“I have a surprise for you.”

Lifting my head from the grass, I see Dave, my friend and father-in-law, walking around the corner carrying a rake, yardwork-dirty and eager with a child-like smile. “You know, it’s just like our lives; messy and tangled but there is so much beauty.” He went on to tell me about the lilies, the pink, tall, perfectly-in-bloom lilies he discovered after clearing a patch of brush in our backyard. As he spoke he teared up and so did I. Just days earlier Dave completed radiation for prostate cancer, something he brushes past, insisting all the energy be put toward me and my healing. We’ve never really spoken of it, but there is a quiet recognition, a deepening connection we feel with one another of what it means to face cancer. The tears and the awe come much easier now.

This has been the week of recognition. Since beginning the practice of putting myself in the way of beauty, I lift my head and look around more, listening more attentively. Hours spent in waiting rooms this week, I watched and felt. The infusion center is a cross-section of humanity, all ages and ethnicities and sizes and stages of suffering**. We are the same. I leave my phone and go on short walks, chatting up the trees, asking their permission to be touched, seeing if the wind moves their branches, a recognition of “yes you may”. We are the same. Looking in the mirror I scan my body and see a skeleton, all 100 pounds of skin and bones, a new body - until I get to my eyes. I see brightness there, so much life and light. The body and what it can do has changed - but we are the same.

Evan, like his dad, in his happy place working in the yard.

In my strength this past week I had large chunks of time where I was just Hayley. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to not wake up or go through a day as a sick person. My appetite for food and life returned. All my tubes out and healed, I went water walking in a pool - my first time submersed in water since a bath last December. Friends visited including a backyard spa day with my BFF Sarah, laying on a blanket watching the clouds and sorting out our lives with fresh nails, fancy drinks, and stinky face masks. Inspired by images and photos, I spent days pulling from magazines to create a vision board for a future I so desperately long for. Evan BBQ’d for the whole family and I shared tea with my friends and spiritual gurus Cindy, Wayne, and Donna in my mom’s blooming garden. And, oh, did we eat. Fresh sourdough bread and the sweetest grilled sweet corn, tomatoes off the vine and deep dish pizza, ice cream cones and the juiciest peach I’ve ever experienced that made the corners of my mouth ache. I woke up in time for sunrise and sat in stillness while the sun set just visible through the branches of the backyard honey locust, petting a cat on my lap.

Guru tea ‘n talk: (L to R) Cindy, Wayne, Mom (not pictured: Donna) in mom’s stunning, well-loved garden.

We were with our dear friends Frank and Shannon enjoying a pre-Buddha bowl cheese plate on a rainy Saturday afternoon when we got the call from Dr. Mou with results from a late-Friday night PET scan. We’d been quiet about this scan, knowing the stakes we wanted to feel it close and first. We knew there were three paths the results would take us down. Path 1: Clear of cancer. This will speed the process to bone marrow transplant in 1-4 weeks. Path 2: Some cancer. We’d try one more round of the inpatient chemo in an effort to get it all and get to transplant. Path 3: Cancer is resistant to treatment. While there are a few things to try, this likely takes a cure or transplant off the table. Evan and I were prepared for it all having been here before; a recognition we wish we didn’t have to bear but will be part of our present and future - so we surrender.

I know his voice. It was high and happy and he didn’t have to say anything for me to cry those easy tears. Dr. Mou shared the news of no signs of cancer and that we are moving on to transplant. Depending on donor status it could be a week or a month. Knowing my history, if it’s more than a two-week wait I’ll likely have some kind of chemotherapy to ensure I’m as clear of cancer as possible, giving me the best possible chance of cure from the transplant. Right now I know little about the next chapter except I DON’T HAVE TO GO TO GET TREATMENT NEXT WEEK!! Besides infusions, I hope for more alive living. I have big plans for a proper diner breakfast, maybe a bookstore or Jazz Under the Stars or a walk in the woods. I hope for more recognition of what it feels like to live a life and to build strength in every aspect of myself as I walk into the unknown once again - an unknown that may be my biggest trial yet.

NOTES:

** While very much not a doctor, my time with other cancer patients have shown me that it impacts truly every type of person, not just smokers or fat people or sugar addicts or any of the other stereotypes represented to sell books about all the ways you should change yourself or your body. I was asked this week if I had any advice on what to watch for as signs to seek out medical assistance or dos/don’ts I wish I would have followed before I had cancer. The answer to both is the same: listen to YOUR body. The better your relationship, the more you can interpret the needs (voice) of your body the better you can advocate for it. It knows when it feels “off” or is demanding rest or even what it wants to eat. Trust YOUR body. In my opinion, there is no more urgent or important work to do than honing this intuition…and it takes a lifetime.

Stayin’ Alive

100-day project kick-off.

Put yourself in the way of beauty.