trials, exaltations, and pin-up ariel

The final portion of the bone marrow biopsy came back this morning, and it’s good news. I’m not in complete remission, but that was expected somewhat. However, I have less than 5% blasts in the marrow, which is where they needed me to be to prep for transplant. This is great news! It looks like I won’t be needing another round of the induction chemo after all. For this I am so grateful. The team told me this morning that it may just be a few more days while my counts return. No date yet, but I’m celebrating as best I can! It may look like I just painted my nails, but it's me rejoicing and stemming off fear. Gotta use what I got. Pink nail polish, a cup of Atomic coffee, and scouting the street out my window for signs of life (no one walks down this street!?). And of course, my reliable 40 minute getaway via Battlestar Galactica.

In other news, I’m almost completely bald. To be honest, this is harder than I thought it would be. I miss my hair. It is chilly. I miss it when I look in the mirror. It’s really surprising how different and unsettling a person looks without any of that stuff. Even the ¼ inch buzz provided more comfort physically and emotionally than it’s shorter cousin, 0 inches. I try to play it off with comedy (and this does work most of the time): putting funny ribbons and things on my head that make me look like a newborn (frightening.). But often I feel really ugly. It’s hard when you already have some bad things going, to then add another layer of self-consciousness on top of it all. Add to that hours of sitting around with minimal movement, because exercise is more tiring than I could have ever imagined. Even though I was fortunate to get a stationary bike in my room, even 20 minutes wear me out and I’m falling asleep by 8pm every night. During my waking hours alone I’m basically spending time watching my muscles dwindle. Greetings, flabby flabberson.

I know this is just part of this course, that “everything I’m feeling is normal” which everyone keeps reminding me. This is only minimally comforting. And though I try to cling somewhat to the history of people who have gone before me and endured this and emerged on the other side healthy and beautiful—in spite of all, still I find myself on this side of the wall to be scaled. And it’s a towering wall, cemented and sterile. I’m trying to squash my face up to the peep holes to see through to the other side, but they are few and far between and obscured. I often have a hard time imagining my life after this; there are so many unknowns. Sometimes it seems like too many.

My body has been through a lot.  It is now working hard to recover from all the poison that killed my blood. I mean, what the hell, it’s not supposed to take hits like this, my poor cells are probably freaking out. I need to love them and appreciate the work they’re doing. I need to take it easy and let this body do what’s it’s programmed to do. But it’s hard to do that. I want to take control; I want to see my body strong in the way that I’m used to. But that is not what is available to me right now. My body is not exhibiting strength in the way that I’m used to. I feel weak, ugly, pale, naked and flabby. But even as I write this, I know that this body is exhibiting strength in other ways. It took a real blow from the chemo, and is responding really well, against odds thrown in its path. It’s averted a lot of side effects for me, extraordinarily, keeping me feeling relatively normal this past week. In spite of being pummeled and pillaged and squashed, my feeble bone marrow is still trying it’s best to heal me. And I’m sorry that it has to be sacrificed on the altar at the end of this, in order to get my body healthy and functioning, to keep it from killing itself. My immune system didn’t mean to go haywire and revolt. Here I find a hilariously accurate reference to BSG, oh no I’m turning into that person—this is coming together in my mind as I write this—My immune system is Sharon Valerii, a cylon who didn’t know she was a machine, who operates very fully as human; but her fracked up programming comes alive without her consent, and she does bad things. I really feel for Sharon, she’s one of my favorite characters. Perhaps now I know why.

And now, my crossover to NERD in utterly complete. Alas.

So here’s to me finding ways to love and appreciate my body and what it’s doing for me. It’s surviving, in spite of all. The best thing I can do for it is to think positively, to have compassion on it. It’s the only thing I think I can do. So I will try. To look beyond the seeming failures of outward strength that I’m used to, and to exult the signs of strength that it’s actually showing. 

In the meantime,