It being a chemo weekend this Saturday and Sunday, I watched a few films.  Since I'm a writer, a weaver of meaning, I also tend to notice when the universe smacks me on the head with a theme and says "Pay Attention!"

That's what happened with the three films I saw: Grand Hotel, The Reader and The Day the Earth Stood Still.  First, let me say that these films were wildly different in quality, in story and in approach.  I liked all three films.  Grand Hotel is a classic and, as I covered yesterday, has much to recommend itself to the viewer.  The Reader is a tough, demanding film with touchy subject matter and thoughtful nuance.  The Day the Earth Stood Still is a much-reviled remake of a classic movie that had enough action and story to carry me through what most folks didn't care for...and I really appreciated the performances of Kathy Bates and Jennifer Connelly.  (I must also confess to being a sucker for Keanu Reeves even though most folks I know would find that inconsistent with my general tastes.)

Despite the differences in quality and story line, each of these films came across to me as a metaphor for what it means to be human.  In each film, deeply flawed characters express or experience moments of grace.  They do so in various ways.  In one film, an ex-Nazi guard (and arguably a child abuser) tells the truth about horrific things she had done in the past.  In one, a thief gives back what he's stolen out of compassion for the man he's robbed.  In the other, a woman and her stepson forgive each other and thereby (spoiler) save the world.

It got me to thinking, seeing all of these movies, about how we are capable...each and every one of us...of terrible evil and wonderous good.  How we make choices in our lives and sometimes they're the wrong choices.  How those wrong choices can inform us to make better choices next time.  And just how damn essential it is to understand that we and those we share this journey with are human.  Flawed.  And yet able to, in our best moments, approach the divine through mercy, kindness, understanding, and something so simple as reading a book to a person who's done nothing to deserve it.

That's what my day has been today...okay I talked to a lot of my friends and did a bit of laundry, too.  I had my (uneventful) MRI (which we hope will also be "unremarkable" when the doc discusses it on Tuesday).  Picked up a CD of scans in prep for my 2nd opinion with Dr. Josef Lenz next month. 

I did have the pleasant experience of running into my surgeon, Dr. Maeda, who told me I look great and inquired about my golf score.  So I was able to brag that the scores are going down again and was boosted by his positive comments.  He's truly a wonderful surgeon and a great person.

I also enjoyed a bit of chatting up strangers today.  Spoke with the guard by the hospital about the steamy weather.  Encouraged a total stranger who had just opened up Lisey's Story by Stephen King that he'd made a good choice and would enjoy the book.

Now I find I am headed down to the vle (very low energy) phase of being disconnected from chemo.  So a nap is in order and Dan's brought home some yummy things for dinner.  After nap, a poke of Neupogen, dinner and early to bed.  Gotta rest up for the shower on Sunday!

Isn't it funny how we keep relearning the same lessons over and over in our lives?  In my case, I have a very strong penchant for seeing life in either/or, all or nothing terms.

This trait has stood me in good stead when I've needed to compete or to excel at some task or objective.  Yet in this brave new world of cancer, I find it serves me less well than what I'm calling "the third way."

As an example, I woke up on Sunday feeling (as I now recognize I do on most post-chemo Sundays) rather grumpy.  What was bothering me, I wondered.  Why was my soul inhabited by a foul, cranky, three-year-old?

I journaled for a bit and it occurred to me that I have been telling myself all through this chemo process that I am allowed Thursday afternoon through Saturday night as my "VLE" days.  By Sunday, I should be back to "normal."

So I asked Dan, and he confirmed, that by and far Sundays were my worst emotional days.  As he put it, "You want it to be done and it's not."  Upon further reflection, I realized that there's also a bit of all or nothing thinking in the mix.  Either I'm 100% on Sunday or the day is a loss.  I have failed.  Hence the three-year old.

What a weight off my shoulders when I realized that this is an artificial, self-made goal.  There is no guidebook for chemo weeks that says, "If you're not feeling 100% on Sunday, you've failed at chemo and you're going to get a "C" in chemo."

So I relaxed, passed an extremely pleasant and low-key day with Dan.  Lesson learned, right?  I can check the box and move on?

Not quite.  I woke up on Monday and really wanted to be done with cancer entirely.  I've learned my lesson.  The tumors can just go away now and I can go back to "real life."

What is real life?  Well, in my mind, I had decided that real life included travel (to Machu Picchu for my 50th), finishing and publishing my novel, playing golf, helping folks out who need a bit of caretaking, enjoying a good chardonnay most evenings.  You know.  Regular life.

