back. Can I work on healing the physical body while feeding my brain? Will my brain be up for it by Summer? Maybe better to wait until Fall. Take the summer to recover the body.
I’m already looking at programs at the Y – they have a free 12-week cancer survivorship program to start building back strength. I can do that and return to the trainer. What I’m reading suggests a slow re-boot. Basics. Start with walking around the block — a feat that is possible some days now, but not most days. Today a walk to the kitchen and reaching to the top shelf of the pantry for my granola was a breath-taker. On the days I can do it, I’m moving slower. That’s after 7 treatments. After 17 of them, I shudder to think what shape I’ll be in. I, realistically, will need a complete reboot. Walk around the block, then two, then three, then work to a mile. 
I see others at the treatment clinic who need wheelchairs, who need to lay down during treatment, who need assistance moving. It might be me at some point; it might not. I need to learn to be okay with whatever comes my way — a lesson I’m still resisting. So, I plan to keep myself occupied and avoid the nightmarish “what if’s.”
Lacking the ability to take action now, planning is my survival. Doing so is likely a fool’s game. I can’t know now how my body will feel in 7 or 8 months. So, here I am, in this weird place where I hate where I am, dread what’s ahead, but can’t wait to get to the end so I can get on with my life and restart the pieces that need restarting. It’s weird. But, then, this whole experience has been weird.