Darkness

It's that time of year when the sun sets earlier and earlier. Those of us in the northern latitudes are heading towards the darkest night of the year. For me personally, it feels the same.

It's been 11 months since the initial mammogram. Almost a year of wrestling with difficult decisions and painful procedures.

The truth is that I'm tired and coming to the end of my strength. With each treatment, I've been able to bounce back, dust myself off, and prepare for the next round. But last week I hit The Wall. There's not a lot of bouncing going on now, just resignation, and the determination to make it to the end of this awful chemo. Dec. 9th is my last treatment.

The body-spirit connection is so crucial to all of this. The hard part is that when my body fails, my spirit follows. A few months ago, I was certain this was all a bump in the road. Now it feels like I'll never recover, never get back to my real life, never be the person I really am. I know this is the exhaustion talking, but fear is becoming a larger opponent the longer this goes on.

I am noticing more stories of people my age dying from cancer. I cry more easily over silly, minor things. I worry. Exhaustion leads to isolation, as I have little energy for phone calls, email, or visiting friends.

I want a glimpse into the future, to see my life stretching out for 50 more years. To see myself caring for my happy family. To have a story to tell about how the world is better because I was here. To see successful agriculture projects, good friends, a long, happy marriage, and to see my beautiful daughter launching into life as a confident young woman.

Right now that glimpse is cloudy. I have no idea what the future holds. I tell the Universe this isn't fair. My mom died from breast cancer. Isn't that enough? What more is required from me?

The sun set at 5 o'clock today. It's going to be a long night.