My last chemo appointment was a milestone, but I’m still wading through the whole business of being on chemo. February 5th is the date of my “post-chemo” appointment with my oncologist.
I feel like I have big springs under my feet, and while I want to explode and do and go as I please, I’m tethered down. The springs coiled tightly underfoot. I can’t wait for the launch, yet I look to it with trepidation.
My mind has gone through pre-flight plans for the last week. What I can do, what I can catch up on. The freedom. Busting to get on with it. But my “it” is so splintered. At this rate, when my tether frees, I will be a firework: a short flight before bursting into a million beautiful bits. Exciting. Energized. Short-lived. Fireworks last for seconds before turning to ash and drifting quietly to the ground. I certainly haven’t been Polly Purell for four months to now become ash.
I’ve spent the last week dreaming like a firecracker. Jumping back into the thick of life, catching up on every single tiny detail. I caught myself one day conjuring up a great plan. It seemed a grand plan. An ambitious plan. I called Bill, “Does this make sense?” He reeled me back in, urged me to cut the plan in half, start slowly – I still have radiation to go through. Another friend suggested the same as I enthusiastically said I was ready “to go.” She shook her head and waved her hands in front of me as if she was slowing a semi-truck. “Slowly.”
I don’t want to fizzle when the tether is released. The force under the release will be hard to regulate. But I need to stay in control of the direction. I want to soar intact like a space shuttle, powering through the atmosphere with goals and ambitions. Then after busting through the atmosphere and stabilizing in space, begin the business of the details and activities to accomplish those goals.
Fireworks are beautiful. A rocket launch is spectacular.