I’m three chemotherapy appointments in. Halfway until I get scanned again to see how effective the drugs and healing work have been. I still dread the days following treatment. My care team is helping me to manage as best I can. They help me balance drugs to reduce nausea and other side effects. However, chemotherapy is still a cell killer, so it’s just doing what it’s gotta do. I continue to take care of myself. I sleep when I need to sleep. I eat high-protein foods that don’t make me nauseous. I keep clean to ward off infection. I meditate to centre my soul. The usual routine.
My moods have changed over the last month. It seems appropriate that I’ve been watching the gentle shifting of the leaves outside my living room window through this time. The cotoneaster hedge is particularly companionable to my shifting emotions. It’s gone from deep green through an array of oranges to crimson red and now, sparse fiery dots on dark fractaling branches. My moods, too, have passed in vibrant autumn colours: crimson frustration and heaviness the shade of brick. I’m more an even-toned umber today, resting on the stability of my branches. Perhaps tomorrow will be more saffron orange or slate blue… it remains to be seen. Nonetheless, I’m weathering the seasons of emotions as best I can; It’s stormy, to say the least.
Through the storms, I’m learning to be gentle with the expectations of myself. Tasks take twice as long, and I need more time to rest in between. In addition to that, over the last month, I have struggled to find motivation. It’s a constant hue of foggy blue pervading every attempt at action. I usually set a few tasks I want to finish. Simple things: do laundry, water plants, connect with a friend… I’m learning—with great difficulty—to accept that I can’t do everything. It’s a difficult lesson that I’ve never fully ‘got’ in my thirty-five years. I’ve consistently wanted more of myself than is humanly possible and always fallen short; It’s a tough mindset to unlearn.
Another habit that battles the high expectations is my tendency to be overly defensive of everything I choose to do, especially the pleasurable things. It’s like an internal war with a yellow army screaming, “You’re not living up to your potential” and the blue team saying, “NO, I am enough and deserve joys.” I’ve had some help finding activities that nourish me, though. The kinds of things that connect with my purpose and ignite me with meaning. For instance, I’ve started brainstorming activities that combine nature and technology, which I hope to turn into story-based activity guides. I’m reading books that nourish my creativity (Wild Mind by Bill Plotkin). And, I’m making felted mushrooms that remind me of our ecological interdependence, which will hopefully turn into gifts one day. Even though I’m not working as quickly as the yellow army might like, I find just a bit more peace when I’m pursuing something meaningful.
Perhaps it seems trite to speak of finding purpose or meaning; it certainly cozies up with such adages as “think positive” and “life is a journey.” Indeed, in the days of battling nausea and slipping between fatigue fuelled naps, it’s another red-hot army on my heels. I look at my companions, the leaves, and I wonder what they are telling me. They cling so desperately to their dark branches. Then one day, in a burst of fiery orange, they let go and allow the wind to take them. They will provide shelter for critters and eventually release their nutrients back to the soil for the next generation of plants. Each stage comes as it does. And luckily for me, the scenes come in an array of colours as vast as the rainbow! So, trite be damned, it’s just another colour of the rainbow.
Kat Dornian 