Backtracking

Tuesday notes ~

No where is the acceleration of time more evident than in the riotous springtime revelry that has suddenly taken hold. I returned from my reunion weekend to find a cacophony of color and sound bursting all about--our wetlands brimming with shouts of new life and the bizarre mating calls of amphibians and bird fowl (or, I suppose, it could have been the neighbors); our three young peach trees suddenly adorned with inaugural blossoms; the ancient, wild pear trees that dot our land awash in white flowers; the apple trees--young and old, crab and macintosh and cortland--just beginning to show their color; the bright yellow limbs of the gangly forsythia reaching upward and outward to dance along the sudden stark green of new grass; and the red, sugar and Japanese maples, the poplars and birches, the Katsura, the cherry--all sporting newly and delicately blossomed buds, shooting fall colors into the sky to sandwich a green summer between reds, yellows and oranges.

The rains have come to fortify the greens, the buds, the blossoms, this season of hope and promise. I find myself about to burst. Waiting for the Oncotype DX test results, for the final word, to be able to resume my full-bodied, vigorous activities, to schedule the surgery, for my colors.

I would love to be able to report on the results of my Oncotype DX test, that final reassurance I've been waiting for before beginning Tamoxifen--and escaping the clutches of chemo--but I cannot. It seems that it took a week for Dr. Ryan, after many frustrating phone calls and confusion, to get the tissue sample from Baystate Medical in Springfield (whose pathologists were the first to examine the unsightly beast after my biopsy, which yielded the bulk of the cancerous tissue). Thanks to Ruth in Dr. Fox's office who came through at the end--but because the sample went out a week late, results, too, will be delayed by a week, and if planetary energies permit, I'll have ALL GOOD results back by Friday or Monday of next week. I'll then be able to move forward with the Tamoxifen, begin to assemble a pro-active ensemble of nutritional firearms, mind-body wisdom and workers, and various other therapies designed to assist me in getting all my houses in order, (I suppose a good cleaning person would need to be a part of the battalion as well), and walk with confidence into good health.

The happiness part of the deal is trickier. There seems to be such a premium put on happiness these days--pressure to shed the sadness, focus on the positive, be happy, damnit. My melancholy has served me well for the most part. It's provided me with signals to pay closer attention to my needs, to dive inward and explore the caverns of my heart, to reach outside myself, give and receive help, kindness, warmth, love, and bask in the subtleties of life's best offerings. It seems cyclical, a bit circular at times, and for me, the underlying muted lows have been punctuated with the regular, rhythmic pulse of joy and hilarity and deep comfort, which offers balance and sustenance to the soul. And there are always the unexpected delights, that guide me out of these safe habors, to fill my sails and set the rudder to where it might go, then back again, to shelter me from the storm, and drop anchor when the waves swell.

I would not be who I am if not for the cottony webs of melancholy filling the hollows of my soul, and the uplift would pale if not for the pull of the trebled, troubled tether of hurt, longing, and an ache that resounds with the feeling that something is wrong with this world.

The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty: not knowing what comes next. ~ Ursula Le Guin