PET CT results and upcoming blood test

Thank you for celebrating my birthday with me! I love hearing about the things that are so awesome in your life, and I love that you recognize that your life is awesome, whether or not you decide to share the wonderful aspects. I hope you can keep going with the gratitudes awhile longer. Me, I'm having trouble with the intentional acts of kindness, but I suppose there is always something to work on. And many thanks to those of you who brought hostess gifts!

To celebrate my birthday weekend, Tiron, the boys and I traveled to Kripalu, a yoga-retreat center in Western MA. The boys participated in a weekend-long Tribal Jam workshop (drumming, dancing, etc.) while Tiron and I got some R&R and spa treatments. During the breaks in the workshop, we spent time together walking the grounds, swimming in the lake, eating the amazing food, and playing games. We had a great time, individually and together, making a beautiful and memorable birthday for me.

I also learned that my 50th birthday was on Pentecost Sunday. How incredibly cool is that? AND my husband's cousin had a baby girl that day, too. So many good happenings converging!

When we returned, I got the results of my PET CT. Please know that I appreciate your patience in sitting with me while I waited for these. I couldn't write about them because they were confusing and difficult to process. Here is the scoop:

Three doctors read the study and shared their three different points of view:
- Stable 
- Slight growth in one of the nodes but basically stable
- New "activity" but liver node is inactive and does not appear to be cancerous. GREAT NEWS.

After a bit of fretting, I finally decided that I choose "stable" combined with "liver node does not appear to be cancerous."

I especially love the "liver node does not appear to be cancerous" part, because all my outside work - prayers, meditation, energy healing, Tong Ren, etc. - has been focused on that liver node. The night before I got my results, I prayed for some sign that healing is indeed possible, and I feel encouragement in that statement. I'm in awe of the work and power of God, and in awe of your role in that, too. You really do carry me through this - I can't say that enough - and your prayers help enormously in my healing.

On Tuesday (June 12), I return to Dana Farber for a blood test to check my tumor marker (CEA for those of you familiar). My tumor marker generally provides a good indicator of what is going on inside my body. Despite the recent apparent sign from God that healing is possible, I am uncharacteristically nervous about learning my CEA number. I don't want to leave my little land of "stable." 

Life continues outside the medical arena. My six-week, learn-to-row class ended and everyone scattered for the summer. I wanted to keep rowing, so a kind friend arranged an instructor for me and a friend so we could go sculling. Sculling means, out in a boat by myself. 

I am not naturally drawn to the water. I learned to swim when I was 35, and water still evokes fear in my heart.. Rowing with friends provided safety in numbers. Going in a boat by myself made me both excited and nervous. 

The morning started out cloudy with rain off and on. In rowing culture, rain is not a reason to cancel, so I pretended to be hardy, grabbed rain gear and made my way to the boathouse. There, I connected with my friend and our new instructor, Brenda, a lovely, patient woman my age with a sense of humor. 

We walked to the boats, which were stored upside-down on a rack. Brenda gave a few instructions, then told us which boats to remove from the rack and carry to the dock. The boats looked heavy, awkward, and, if dropped, both expensive and embarrassing. My weakling arms shuddered. My pretense of being hardy evaporated. But I took a deep breath and knew I would give it a try because, if I wanted to row, I didn't have a choice.

Just then, Brenda glanced down at the dock and said, "Look, someone is coming in. Go down there and ask to use their boat."

Big exhale. Fortunately, TWO people were coming in so my friend and I didn't have to have that polite conversation of, "No, you take this boat and I'll get another." when really, I'm sure that neither of us wanted to carry it.

Once we took ownership of the boats, Brenda showed us how to get ourselves into them, and how to use the oars in sync. I stared at the boat thinking, "This is it. I will rock over and fall into the water."

As if she read my mind, Brenda said, "The water here is only four feet deep. Even if you fall in, you will be fine."

Again, big exhale.

Climbing in and strapping my feet into the boat, I thought, what if the boat tips? Again, Brenda responded to my unspoken question. "Put one oar into the water and lift the other into the air."

I hesitatingly did as instructed. I felt the boat rock sideways, but my body was in no danger of falling into the water. I could even lean into that direction and be fine.

"Now switch. Put the other oar into the air."

Still a bit scared, I did as she asked, and again, I didn't fall in. Hmmm. Maybe this boat is more stable than it looks.

Though a bit more confident, a piece of me remained unconvinced. Should the boat tip over, despite all odds, how do I unstrap my feet and get out? 

Brenda was done reading my mind and told me to push off and get rowing.

I mentally reviewed: The water is shallow. The boat is fairly stable. Yes, I could potentially fall in, but that is not an immediate worry. And if I did fall in, I could hopefully figure out the strapped-in feet. 

Again I exhaled, then took a deep breath and pushed off from the dock.

I row slowly, which coincidentally provides time to actually enjoy each stoke and my surroundings. The calm water under cloudy skies felt lovely and relaxing. No rain. I was happy to focus on keeping my strokes precise and steady and could think of nothing else. I did steer into some trees along the side of the river and got stuck in them. It took a moment, then I calmed down and figured my way out of the tangle. 

All too soon, the lesson was over and my worries started again. How on earth will we lift these boats out of the water and carry them to the boathouse? I pushed the thought out of my mind and focused on just rowing the boat to the dock in the first place.  Once there, I climbed safely out of the boat and suddenly, someone appeared and asked if they could use our boats. Problem solved! 

