Greetings!
I'm on another chemo safari for the next three weeks, with unexpected twists and turns. Each hill and valley gives me new vistas and new challenges. Woke up this morning determined to traverse the day with grit, but the lumbar puncture was a bit more than I could bear. My stoic attitude began to break down when the needle didn't get into the right spot and the doctor (too inexperienced in my opinion) kept having to poke it in and out, each time with excruciating pain. Finally, after about 20 mins. of pure agony, the chemo went in and the needle could come out, for good... Needless (needle-less??) to say, I will request another doctor for next week!!!!
This was all on top of just 1-2 hours of sleep last night -- a loooooong night of chemo and a substance called sodium bicarbonate to protect my kidneys. Today I have to drink at least a half gallon of liquid in order to avoid developing kidney stones. With that much liquid going into me last night (about another half gallon of the sodium bicarbonate and the chemo), you can imagine what I was doing every 10-15 mins.!!! Sleep was impossible.
So this safari (so far) has taken me on a ride into some rocky places. There were some bright "vistas" along the way, however. Some wonderful people stopped by my room -- hospital staff and a good friend, Mel), and Peter was there during the puncture to offer moral support and humor. He developed this "warrior" song and dance that always brings a smile to my face, even during the most painful part of the procedure.
An elderly woman who volunteers here at the hospital just brought me a warm, homemade chocolate chip cookie. Delicious! Will soon try to take a nap. The blinds are drawn, lights out (it's the middle of the day) and I'm all tucked in this fairly comfortable hosp. bed. No interruptions for a few hours. There is so much of this mexatrexate in me at this point I can literally taste it in my mouth. Yuck!
As I was laying in bed last night I kept repeating these words over and over again, trying to feel them deeply in every fiber of my being: "My body cells are made of Light. It permeates every particle of my being. I am living in that Light. This healing Light fills me within and without." It helped shift my attention from the chemo. I need this shift more than the other earlier treatments as I begin to understand and feel the side effects of the chemo more.
Peter reminded me during the puncture to welcome the pain and not resist it. In all honesty, I found that exceedingly difficult...though if some of that welcoming filtered through just by a crack, which I think it did, it helped get me through. I love the reminders to welcome life's experiences , hard as it is sometimes, and to know that there is purpose here. I can create purpose and destiny by how I meet them each day.
I am looking forward to a beautiful pond just around the jagged corner of my sojourn..with birds singing and soft grasses waving gently in the breeze... When I keep this journey in perspective, that day is truly not too far off
Love to all of you, Heidi
Dearest Heidi,
ReplyDeleteMy eyes filled with tears as I read your post today. I am visualizing you surrounded with that Light and sending you lots of warm love and friendship from a distance.
It occurred to me today that when you get through this ordeal -- and I firmly believe that you WILL get through it -- that your incredible writings on this blog will make a beautiful book that you can share with others facing similar challenges. I already can clearly visualize you healthy, strong, and vibrant -- traveling around the U.S. on your whirlwind book-signing tour! :)
With warmest wishes, Ellie
Namasté, Heidi ~
ReplyDeleteI've been in some serious pain in my life, so I am holding space for you to get through these sessions (and getting another Dr. !!).
I'm with Ellie; I like the idea of your using these posts as the basis for a book also. Heck, girl, you can even do the illustrations yourself !!
Have a deep and restful sleep and hold that intention of being Light.
Honestly Heidi!
ReplyDeleteWhen you get through this chemo jungle, you will be able to safari to where ever your heart desires in celebration and thanksgiving. You will know all your warrior songs by heart and perhaps even teach them to others. Any art that you manage to do now, no matter how brief or basic will be a treasure to you and to all of us. Love to my muse sister!!!!! ♥♥♥♥
Dear Sweet Heidi,
ReplyDeleteIt is almost surreal to read your posts, and I am amazed every time I do, the amount of love and light you hold in your words, you truly are one of the most deeply spiritual and remarkable women I know.
I am so proud to call you my friend.
I am sending you good thoughts, healing light and love every day, every moment.
And I agree, a book would be a fabulous idea!!!
Love,
Allee
Dearest Heidi,
ReplyDeleteSo sorry to hear about your difficulties with needles.
I, too, had intense pain when being injected or when the technicians came for blood draws. You see, my veins are very fragile and would just collapse (and I also have fibromyalgia, which is also very painful). Therefore, it was very necessary for me not to jerk from the pain, which is almost impossible in normal consciousness, so the veins wouldn't collapse.
On one particularly difficult day (because my limbs were already so black and blue) a third phlebotomist was called. While waiting for him I remembered that in meditation the life force is withdrawn from the sensory nerves and the feeling is "disconnected" from the brain's sensation of pain.
So I asked the technician if he could give me about 20 seconds to allow me to distract my mind and to do some "deep breathing" before he started to try to take the blood. He said, "Yes", and so I started to practice the Hong Sau technique. My gosh, it worked so wonderfully that I developed the habit, asked each time for about 20 seconds to quiet myself so I wouldn't jerk, and it saved me from so much pain and suffering. I still do it when they need to get blood for lab tests.
Just thought I'd share this with you in case it helps.
With all good wishes,
God bless,
Sharifah.
You are a warrior, Cousin. I picked up a copy of "Cancer Vixen" for you, but suddenly wonder if you might already have it?! Let me know if you do, so I can pass it on to someone else who could use a little humor/insight/graphic novel take on the whole experience. I guess you're living proof of the old adage that "If it doesn't kill you it'll make you stronger". May your strength sustain you through this and grow and grow and grow!
ReplyDeleteWelcome the pain? Screw the pain. Say goodbye to the illness and welcome the wellness. You are a child of God (and an amazing one at that!). Why should you have anything less than infinite joy and fulfillment? The sun and moon should switch places before you should suffer another day.
ReplyDeleteMy dear neighbor, Heidi,
ReplyDeleteI continue to be amazed at the grace and spirituality with which you meet these most difficult treatments. I have no doubt that you will be an inspiration to those who follow in your footsteps. Just keep your eye on that vision of health and happiness that will be yours at the end of this rocky road. Thinking of you every day and praying that you will have continued strength and resilience. Julia
Well, heck, dear Heidi, now I'm thinking, "Why stop with just a book?!?" If Elizabeth Gilbert could get a movie made out of her ramblings over a broken heart following a divorce, can we imagine what could be done with the fighting-for-your-life battle you are waging? Can you imagine how many people around the world would be inspired by it? Can you imagine the script and voice-overs containing words from your unbelievable, richly worded blog writings?
ReplyDeleteWhich actress would you like to play you? (Sandra Bullock, maybe?) And which hunk of a leading man could be your Peter? Go ahead and day dream, Heidi. Maybe it will take your mind off the pain and nausea -- at least for a few minutes.
-- Ellie