Here is a blog I wrote on the third day after my first chemo in 2019:
Discovery! After consulting all my research, my clinic, and googling online like a madwoman, I found out something I never expected. NOBODY KNOWS WHAT “NORMAL” IS GOING TO LOOK LIKE DURING AND AFTER CHEMO. Seriously. Nobody knows. There is no template. A nurse kindly put it this way to me, “Everyone has to blaze their own trail.”
“Blaze” is a good word for it, don’t you think? I’m blazing right now. I’m blazing angry with cancer. My body is blazing with powerful chemicals on a seek-and-destroy mission. So what now? What do I do with all this blazing?
I keep recalling what pathologist friend Tom shared with me about chemo, “Sometimes you just have to fight fire with fire.”
Okay, I guess I’ve got the fire thing fairly covered.
On the positive side, I’ve always loved the metaphor of blazing a new trail. I didn’t expect it in this context, but maybe I can find something good in this. Where did the expression “blaze a trail” come from anyway? Googling again, I now know it’s based on an old Norse noun for “blaze” (a white mark on a horse’s face). In its literal sense, blazing a trail refers to the practice of making white marks on trees by chipping off bits of their bark to mark a route for those who are following you.
What have I done before when I’ve blazed trails in other life chapters? Maybe I can use the same process for this?
I know my best successes have been the result of having a clear vision of the end game. Ah, vision. That can be tricky, but the truth is I’m going nowhere without it. That’s how I can map out the destination. What does the goal look like? Feel like? Accomplish? What’s the reason for it? Why does it matter? You know . . . the stuff hope is made out of. I often wrote about it in Beating Cancer One Truth at a Time. In fact, I included it in every chapter. Even in the introduction, I said, “Your imagination will envision something, one way or another. Why not feed it a positive outcome you can believe in and fight for?”
Bingo.
So instead of envisioning myself vomiting for the next five months or any of the other dastardly possibilities, I decide right now to aim higher. How can I aim higher today? I think I’ll start with asking myself a question. What have I learned so far with chemo?
Let’s see. In a practical sense, yesterday I learned that making myself drink, eat, and walk helped me more than anything else. I didn’t feel like doing any one of those things. But I did them anyway. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Hardly worth mentioning, or even simplistic? But, believe me, those everyday minimal, life-maintenance tasks seem monumental today. I decided to consume one glass of water every two hours, eat a small amount of food in increments spaced out during the day, and walk about ten to fifteen minutes several times a day, even if it’s just down the hall and back. (I live in an apartment).
Maybe my simple lessons in the fire trail of chemo treatment will help someone else someday. If nothing else, I can offer the gift of compassion and the knowledge that I really do understand what they’re going through. Come to think of it, that’s the vision I used for my first two books. I thought I was done writing about cancer, but the vision isn’t complete yet, is it?
So today, I choose to blaze a strong trail, a chemo journey I can use to help others. Someday when I get past all this fire, when the path becomes clearer, when I am just a few steps away from survivorship again. Five months sounds so long, but I’m going to get past it, and I choose today to get the maximum benefit of the experience and pass it on.
Then, by the grace of God, I will help someone else blaze their trail to health and a stronger life. And, after that, their trail can help someone else, and there’s the vision at the end of my trail.
Blaze away, Marianne.
© Copyright Marianne McDonough 2019
Image: Beautiful © Kelly Vandellen | Dreamstime.com
