I'm on a marathon; not a sprint

When I was a little girl, I was known to be a slow mover. If you can imagine those days at school when it was sports time and teams would be chosen by a selected leader, one by one. My memories were that I would always be one of the last ones selected because I was just not fast enough. I might add here that I became very creative about getting out of these selection processes such as offering my services to the teachers as a go-for person to run errands. Family members would chastize me to move more quickly until one day, I was involved in an art class. We were putting together a very delicate mural-type art piece. Each addition to the mural had to be dry before the next layer was added or else the whole thing was ruined. As it turned out, my mural was the only one in that class that was successfully finished because my slowness turned into patience and I carefully waited until I was sure it was ready. I received less criticism after this event.

I further learned about turning my supposed negative trait into a strength as a swimmer. Swimminng was something I adored doing and I had joined a swim club. I never won any races because I was just too slow but I was the one who could swim the longest. It was nothing for me to swim 80 lengths of the pool. In the morning of my childhood summers, before breakfast, I would go to the pool and swim for a mile. I repeated this after school and if I could get away with it, I would return after dinner and do it all over again. I can remember once that I knew that it was time to give up swimming for the season when I dove into the outdoor pool in my home town and broke ice. I learned way back then that I have an ability to endure, that my slowness translated into a determination to keep going, endlessly. 

Little did I know that I would constantly have need of this particular trait. Initially, when I was diagnosed with cancer, I would have done anything to be cured virtually immediately, or at the very least very quickly. When I went through the difficult procedure of the stem cell transplant, I had hoped like crazy that this would put me into remission and my life would return to normal, or at least as normal as possible. 

The week before last, I undertook the planned barrage of tests to determine if the cancer had disappeared. This week, I met with the doctor and PA to receive the results. It was a mixed bag. They happily told me that there was no cancer detected in my bone marrow and not in my urine sample. However, there was still a small amount of cancer found in my blood samples. This one fact changed my future treatment drastically. I was not in remission after all, but I was told I would need to go back onto the same chemotherapy treatment I experienced before the transplant although at reduced levels. The doctor told me in a matter of fact way that I would be on this treatment for at least another year and then they would review the medications. He added that there was no going back with this cancer: I would always "have it" even if they managed to get my cancer levels to zero because it was not a curable disease. (This is a new doctor who is not as positive as my previous one who has been transferred to Maryland to undertake research.) 

Naturally, I was very disappointed. I asked myself, "Can I do this and keep doing this the rest of my life?" For a couple of days I was not really sure of the answer, even if I had no choice in reality. It took me a little while to remind myself that yes, I could do this because it is in my nature to endure. It is in my nature to be a little slow about things, or, in a positive light, to be patient. It seems that I am still needing to expand on this skill and am being stretched to practice it. 

There is a whole world of difference between my swimming and coping with the long term affects of cancer. As I reflect on my future, I have come to understand that just hanging in there will not be enough. I am working on a whole attitude shift. Until this point I was focused on the results of the stem cell transplant and making it to this stage. Now is the time to think less on my treatment and more on my life, if that makes sense.

My attitude needs to be more one of gratitude which will carry me through to the end. So what do I have to be grateful for? At the time of diagnosis just before Christmas, I was one very, very ill woman. I could barely walk; I was in excruciating pain every night; I felt constantly ill and was unable eat much. I was hospitalized at the beginning of January for two weeks because the cancer played havoc with my kidneys. Although progress was very slow at the beginning, after the stem cell transplant, I am feeling more whole than I have done for the past year. My kidneys have bounced back and are doing their job again. 

During the month of September, I enrolled in a challenge with other Multiple Myeloma sufferers from all over the world to exercise at least 20 minutes each day. At the beginning of the month I pushed my limits to get to the 20 daily minutes. By the end of the month I had pushed myself so much further and was doing 200 minutes of exercise a day, walking more than 22,000 steps and climbing part-way up the mountains of Provo Canyon. I am able to eat almost normally again, having lost the metallic taste that plagued me previously. What is there not to be grateful for? Before I go back onto my chemotherapy regime, Alan and I are taking off for a few days into the wilds of Utah. That is a major move forward for me. 

I know that there will be more ups and downs in this journey but I'm in this for the long haul. I am clear that this is a marathon and not a sprint.