Waiting

I had a lovely drive home yesterday morning. Autumn is already starting up north in Charlottesville, and the leaves were swirling around in the wind and sunlight along the sides of the highway, dancing under truck tires and flipping across the lanes. It turned cool last night in Tennessee too, and the light that is coming through the skylight is thinner today than I remember just a few days ago.

This always used to be the saddest part of the year for me in NY. While the colors were glorious, there was the omnipresent gloom of endless winter lurking under the surface of the still warm days, the pressure of time to hurry up and get things done before the darkness and cold descended. I had a hard time enjoying the last bit of sunshine and warmth, because I knew "IT" was coming.

Metaphor, anyone?

Well, surprisingly, not so much. I found a measure of courage somewhere in the last few days, and somehow stopped being so terrified of the unknown of what-is-to-come and what-will-be. I am enjoying almost every bit of every day, and look forward to each new day. I want to get started so I can get through it and get done.

I was able (finally!) to open some of the literature they gave me at UVA and read about my disease, and knowledge does indeed counter much of the fear. There is not only a hope, but now a certainty in my mind that I can beat this.

Meeting a real person who has been there, done that, and made it through to the other side of treatment helped immeasurably.

Getting the MRI actually done now means that we are on the road to doing what we need to do, and that the process has begun. The process will have a middle and an end too. My impatience will just have to go on hold, and I will just have to let the days unfold one at a time.