It’s not a coincidence that I have an older post by the same name. I’m still lucky, and still grateful.
I’m writing this post as I sit in the infusion chair, getting my second weekly dose of chemo. Last week was rough–debilitating nausea–but my medical oncologist added extra medications. They’re the same medications that helped so much last time, so I’m confident they’ll make that difference again.
I’m lucky to live so close to one of the top cancer centers in the world, and to be receiving such quality care. I’m lucky this is happening during a renaissance of lung cancer treatments, as the attitude toward the disease shifts to view it as a chronic illness to be managed and treated. I’m lucky to be in good health otherwise.
I’m grateful for the people in my life who make a difference for me every day. My spouse, Charlie, has been amazing… again. He doesn’t hesitate to help in any way he can. One rough afternoon between diagnosis and treatment plan, the Labrinth cover of Express Yourself came up in a playlist and he did a dance for me that would make Sam Rockwell proud. He’s the best.
My friends are there for me each day, whether I want to talk about tough subjects or fall back on the comfortably mundane. My employers and friends at The Workshop have been incredibly supportive, letting me work from home during treatments and understanding when the fatigue or nausea makes that challenging. My family stays in touch and offer their support and help too.
I’m grateful and amazed to have had such an outpouring of support from my friends on Facebook and especially from folks on Twitter. The vast majority of you have never met me and yet you take the time to send me positive thoughts and well wishes. All of this support makes a big difference and I am profoundly grateful and lucky to have it.
I have radiation every weekday. I lay on the table and look up at the slowly blinking LED “stars” in the black ceiling of the treatment room as they get me lined up and prepared. Then the table moves into the tube for a CT scan followed by treatment. During treatment, it moves slowly further and further into the CT tube and I go further and further into my thoughts, hopes and dreams. At the end of treatment, the table pulls back out of the tube. It feels like I’m being born again, each day.
In many ways, I am. And so I’m lucky, and grateful.