Monday, December 08, 2008


What does one do to prepare for an upcoming regime of chemo followed by a transplant? Why, go skiing, of course. Cate, Julia and I hit the slopes this weekend to test out the old boards. Julia has kept at it these past years, but Cate and I have been slackards (4 years for me, 7 for Cate). The day was reminiscent of many days of skiing 10 to 15 years ago when I had to help with the girls' boots, carry their skis, etc. etc. Except this time roles were reversed. The girls helped me with my boots as the cement in my back apparently has limited some of my flexibility. Imagine that! Julia and her friend Bob carried my skis and Julia was the great protector, lecturing me about going too fast, not skiing "in control", and on and on. It seems those words of advice I imparted those many years ago did find a place in their memories and they brought them out to lecture me, of all things. Even though it had been 7 years for Cate she hasn't lost a step. She was a beautiful skier in high school and she hasn't lost a bit of her smooth form. Julia has progressed nicely and has a similar smooth parallel style. And I still look like a bulldog, or bowling ball barrelling down the slope. Nothing has changed except I ski a bit slower these days. We had a great time and I am now ready for the trip to Little Rock to get the news on the latest tests and the proposal for moving forward. I suppose skiing could be the metaphor for this journey: sometimes the terrain is steep; it can be a little scary; you might even fall down and hurt yourself; but smoother runs are ahead so dig those edges in, hang on, and ride it through. I'm ready. I'll check in with you later.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I had heard through the legal grapevine that you were working on beating leukemia. I enjoyed reading your blog to catch up on how you were doing.

I leave a poem for you (don't worry not mine) and let you know that you are in my thoughts and prayers.

-jennifer rice

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

~ Mary Oliver ~