205 The Chemotherapy Advantage

The best way to describe it might be “work,” there is work happening. Something is shifting, moving, changing, happening.

Sometimes I sleep.  Sometimes I don’t.  But either way it isn’t a struggle.  

The first few days of a cycle, when the chemo drugs are soaring around in my body, there are more changes.  I notice that I can be snappy, or mean, or upset.  It comes and it goes.  I try to really focus, to keep that quiet.  Sometimes hard things spring coldly out of my mouth, and I shock myself, and see my truths and pain in the words.  And I grow.  I also hope my family can handle the balance.  So difficult for them.  How do you apologize for that?

Sometimes I sleep.  Sometimes I don’t.  But either way it isn’t a struggle.  

When I wake up, I can feel the difference in my cells, how the movement of the blood is altered and working.  It isn’t difficult to feel, almost more difficult to unfeel it.  It isn’t uncomfortable, just odd.  The best way to describe it might be “work,” there is work happening.  Something is shifting, moving, changing, happening.  That is the point.  

So this is day five.  Cycle seven has been kind.  I have accomplished an extraordinary number of things, have been able to eat in a more normal, balanced way (with Dr. Bailey’s supplement suggestion, the Naturopathic Oncologist’s balance), have been able to really ring in the holiday season with decorations and joy.

Sometimes I sleep, and sometimes I don’t.

Today I slept almost seven hours.  The past few days it was more like three.  Don’t panic.  It will balance out, I promise.  

I have watched the sun rise four days in a row.  The red tones rise up the mountain range to the East.  The window frames the scene like a moving, changing painting.  The gray skies turn a surreal pink behind the evergreens to either side of the snow capped peaks.  And a new day dawns.  Literally.  The world is new, joy filled, silent.  

Sometimes I sleep, and the dawn and I drift apart.  Sometimes I am awake and embrace each new beginning. 

Author: Michele Plumb Stowell

Michele Stowell was a teacher, a hand holder, and encouraging voice. Born an early Gen Xer, she has lived in Western Washington for the duration. Her children, two spectacular genetic daughters and an uncountable number of marvelous scout and school sons and daughters, shine as her biggest impact and her greatest blessing. Just before her 54th birthday, Michele was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Her writing and art work are expressions of the drama and the joy of living earth bound. On October 24, 2021, Michele was released from her physical body, transported to continue her work on other realms.

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