Orbits

            I did not mean to drop out of the entire blogosphere, but I did.  I intended to keep blogging, just not about breast cancer.  (You didn’t really want to follow me through the next two years of quarterly port flushes, blood tests, and check-ups with my oncologist, did you?  Or biannual mammograms, ultrasounds, and check-ups with my surgeon?)  I had to find an end to orbiting around cancer, so April was it:  one year since I found the lump.

            Thus begins my cancer survivor life, which is still evolving, but my energy has returned to pre-cancer levels thanks to the passage of time, many naps, and the twice-weekly exercise group I attend.  It’s called Fall Proof, a class to better one’s balance and improve fitness, and it’s fun.  I’m down to a nap a day.  I still have a wide swath of dark tan left behind by radiation treatments, and stretching my right arm above my head is painful.  But my hair continues to grow thick and curly, and my fingernails are strong for the first time in my life.  The hair and nails, I believe, are my body’s late response to the chemotherapy months.  Those keratin cells seem to be in overdrive.

            But life is more than exercise, a one-sided tan, hair, and fingernails, is it not?  I choose to be amused at my never-ending chemo brain.  Just this afternoon I was refilling my ice water and making a glass of iced coffee.  I added ice, poured coffee concentrate and half-and-half, and added water.  I was surprised to see white, foamy bubbles appear.  “What’s wrong with my water dispenser?” I wondered.  And then I realized I had added the half-and-half to the water tumbler instead of to the coffee glass.

            “Earth to Janis.  Time to stop writing about cancer-related topics.”

            “Oops.  Switching to new orbit.” 

My summer orbit should involve a late spring cleaning, but it does not.  Old non-cleaning habits die hard.  Last week I read three books and did dishes a few times.  There is also the matter of three sermons to prepare for the last three weeks of July when I’m preaching during our pastor’s vacation.  

Several weeks ago, I began spending a lot more time with my grandchildren, despite their runny noses, and promptly caught the cold they were sharing.  But it was worth it, of course.  There is nothing quite like Benjamin’s welcoming happy dance, Joelle’s pretend play in which I am always named “Bus Driver,” and Josiah’s “Ga-ga” greeting.  Joelle and I sit on the loveseat while she tells me where to drive, Benjamin grabs my hands to request another round of “Wheels on the Bus,” and Josiah wants up on my lap so we can laugh at each other. 

On the less-than-happy side has been my son’s worsening struggle with mental illness and homelessness.  But he is in treatment for the first time in a dozen years, and the mental health system is working the way it should with hospitalizations as necessary and closely monitored follow-up care. 

Isn’t that the way our personal orbits work?  Our lives revolve around what is truly important to us, whether it is happy or heartbreaking.  Here is my hope:

“The Sun of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings . . .” (Malachi 4:2)