I have to take a time out from the all-about-me thing to say that the group of people that is my community is pretty stinking amazing. Practically the minute I was diagnosed, Moria showed up with dinner two weeks in a row, then proceeded to organize a mindblowing calendar of dinner makers. I continue to feel kind of stupid that all of these busy, working people are doing my cooking, and I suppose at this point I can probably get myself to cook, but I cannot overstate the morale boost these meals give to the family.
Like probably everyone in my situation, I never pictured myself on the receiving end of this kind of gesture. Not that it wouldn't happen if need be, just that I of course did not have a picture in my mind of me, having chemotherapy, lying around underneath a small poodle for large swaths of the day. Believe me, my year of unemployment last year did not involve watching tv during the day. This year of unemployment looks a lot different. And a lot of not spending my days screaming in frustration comes from accepting what I am doing now. Acceptance is partly fueled by our friends' practical response. Does that make sense? If everyone else is just figuring out the best and most useful way to get us through this, then I guess by default I had better also.
So, leave it to me to overanalyze the dinner calendar to pieces, when my intention is just to say thanks, you are all amazing.
One week from today I get to have another chemo. Yes, I am counting down the days. Years and years of swimming a mile in the pool has me automatically segmenting the weeks. 18 weeks of chemo. 1800 yards. As much as swimming, for me, is about an attempt to be present, it is sometimes unavoidable doing the fraction thing. 200 yards down, 1/9 done. Well, I am two weeks down and 1/9 done. The beauty of this bizarre system lies in how quickly the fraction changes. 300 yards, 1/6 of a mile. Three weeks will suddenly be 1/6 done. Of course, this is all hopeful and assuming no delays.
Today is a swim day, and the truth is my goal is always to can the fraction game and just acknowledge the lap I am on. Seriously, as cheesy as this sounds, this is why I cannot live without swimming.