This morning, the nanny and I loaded the boys into the car and went to see the ducks at St. Kate's. It was the last taste of normal for the next week. This afternoon, Ryan, the nurse from Fairview Home Infusion who has hooked me up to my chemo pumps each month, came over and hooked me up again. As I write, the chemical taste of the drugs is swirling around my mouth, and I'm slowly feeling them seep through my body. I had a tiny taste of nausea in my throat earlier, which worries me. It didn't start until the second or third day last month. I hope I hold up OK this time.
A woman with whom I used to discuss dreams dropped off some books last night while I was out to dinner with some friends. (We went to the new Salut, where Sidney's used to be, on Grand Avenue.) In the bag was a meditation for focusing on best-case scenarios. It was exactly what I need right now. I've been finding myself drifting too often to the worst-case scenario, almost as a default. I have to force myself away from it — to imagine, for example, that I will still be around when we're deciding where to send the boys to school, or when they become teenagers and we have to talk to them about sex and drugs. So. Best-case scenarios.
At acupuncture last week, the acupuncturist, Susan, suggested that I imagine myself as an 80-year-old woman and have a conversation with that woman. As I lay on the table, I tried it. I found that my 80-year-old self did all the talking. It was comforting and almost mystical, and when I told Susan about it afterward, tears came to my eyes. Acupuncture does that to me, though. It alters my mental and emotional state. I wonder if it alters my physical state, too. I wonder if it accounts for the spectacular results of my blood lab work this morning. The nurse was pretty impressed: "Wow, that platelet level is something!"