Balancing Act

All day I’ve been dealing with the strangest earworm, a song from the Disney movie Mulan II.   Here’s a sampling of the lyrics:

Earth, sky
Day, night
Sound and silence
Dark and light.

One alone is not enough
You need both together
Winter, summer
Moon and sun
Lesson number one.

Like a rock, you must be hard!
Like an Oak, you must stand firm!
Come quick, like my blade.
Think fast, unafraid

Like cloud, you are soft.
Like bamboo, you bend in the wind
Creeping slow, you're in peace because you know
it's ok to be afraid

Yesterday’s experiences have left me thinking about this idea of balance.  It was such a strange day, with the oddest juxtaposition of emotional events. Gregg came home from work early with the wonderful news that he’d selected for the rank of Commander.  For my friends and family in the civilian realm, this is probably the most important promotion of Gregg’s career.  It provides a level of security for our family beyond anything we could have imagined.  More importantly, in my opinion, it validates all of Gregg’s hard work and sacrifice over the past 20 years.  In the words of his skipper, “The Navy finally got it right.”

My joy upon hearing this was palpable.  My pride in my husband burst forth from every pore of my body.  We spent close to an hour in a state of euphoric shock at our good fortune.

Then the jubilance came to a screeching halt. It was time to meet my medical oncologist and discuss chemotherapy.  Sigh…

Here’s the deal.  I’m going to take a chemotherapy drug called Xeloda, which is supposed to improve the efficacy of my radiation therapy.  I’ll be swallowing ten pills a day, five days a week, for at least six weeks.  According to the doc, Xeloda normally doesn’t cause as much nausea as other forms of chemo. This is good, because the radiation is going to do a fabulous job screwing up my digestive tract, and I don’t want to deal with a tag team attacking my gut.  In addition, as a rule, Xeloda doesn’t cause hair loss.  Honestly, I am not too concerned about the possibility of losing my hair.  My crazy curly frizzy hair has given me so much grief; I sometimes think it would be a relief to get rid of it. 

I did a little more research on the side effects when I got home. (I’m wondering if Gregg should block my access to Google for the duration of my illness.)  I will most likely experience mouth sores, redness and peeling on the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet, and  fatigue. It’s a strange contradiction;  I will be ingesting a poison that will both cause me pain and save my life.

It was so surreal to shift so quickly from a state of elation to one of such anxiety. Don’t get me wrong.  I know that I’m going to be ok.  I have full faith in my doctors.  I suppose I’m just now realizing how truly miserable the next year might be.  I guess that’s why I have this idea of balance on my mind.  It’s easier to face what’s ahead when I think of it as a year of awful wretchedness, balanced by a wonderful life waiting for me when it’s over.

Is there really a yin for every yang?  Are there some great universal forces at work maintaining some semblance of cosmic equilibrium, or am I assigning meaning to random events as a way to find solace in my uncertain world?  Right now, I need to believe there is a purpose for all of this.  I cannot accept that my cancer is just some arbitrary happenstance.

Still, it’s really gonna suck.