Epiphany III: Radiation Lessons

 Good Thursday morning, good citizens of The Epiphany Season. The weather could best be described in the words of one of my dear friends with a sense of humor that included an acid tongue, "colder than a step-parent's kiss."

With apologies to all loving, amazing step-parents (myself included). The man had issues, but he made me laugh in that way you know stuff is funny only because it's not supposed to be. He was sort of like a Larson cartoon, you know?

A confession: It's not been an easy morning for me. This is the first day after my first session of radiation.

Fatigue? I thought I was prepared for it. I'm not. It feels like I have a large, cosmic hand pressing heavily on my body, preventing me from doing the things I want/need to do.

Dry mouth? Yeah, more like there's a bale of cotton in there.

I've got a large jar of "Udderly Smooth" cream to deal with the skin dryness/redness, which, thank God, is not a problem. Just ever so slightly itchy but I think that's psychosomatic. It's not a huge problem. At least not yet. Or, hopefully, ever, if this stuff is as good as they say it is.

Nausea? Thank God for Zophran and Mint Tea. And, toast. No butter. Just a very light smear of Bonne Maman Raspberry Preserves.

Joint pain? Thank God for Extra Strength Tylenol.

As the old saying at Dupont went, "Better Living Through Chemistry."

In my abbreviated prayer time this morning, I heard myself say, "Look, God, I don't have time for this. I've got stuff to do."

And, I heard God say, right back, "You'll have a whole lot less time if you don't do radiation right now."

Turns out, God is a very skilled debater. In fairness, She has had eons of experience, and with folks a lot more intelligent than me.

Oh, I argue with God all the time. My favorite form of confession, borrowed a long time ago from Anne Lamott, usually begins, "Look, we both know what we've got on our hands here."

I am impatient. It's not my only flaw but it manifests itself consistently enough to emerge as my major character defect. I console myself by thinking that impatience is often a byproduct of passion which has been the energy I need to do the work of the Gospel.

So, you know, it's pretty much a wash. Except for times like these, when the way I'm feeling outweighs the need to just get on with it.

This is when the wonderful Epiphany gift of resilience comes in handy. I've discovered that I have this quality. Turns out, I've had it all along. It was hiding on the underside of impatience.

If you imagine impatience as having a form, say, a rock, and you spend the energy to pick it up and turn it over and look under it, what you find there is resilience.

I learned that nifty little psychological trick from one of my many therapists over the years. I think that one was the one I was with the longest - long enough to have built what I call the Elizabeth Kaeton Memorial Deck on her house.

We were dealing with my anger - another byproduct of passion. After she pointed out that every major spiritual leader in all of the major religious writings has at least one recorded episode of anger, I started to settle in to listen to what she had to say.

That's when she told me that if I imagined anger as a rock and spent the energy to lift it up and look under it, what I would find there is something that mattered very, very much. And, if I worked on that thing - the thing that really mattered to me - I would be better able to manage my anger.

She was right. Of course. Which was why I kept coming back to see her even though there were times when I thought I'd have to promise my firstborn grandchild to her to pay off my bill.

I'll have more to say about the spirituality of resilience but not today. I'll have to do that when I'm feeling. . . well . . . more resilient. But, I'll say this: It is not only a character trait, but there is a deep spirituality to resilience that I'm learning in my conversations and confessions with God.

I'm going to go back to snuggling with my puppies. Right now, Ms. Olivia has attached her spine to the side of my left leg and Mr. Eliot has attached himself to my left hip. Every now and again, Ms. Olivia lifts her head and casts me a worried look. When she's satisfied that I'm okay, she sighs deeply and returns to her snuggle position.

They make me smile. Which is the best medicine of all.

My next radiation session is tomorrow - Friday. There's a Nor'easter scheduled to land sometime late Friday into Saturday.

It will be a perfect weekend to recover. Ms. Conroy will stop at Panera and get some Autumn Squash Soup and some Creamy Tomato Soup. My Greek friend, Penelope, mailed a package of wonderful homemade Greek treats, including some Greek bread which will be fabulous with the soup.

She also made some Baklavah and Almond Cookies. Greek medicine. And, thanks to one of my dearest friends whose spirit of generosity and kindness always takes my breath away, I also have one container of Trader Joe's Coffee Blast Coffee Ice Cream - the best damn ice cream anywhere in the world. It's strong medicine, too.

Not the same as Jewish penicillin but I don't have a cold, I have cancer. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Did I mention that the greatest gift of all of this is my Ms. Conroy, AKA "Nurse Jane Fuzzy-Wuzzy"? I am so deeply grateful, it makes me weep.

I hope something good happens to you today.

Bom dia.