I can walk and chew gum

Or, in this case, ride a stationary bike and have my blood pressure and heart rate monitored. This is me being assessed for UW's Well-Fit program by the delightful Stephanie, who says she "fell" into the career of her dreams by volunteering for this program after studying Kin at UW. Keep that in mind, all you students who think they have to have it all figured out in grade 12. It's a big world, with many surprising twists and turns along the way. The 'Great Things About Having Cancer' list is really quite short, but the Well-Fit program would be on it. It's a free 12 week exercise program for people undergoing cancer treatment in the area, tailored to your individual fitness level and goals. I've never been a gym person, but I'm very grateful for the added incentive to stay fit, and the support that goes with it. Yeah baby, I'm gonna be puhmped!


I'd like to volunteer my wildly variable chemo-addled mental state to psychiatry for study. It goes something like this:

• Day 1 (chemo day): Head and stomach vie for status of Most Obnoxious Body Part. No rational thought occurs during this period. 
• Day 2: Head and stomach start to settle down, just as whiny voice ramps up ("wah wah wah, I have cancer, poor sad me, wah wah wah"). Sometimes listens to reason ("knock it off, ya big baby") but often not.
• Day 3: Whiny voice settles down, but ADHD brain takes over. I lose my cellphone every 5-10 minutes. And that's just when I'm lying on the couch.
• Day 4: Steroids are done, appetite starts to return. I'm not actually hungry, but ALL I can think about is food. Just don't TALK to me about food, or your life is forfeit.
• Day 5: Starting to feel more "normal", but no attention span means boredom starts to set in. Those who know me understand that this is Bad News. 
• Day 6: Rebound headache sets in, just in time for the weekend.
• Days 7-14 are generally better, but have their own little twists (fatigue combined with interrupted sleep, wild dreams, night sweats, random grumpiness, achy joints, and food cravings/aversions that rival pregnancy). 

It makes me think about the fragility of mental health. Which one of the above is the "real" me, if there is such a thing? And speaking of mental health, do we have the same support systems in place for people with mental health diagnoses that we do for cancer? I'm going to guess not. If there's a clear connection to exercise and better mental and physical health during chemo, wouldn't it make sense to have a Well-Fit program for (say) people being treated for depression or anxiety? Something to think about.

A moment of grace this week: Teenage Son coming home from Marianne's house after Marianne had placed some of her Ash Wednesday ashes his forehead, for the purpose of then sharing them with me. Not so difficult these days to remember that we are dust; I can feel it in my achy bones. And at times I can actually be grateful for this profound Lenten truth. A post titled "The Illusion of Control, and the Sheer Volume of Effort Wasted in its Maintenance" might be in order. Or maybe that's enough said.

Heading into a weekend of feeling pretty normal, with gratitude. Hope to head to the mall to see Firstborn Daughter participate in Canstruction - a food and awareness raising event for the food bank. We'll see if all that fancy architecture education has any practical value :)

For those who like to know, my schedule goes like this: I have bloodwork and oncology every other Friday, then chemo the following Monday.  This coming Monday (the 11th) is chemo day, aka Day 1. Supportive Husband gratefully accepts your prayers ...

P.S. Here's the finished Canstruction piece - feel free to vote for them in the People's Choice category :)