Strawberry Jam

I have spent the past two days in the land of the living. Don, Jenny, and I spent two days slicing and mashing and cooking and canning strawberry jam. It took every ounce of energy I had and then some! I was so completely and gloriously immersed in the simple joy of it that I hardly thought about cancer at all. To me, that is the ultimate of victories: the moments that are so wonderful or so consuming that the thought of cancer and pain and fear and disability are far from my mind.

Still, there is that part of me which is ever cognizant of the fact that this joy -- this struggle -- this LIFE -- could come to a screeching halt at any time. Not only do I realize that the clock is ticking on the doctor's estimated expiration date (THREE brief and precious months have already passed since he told us his "best guess"), but I also understand the truth about late stage cancer. It can take a sharp and dramatic turn for the worse, often without warning. And then the life that hangs so fragilly in the balance loses it valiant fight against the monster. All of the hope, the struggle, the love of family and friends, and all of the desperate will to survive cannot stop its terrible progression or write a happy ending to the story.

But even if there can't be a happy ending, can't there still be a happy now?

In pursuit of it, I strive to slurp every last drop of joy out of every day. I leap daily without hesitation in the deep, bubbling stream of life, and when I am too exhausted to swim any more, I sit on the sidelines and bask in the happy memories of those moments spent, not fighting or suffering or worrying, but LIVING. I guess it's my way of sticking out my tongue at the cancer, of announcing to the universe that "I have cancer, but it doesn't have me!' (Remember the old Alka Seltzer commercials?)

Should I pace myself a little better? Probably. Work harder on my physical therapy and constant recovery? Undoubtedly. But most of the time I choose instead to simply take each day as it comes, filling the hours with as much activity as my poor old tired body can withstand. Then I retreat to my chair to ease the pain in my back and to manage the mundane, ordinary affairs of the day. And when I fall into bed much later than I should, exhausted and achy, I drift off into the happiest of dreams where I am healthy and beautiful, young and whole.

It may not be the smartest way to live, but it makes me very, very happy.

:-) Sharon

P.S. --Speaking of happy, I got good news from my blood draws today. My white and red blood cells counts are both great. Yippee!