And I was pretty cranky about the idea that I don't get to have that now because of cancer.  So my wonderful therapist Anne and I discussed times in life where my expectations have not been met due to shifting realities.  We talked about being able to hold onto dreams without giving them deadlines.  We talked about being able to say "someday" instead of "on this date."

And somewhere during the conversation it clicked that I was learning, AGAIN, the same lesson from Sunday.  It's not either I get my old life back or nothing.  The truth is that I'm on this chemo path for a while.  In the meantime, I'm living my life.  My real life.  Because sometimes life throws you a whammy and bam, you're on a different path than you planned on taking.

And that path...well, the view from here is pretty awesome most days.  And the hike is far more challenging than climbing Machu Picchu will be, I suspect.

So I've decided that this process of growth, where I keep learning the same thing over and over is a type of meditation--where one returns daily to the same topic (say compassion or the third way) and plumbs it again for new insight.

Pretty good work for a nondescript Tuesday, I'd say!

A few Sundays back, the Sunday Question was about the distinction of compassion.  I've been dabbling a bit in meditation recently and started where the Dalai Lama suggests one starts meditation...by concentrating on compassion.  Last night, during my meditation, a thought came to me about compassion.  I recorded it on the flyleaf of a book and recaptured it in my journal this morning.

Compassion is a meeting of the self in the other (and of the other in the self).  The meeting is without envy or pity and each participant leaves the encounter enriched by witnessing (and being witness to) a shared humanity.

I think I'm onto something here...and while it sounds very Eastern in thought, I believe it's exactly the way Christ encountered individuals (at least as it's recorded in the Bible).  He was present.  He got it.  He spoke the truth of the situation, regardless of the other person's "ears to hear."

Just some food for thought on a Friday afternoon.

By the way, the flower above is a bromeliad in bloom.  It was given to me by my friend, Katy, a month or so ago.  Isn't it gorgeous?

Had quite a day today, including 9 holes of golf with my friend, Renee'.  I shot a 49 and was quite pleased overall.  Again, the course was nearly deserted and so we played without any pressure at all.  It was a chilly day but not too chilly to play!

I also did a bunch o' chores getting ready for chemo week and chatted with my sister-in-law, Cindy.  One of the topics we covered is what my therapist, Anne, calls "gems in the mine," after a metaphor I was using about dark days feeling like I was down in a mine.

Cancer has, believe it or not, been a source of blessing in my life.  I've slowed down, experienced more joy in the moment, found out that I have an amazing cadre of family and friends who love me more than I'd imagined possible for this ol' gal, grown even closer to the man of my dreams and my best friend...really, the list could go on.

Not that I'd recommend this path to anyone...and I'm eager for the day I'm off this path and recovered from cancer.  And even so...

So as I toddle off to fold laundry and watch DVR'd shows, I will just share with you that one of my friends wished me a "Happy Chemo Week" this week.  And he was right on.  It's going to be a Happy Chemo Week indeed.  I have my high school buddy, Jean Marie, coming up tomorrow to take me to the office and sit with me tomorrow afternoon.  I will see Erik again on Wednesday evening and through Friday.  Renee' will check in with me on Tuesday to bring me lunch.

I'll be as active as possible and concentrating on kicking the bejeebers out of Ed, Fred, Earl and their cohorts.  Surrounded by friends and covered in prayers and good wishes.  Sounds like a Happy Chemo Week to me.

Some days are good...some days not so good.  As it turned out, yesterday was a not-so-good day in terms of how I felt and what my body decided to do.  (Nausea, salutes to the porcelain god, rejection of pain medication and a hello from my liver tumors to remind me of the battle ahead.)

Even so, there were bright moments amidst the darkness.  The on-call doctor was very responsive and helpful (especially when talking to Dan, who was more coherent than yours truly).  Dan was so amazingly attentive it gives me a lump in my throat to think about.  Cindy, Ken and Mom were concerned and at the same time, low key.  So when I had to take to my bed, I did.

I think we've got a new, micro-dose regimen under control now, so the pain is better and the nausea seems to be gone (thank the Lord for compazine).  Today may be shaping up to be a recuperation, status quo day.

A few weeks ago, I journaled what I believe is an original saying.  It's helping me to get through the harder days (as is Psalm 139).  I wrote:

"I can learn from yesterday.  I can prepare for tomorrow.  But I can only live today."

So my focus is on each day, even when they're the tough ones.  Days like yesterday remind me of how much I have to be grateful for--my hubby, my doctors, my friends and family.  I don't relish them...but I treasure the small blessings tucked in among the aches and pains.  As for tomorrow?  Well, I'm hoping for one step forward.