So, maybe I can swing that again, this time, with the blood test - hoping that, while things may feel wobbly, they are actually pretty stable. Perhaps all these worries will not actually come to pass, but will be handled in wonderful and unforeseen ways. 

Much love to you and more blessings than you can count,
Marie

Love and light and no chemo

Thank you for your responses to my last message. Whether your response celebrated my chemo holiday or questioned whether I was being aggressive enough, I appreciated your thoughts and concern. Each one helped me to sort through my emotions as your statements echoed all the different aspects of what I was feeling. Thank you.

These past two weeks have been amazing in ways that I couldn't have predicted. Sure, there was April Fools' Day - great fun! - and Passover and Holy Week and Easter and all their marvel. 

And I started a learn-to-row class! Living just a few steps from the Charles River, this always seemed like something I should do but could never pull it together. For starters, I don't consider myself to be that athletic. Any new sport I learn has to have a social component to draw me in. Taking a class by myself is not my style.

Then one of the moms at my sons' school arranged a learn-to-row class, inviting other moms from the school. So, a sport I want to learn with a group I mostly know. Only hitch was that the class meets every week, but with no chemo, I can do it! We started this week and it was a blast.

But the biggest thing that happened during these past two weeks was a shift inside that moved me to another path, and I am going to invite you to join me on this path, if you are able and interested.

To take a step back: I had been having this fabulous experience of everything just clicking in my life. When I asked a question, it was mysteriously answered. When I thought of someone, they were also thinking of me. When I wanted to do something, the opportunity appeared. It was all so wonderfully FUN. 

Then, my oncologist strongly recommended that I take a break from chemo, and I got scared. Quitting chemo felt like I wasn't doing everything possible for my health. In addition, chemo had become my crutch, and I was afraid to go without it. Fear can easily send me spinning in circles and blind me so that I don't see all my options. I was stuck in indecision and couldn't tell what I wanted, needed or felt right. 

I did know that I did not want to make a decision based solely on fear. I wanted to make a decision based on joy and hope and other good and positive feelings, but I couldn't find my way out of the fear.

The day after the conversation with my oncologist, I was still in this fearful place and NOTHING was clicking in my life. For example, I would search the web for specific information but couldn't find it at all. I would email someone and they would respond that they preferred that I call them - and not leave a number. It took Herculean effort respond to emails. Anything I tried hit a dead end and I felt very out-of-sync with my life and with the universe. On top of being fearful, I was now frustrated. 

"Be still and know that I am God."
Psalm 46:10

Easier said than done. I promised myself two weeks to make a decision and I felt the urgency of racing against a deadline. But I read and re-read and re-read this Psalm, which took root in my little exhausted heart. After a few deep breaths, I decided to hand it all over to God and be still inside, or, as still as I get.

Slowly, things shifted. For example:
- My friend, Kerry, suddenly and joyfully shared a series of synchronicities in her life, impacting mine in a positive way.  Even if I wasn't feeling the love right now, this let me know it was available. 
- I was told something directly by a few people I trust, including the father of a friend and a healer with whom I work, both of whom have walked this path before. They all shared that, if I am afraid of going off chemo, then by all means, go back on chemo, but there is something bigger to work on here. That resonated deep within me.

There were a number of other fantastical experiences, culminating in an amazing, awe-inspiring day where so many things came together that my head was spinning. The happenings of that day, taken together, were so big, in so many ways, that I have trouble writing about it. I just can't seem to capture it in words. I will try to give an overview and summarize its impact on me.

I intellectually and emotionally care about healing, and I know there is more that I can contribute and enjoy in this life. At the same time, I feel like I am drawn, or maybe even being sucked, down this other path that I cannot describe. It feels light and hopeful and open in a very expansive way. It feels grounded and beautiful and very connected to others and to God. Taking this path has become my immediate priority.

It is as if I peeked into this amazing world and can't help walking in further.

I don't know exactly what this path is, or where it will lead me.  I don't expect it to be easy, and I suspect there will be work to do. I do know that I need to go there. I can literally feel and sometimes see lots of light. Step by step, my decisions are different, my actions are different, and I feel like I am being led. Maybe you know this feeling already? I also know, as strongly as I know anything, that I cannot simultaneously take this path and do chemotherapy right now. 

So, I am indeed going to take the recommended break from chemotherapy. 

If this sounds insane to you, or unreal, I totally understand. But if you are interested, I would LOVE to have you along. Not only do I prefer to do things with friends, I also have a strong sense that, if you join, in any capacity, you will get something from this as well. 

Again, I don't know where this leads or what it involves. I will be feeling my way and trying to listen carefully to the messages and strong feelings that are coming my way. But I wanted to bring you up-to-date on the movement that happened since I last wrote. 

As you know, your prayers and positive thoughts have had a powerful impact on this journey and my life. My quality of life and my overall health is even better than it was four years ago when I was first diagnosed. I have experienced miracles in my life and witnessed miracles in others, in large part due to you and what we do together as a group. I appreciate all of what you do. Whether it feels big or small to you, taken together, it feels tremendous to me.

If you don't mind, please give thanks for that collective power and strength, and pray for a healthy body for me! Then live your life fully and with joy. I give thanks always for you. 

Have a fantastic weekend.

Love and blessings, 
Marie