A New Morning

It's Monday February 8th, 12:47 pm

This morning erupted with a seemingly foreign and unexpected experience: good news. I don't think I can even explain the elation of hearing something positive. Not that the nurses, doctors and oncologists haven't been positive, but there has been enough uncertainty to a fill a quarry lake. Since the chemo and the steroid (a compliment with the chemo) my platelet count has risen from 5,000 to 12,000 overnight. Though 12,000 isn't spectacular (I need 50,000 before they'll consider operating on me, haha), it's vastly better than 5,000, which is extremely low. A small victory can mean the most sometimes, I suppose.

Today has been a step forward since yesterday. I haven't crested a single fever, I've been comfortable, no bleeding, nothing abnormal to speak of. There's relief in taking on a challenge, even if it looms above you like a building in the sun. The anxiety of waiting, coupled with a rapid influx of new information has been far worse than any needle, biopsy or fever that's stung me. So, here's to a new morning; a change of uncertain extremes, but to progress, hope and recovery.

Funny story. I mentioned the steroid that's given with the chemo. Well, its side effects can be well predicted: personality changes (i.e. mood swings). As I read over the possible side effects, I passed over this detail with little consideration or thought. How deep or penetrating could a little mood swing be? Well, it's been an interesting 24 hours. I've found myself sensitive to the smallest things. I don't mean to say that I've been getting angry or irritated about little quirks. Rather, I find my eyes welling at the silliest moments. Not tears of sorrow, pity or defeat, but of happiness -- or something like it.
--For instance, I was watching the movie Jack on TV (don't judge me, I don't have many choices). For anyone who's familiar with this movie, there's a scene where Robin Williams is in a tree house with the boys and Bill Cosby. They're laughing, creating concoctions of disgusting origins and daring one another to eat it. I was so overwhelmed at this scene that I had to look out the window. It got to me. Sure, it sounds like a sweet moment, right? But, in the context of the movie it carries no emotional weight. At all. Yet, here I am, 23 years old, almost in the midst of a full blown blubber-fest, because Hairy-Arms Williams and Old Man Cosby are eating whipped cream and dirt covered noodles.

But, I realized that's a lot like the everyday. My experience may have been drug induced, but everyday there are things that dislodge us from our monotony. It could be the city lights at night sparkling like the sea in sun. It could be the way the snow swings from birches with such gravity and balance that at any moment we expect it to fall, but doesn't. It isn't the small things, it's the things that go unnoticed. I think of an amazing poet, Adam Zagajewski, who wrote an essay called The Shabby and Sublime. I won't go into much detail, but he discusses that the most profound, dynamically exciting and heart-racing experiences are found within the "shabbiest" of things. All we have to do is notice.

Well, now that I've expounded on total irrelevance for longer than necessary, I put it to you. Have you guys ever felt that striking moment of the sublime in the most mundane of moments? It isn't often recognized, it comes without warning, but is intensely beautiful when it appears. Think about it. I'm curious what you guys have to say. Hidden moments can provide the greatest victories sometimes.

It's been a great day. I'm thankful for that in ways that I can't count. To everyone of you, thank you. I hope that you share this hidden moment with me.

All my love,

Chris