I am generally averse to lists. But on a Friday afternoon, shorthand is useful. And since I spent last evening processing my pre-scope anxiety in a rather more flowerly fashion than I’d originally intended, let me try to break it down, simply, directly.
Here it is: scopes are on Monday. I am still waiting for the call to tell me exactly when to report (kind of reminds me of surgery, kind of creeps me out.) But I’ll get the call, tomorrow I’ll stock up on all the yummy bowel-cleansing meds, and it will be off to the races. In the mean time, there are a few things that help keep me on an even keel, holding my anxiety nicely in check:
- Post-season baseball. Wednesday night, along with 46,409 of our closest friends, Mike and I lost our minds at Citizens Bank Park watching the other-wordly Roy Halladay throw the second no-hitter in the 100-plus year history of post-season baseball. To call it mind-blowing, transporting and completly inspiring would be, well, inadequate. The soul-soothing qualities of this amazing game, and the super-human feats for which it allows, are just what the doctor ordered during this jittery week.
- Sunshine. Yesterday was the first day of full, fall sun in what felt like months. This afternoon, the breeze is cool and the sky is crystal blue. Tomorrow morning, on what stands to be a similarly brilliant day, I will lace up for my longest run yet. Just thinking about the air on my skin calms me.
- Incredible friends who are giving cancer the bird. My FD sister Fridge is running the Chicago Marathon this weekend. 26.2, baby. I met this 24 year old force of nature just over a year ago, but I feel like she’s been a part of my life forever. Every so often this Sunday, while I am prepping for my scopes, I am going to close my eyes and imagine Fridge pounding it out along the streets of the Windy City, and my heart will smile. And when I am not imaging myself running along side Fridge (at least for a few miles!) I will be thinking about Shotgun, previously known as Sarah, whose concluding thoughts about her own First Descents experience quite literally left me breathless this morning. Sarah and I share an ovarian cancer diagnosis and thus a certain unshakable affinity, but watching – from afar – what she accomplished in Colorado last month only served to intensify my sense of connection to her. On Monday, as I drift off to Twlite land and get ready for the old camera-up-the-bum, I will imagine her razor-sharp humor, the wise-cracks she’d no doubt have to offer, and breathe in the heart-warming reality of our bond.
- A patient and insightful husband. No one knows me better than my fabulous husband. He gets the best and the worst of me, and this morning, as I felt the nerves creeping in, he helped me take a breath, supported my choice to forgo my beloved morning coffe, and offered me some Kava-Kava (new favorite supplement, BTW.) I may have scared him a bit yesterday afternoon when I threatened to kill someone over my missing referral, but no matter what, he stays at my side, guiding me through the rough patches. Lord knows I couldn’t do any of this without him.
So as you see, there’s actually a lot. And all of the love and awesomeness and good feeling generated by these things (and so much more) is bigger, more brilliant and more beautiful than anything cancer can throw my way.