Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Saturday, February 09, 2008: Day 22, Post-diagnosis 2 days to chemo/radiation

After I wrote that last line last night, I called and spoke with Guido (since I didn’t call him on, or even relatively near, his birthday – he’s 20 now!). It was great to talk with him, even if only for a short while. When I talked with him again this morning, I found out he hadn’t gotten in until 4:30 am, and there I was, calling him at about 7 am. Well, at least I’m still keeping him on his toes. He sounds good, and I was able to get him to laugh at some of my new and improved “ass-quotes.” It makes me feel better when I hear him laugh. Then I know he’s not holding stuff in. It looks like he’s coming home to visit on the 20th, and I am happier than I can say at the thought of seeing him. I thought it was going to be ages before I got to see him, and I was trying to figure out how I could pay for the ticket to go see him before my surgery, so this is really wonderful.

Today I woke up at 5:30 am and drove up to Logan for backcountry snowboarding with Lev and a couple of his friends.

When I go snowboarding with Lev, I’m always pushing myself extremely hard just to keep up. I always learn more when I’m boarding with him, I always enjoy it because I’m always pushing myself to the extreme. I love being there on the brink – you don’t have the chance to think about anything else – you are forced to be in the moment constantly.

Some of my memories of the day:

Just trying to keep up – the exhilaration of dropping down the cliffs, the speed and the wind, the feeling of riding deep powder, and the burn in my legs.

Seeing the moose, the elk, the deer, all up the canyon. Lev’s eyes picking them out as we drive up, as we board by. He’s always had amazing eyes for picking out the wildlife in the trees.

Reminiscing with him about hiking up the canyon together as kids. All the weekends we spent charging through the forests together, spelunking, or hopping from rock to rock downriver. These are some of my best memories from childhood.

Lev telling a story about a sleeping deer that was a little too close to the road, and was surprised by a snowtruck shoveling the road. It was completely covered by the spray from the truck. Lev’s remark to the deer: “that’s not a good place to sleep.”

Lev’s other quote of the day: “don’t live in fear or perceived fear.” I’m going to try hard to live up to this one, but it’s not easy right now.

Walking with his friends, thumbing for rides on the road off of the backside of Beaver Mtn., and deciding that if we were stopped by the cops, we’d use my cancer as an out.

Lev’s friend who’s brother has testicular cancer at 22, and won’t talk to anyone about it.

I have a constant feeling that I’m doing things for the last time. I don’t know if I’m just being overly dramatic, or if this is a true feeling. It is a false funeral of my pre-chemo self. I don’t know what to expect, I don’t know how bad it’s going to be. I just know that things will change for me forever after this.

I read the poems (both Auden’s and Haldane’s) to my parents today – it was tough reading the cancer poems to them – we were all crying, but it was good. It’s a release, and its part of the process. My mom cooked me copious amounts of food today – I think that’s part of the process too. We all show our love in the ways we know. Lev takes me to his temple, to the hallways of our memory, my mother cares for me and feeds me.

I spent some time talking with our neighbor – Mr. Haslam, the principal of my middle school. Since I left middle school, he has always been a kind man – he takes meticulous care of his lawn, always brings over food from his garden, and always has nice things to say. Last year his wife passed away, and his pain is written clearly on his face and in his movements. He took time to talk with me – to ask about my family, and he meant it all – not one false word of comfort. There we stood – the principal and the student – a gulf of years and a nearness of tragedy. How much sadness there is in the world sometimes. How much of a gulf between every single one of us, how thin the bridges we build between, and yet how much they can mean.

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