On moving forward ... or something like that

It's Day 21 of my fourth and final chemotherapy treatment ... and boy do I have a lot to think about. I developed a serious case of tunnel vision throughout all of this. Since the very first day I was diagnosed, and especially since the very first day I began chemo, all I could think about was how happy I would be when it was all over. I passed each and every day away, striving with all I could for the end of all this mess. Was that a good idea? I'm sure people would have varying opinions on the matter. I do believe that spending all your time wishing for the future is merely a form of wasting your life away, but I also believe that in this particular situation tunnel vision became a tool that helped me to get through it all without 'cracking up' before it had a chance to end.

And here we are. At the end of the tunnel. Or is it? I expected much more of 'the end' (or the new beginning) than this that I am now experiencing. I guess I never really knew where the end of the tunnel would lead me, I simply knew that it could only be better than what I was experiencing thus far. Perhaps I trivialized moving forward--it is much more difficult than I ever imagined. Now that I am left to begin picking up the pieces of my shattered life, I am also left to wonder where I should begin.

I would like to get back into running and playing squash, but my nervousness about my current physical strength holds me back. Am I moving too quickly? I worry that I will be placing too much strain on my already weakened body. I joined the gym to begin weight training, but I also find myself nervous to go there in fear that, again, it may be too strenuous too soon. What if I faint or get sick there? My plans for getting back into physical activity in full force at 'the end of the tunnel' now seem jeopardized. It will not be as easy as I imagined ...

I would like to begin teaching again very much as well. I miss being around children and I miss the business of my previous life (although I never thought I would be saying this a year ago!). I was always such an active person ... constantly busy and 'on the go.' My recent house-ridden life has thrown my mind a huge curve ball. I'm not used to lazing around in boredom and, frankly, I do not enjoy it in the least. Children have always been a part of my life. I enjoy being around them-- their innocence and naivete gives me a fresh outlook on life. My ties with children were abruptly dismantled when all of this began. So, as you can imagine, teaching was also a big piece of the tunnel's end. However, now that I am "here," I wonder if it may be too soon for me to get back into the stressful and demanding work I once did. I planned to begin substitute teaching and offering private piano lessons in mid-March (following March break), but I have recently had various people warn me that I may be moving too fast. They say both my body AND my mind need lots of time to heal and rest after all they have been through. Now I wonder, should I begin teaching next month? Or will this jeopardize the healing process?

I would also very much like to pick my social life up where I left it when all this began. My life was once bustling with friendships and social events, but since hell broke loose, that part of my life was quickly put on hold. Now that I have been basically house-bound for over half a year, I find this difficult. I do not feel as though I am in the correct mindset for 'partying' and I happen to be in Cape Breton--home of pogy and beer (which means that this is what most people my age are interested in doing with their spare time). And, athough I thought this experience would bring me closer to friends, it actually managed to distance me from many people who I once considered best friends. This was not only because of my inability to go out and do most things that other people my age were doing, but also because of others' inability to accomodate my temporary disabilities. I have heard so many cancer survivors (especially my age) that say that many people whom they would have expected to be there for them just abandoned them during the most difficult time in their lives. The same rings true for me. It is difficult to understand how anyone could behave this way, but it also really allows you to see who your true friends are. Because of all this, however, I feel reluctant to rekindle some of those friendships and I'm left to shuffle through the remains.

Finally, I saw 'the end of the tunnel' as being the time when I would return to my normal life. But frankly, being hairless is making normalcy seem impossible. Although I am finished chemo, my hair has just begun showing signs of regrowth. I feel as though it will be a very long process that will make moving on very challenging. And I'll add a newsflash, my eyelashes HAVE begun thinning over the past week (so, approx. 2 weeks into the fourth chemo treatment). They have not completely fallen out, but they seem thinner than usual. My eyebrows still seem the same. But, if I lose my eyelashes and eyebrows completely it will make the process of moving on even more difficult for me.

So, I suppose the end of the tunnel is not as cut and dry as I once assumed it would be. The process of getting my life back is going to be a slow and sometimes painful one and will be almost as though I am gathering fallen pieces and slowly placing them back together. I will need to acquire as much patience and diligence as is humanly possible. My task now is to learn how to keep the tunnel vision that has gotten me this far, while at the same time learning not to waste my life away wishing and waiting for days to come. I really do not want to take anything for granted. I want to cherish everyday, even if it has its challenges. I feel that this will be the only way for me to really enjoy the process of moving forward.

Do you believe
In what you see?
Motionless wheel,
Nothing is real.
Wasting my time
In the waiting line.
Do you believe
In what you see?

...Zero7- In the Waiting Line...
(Listen to this song in the side panel)