Ebb and flow

Today we drove in early to meet with our parents and the oncologist and see what treatments are available for his lymphoma. People reading this, I hope you never have to do the same. It's that time of life when the children and parents trade places. This happens all the time, I know. But how the heart aches seeing one's parents so vulnerable. And my father is not a man of many words or outward emotion, so to watch him receive the news was devastating.

I had to come home afterward because today I'm meeting with my own oncologist to learn how my body is responding to this new maintenance drug. It's expected that my red and white blood cells, and platelets will go down, but how much? My liver numbers might increase, might not. It might push my CA-125 up, which is frightening to me. I might also be fine.

So yeah, a heavy day overall.

I think of the phrase "ebb and flow," words that were so comforting to me as I struggle with some mental health issues. The universe wants balance. The bad things will not last forever, nor the good things. Ebb and flow. Summer, then winter. Darkness, then light.

I think of Rainer Maria Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet, a book I took great comfort in while living alone in a foreign country. This passage in particular:

     "... you mustn't be frightened... if a sadness rises in front of you, larger than any you have ever seen; if an anxiety, like light and cloud-shadows, move over your hands and over everything you do. You must realize that something is happening to you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand and will not let you fall."

The thing is, most of the time I try to keep a positive outlook, try to focus on living and going forward. When my mind races, I meditate, I go for a walk, I play A LOT of Candy Crush. I make lists: trips I want to take, cakes I want to bake, possible jobs I might want when I am ready to work again. It gets me through the days, anyway.

But there are dark times, too.  I think of all the grim statistics and probabilities, and oh man. It feels insurmountable. On the way to my father's appointment, I had an awful thought: what if this thing takes us both? I probably shouldn't admit that thought so openly. Please be assured, it passed.

I want to focus on my forward progress, but my father's diagnosis is taking precedence. I want to look ahead and not see sadness, but sometimes I feel my body absorbing it, like stars into dust. Ebb and flow, though, right? Ebb and flow.