Wearing my 25 year old sailboat shirt, (I just couldn't part with it when I was thinning out my closet a few years ago before CCC), I had to have a selfie as I neared the end of chemo. I still have a dose of Neulasta tomorrow and Prednisone all this week, and 2-3 weeks of fatigue, but I am done with chemotherapy treatments. I have a PET scan on June 28 and a consult with Dr. Thompson that afternoon to discover the results. I will get a referral for radiation and likely begin the daily treatments in July. Three months ago, I first heard my diagnosis of Diffuse Large B Lymphoma. Scary. But I have a great doctor and a wonderful medical team who have helped with this part of the healing journey. In another three months, I will be well on the way to recovery. I will still meet with Dr. Thompson on a regular schedule as he monitors my "durable remission."

That's why I am smiling. Stephen Hawking wrote, "Half the battle is showing up!" There are myriad similar quotes but I am inspired more by a man with enormous physical challenges who succeeded beyond anyone's imagination.

Not my best picture. Cherish it because there aren't a lot of pictures of me floating around the internet!

Twenty-two different varieties of daylilies blooming this morning and my fourth and final chemotherapy treatment. Both good numbers!

After two days of depression, this day has already began as a blessing!

I was awake early Friday morning. My feet and hands were especially numb the night before. The soles of my feet and the bottoms of my toes were numb. The palms of my hands, my fingers, were numb. I was worried. During the past two weeks, the numbness had seemed to build and ebb. It was challenging to determine whether it was better or worse. I couldn't sleep at 3 a.m. I went roaming on the internet.

Chemotherapy Induced Peripheral Neuropathy is a side effect of vincristine, one of the drugs used to fight lymphoma. It may go away after treatment, and it may not. It could get worse. After treatment, the neuropathy may take several months to subside. If it doesn't get any worse than the current level of numbness, I can deal with it. Yes, it's better than cancer. But, oh my. 

I did swim Friday in my cool pool. I was numb all over, but that felt good to swim from one end to the other and back again. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. I couldn't tell that my fingers were numb, nor that I have cancer. Some victories take time.

Gradually color emerges. First, there is just a glimpse. But then the petals begin to peel away and the structure of the bloom begins to take shape.

If you slow down, you can observe the processes of nature. Slowly, there is a difference, a moment when the celebration begins.

Some join the party late and think it occurred as a sudden explosion of form and texture and color.

But everything takes time. Even healing.

Judy has worked hard on this corner of the backyard. Several years ago she scrounged every building site around for flat rocks. She carried them out of the woods on the top of the ridge. The garden has grown the same way, with lots of effort. There are several different kinds of ferns, at least 5, and countless hosta. Amazing to see what can grow in the shade. 

I'm learning that every plant has ideal growing conditions, but they are not the same. Some require full sun. Some want moist soil; some dry. And then there are these plants that thrive in the shade. Notice there are no daylilies planted here. I suppose they might grow in this corner of the yard. But I doubt they would reach their potential growth and bloom.

Wondering if there might be some parallels with we human beings.

This morning began with me in a funk. It's raining. The pool is cold. I have cancer. What I thought would be a good week, my extra week before the last chemotherapy treatment, has been a continuation of exhaustion. I don't feel as though I am weak, but I have little energy or stamina. Even my mind seems clouded. I'm not blue. But I felt as gray as the day.

Judy had gone out in the yard with an umbrella and came back saying, "Get your camera and come with me!" I grumbled, picked it up, put on my garden clogs, and let her lead me to what she wanted to share. She was right, (again). I needed to be outside with open eyes. I took 125 photos in my wet backyard. And the funk was chased away.

So here is one sight that caught our shared attention.

Peacock Maiden kicks off the daylily blooming season in our garden. The season seems to be delayed by the cool weather of the month of May. I would guess that our daylilies are at least a week, maybe 10 days, later than usual. It's the hangover from 2020 that we all are experiencing. And although yesterday was brilliantly sunny, the water temperature in our pool only reached 76 degrees. In years past I would have been swimming in the pool since early May. 

Our first daylily bloom was actually yesterday with Egyptian Queen, and there is another bloom this morning, but it doesn't fully open until later in the day. Peacock Maiden is an appropriate flower to begin the season as it was a Christmas plant exchange a few years ago from Brent Weedman. He was someone I wanted to know better because we shared so many interests: photography, daylilies, Louise Penny mysteries, and similar political views. But he lost his life to Covid this past winter. He is so missed by his wife, Jennifer, and family and countless friends, and by Judy and me. So we celebrate the beginning of the blooming season with Peacock Maiden.

My healing season will continue through the daylily season of the Hideaway with its peak in late June when the effects of my final chemotherapy treatment will subside and my strength will begin to return. And the blooming will continue through July. Hopefully, I will have managed to return to swimming in a warmer pool!

Romans 8:14-16 "All who are led by God's Spirit are God's sons and daughters. You didn't receive a spirit of slavery to lead you back again into fear, but you received a Spirit that shows you are adopted as his children. With this Spirit, we cry, 'Abba, Father.' The same Spirit agrees with our spirit, that we are God's children."

It's a big family. And we all belong. Even the ones that I am embarrassed to think must not belong. And who think I don't belong.