Ever Hopeful and Still Waiting on Good News

This past weekend, I worked with a League of American Bicyclists’ National Coach at Yellow Bike Project to certify a new group of League Cycling Instructors, or LCIs. It was a long weekend: Friday night, a 12-hour Saturday for them (8 hours for me), and Sunday 8 AM to 5 PM for them (8 AM to 12:30 PM for me). Friday was challenging because I’m always kind of sick in the evenings. Saturday and Sunday, I was glad to start in the mornings, so I just fasted. 

As of today, it’s been 12 days since my immunotherapy treatment, and my stomach and head still aren’t quite right. I thought since I was now doing just that, I would feel fine. It was only after that that the doctor confirmed it would be like I have colitis.

Perhaps adjusting to fasting regularly will be a requirement. But I will admit to completely pigging out on Sunday after I got home! I thought: Stomach cramps, here I come! It is two days after my pig-out session, and I’m still paying for it.
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I’ve been waiting to write something new because I really want to write something with some finality. Something like: I’m done, or I’m cured, or it’s all over, not just one part of it. Instead, it’s like a drizzle-and-wait. I’m also so self-conscious about writing. I probably shouldn’t think about it so much, as it’s likely nobody else is or would. But this weekend I did think about those who have cancer or some other health issue and don’t talk about it.

So, I thought, if you have cancer and are out there, I see you. 

I see you carefully choose your food. I see you mask how terrible you allow yourself to feel when you’re alone. I see you hit pause on that show you’ve finally sat down to watch because you’re running to the bathroom every 5 minutes. I see you considering the timing of your own mortality. Will it happen now? Will this be it? Will it happen soon?

​I see you not wanting to check your bank balance because you know you don’t have enough, and watching what you do have dwindle away is painful. I see you try to plan for whoever might have to take care of your stuff when you’re gone. I see you think about how you might lose your house and think how it isn’t fair because all you did was get sick and get treated, and isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?

I see you get lonely, but at the same time not want to be around anyone because you feel terrible and might be running to the bathroom every five minutes. Besides, who wants to listen to you complain or moan and groan and then watch you have involuntary bodily evacuations?

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