[cancer] The dawn of infusion day, the first of twelve

Today is my first infusion day. Though I have some idea what to expect in terms of schedule and activities, thanks to the chemo orientation class we took last month, I don’t really know what to expect in terms of my own personal experience — somatically, emotionally, and so on. I will find out as I go. If practical, I will tweet and liveblog the festivities, in keeping with my general policy of oversharing in matters personal and healthwise.

, and I are going walking shortly. One last dose of normalcy. Plus I like walking for a bunch of reasons. When I’m alone, it’s very meditative. When I’m with one or both of them, it is some of our best talk time.

I’m calm this morning, so far. This is a metastability rather than true peace. I suspect a broken shoelace would send me either into a rage or desperate tears. Stress is an amazing thing. But here I am, neither in denial nor angry. Acceptance isn’t the right word, though. My frame of mind is more determined and grudging than that. I will own this, it will not own me; but in some significant ways, chemotherapy will be the hardest thing I have ever done.

My life is filled with love and support beyond reasonable measure. I have my family, especially , and and many other immediate or intimate frienss around the world, a much wider circle of professional and social friends, acquaintances, fans and connections. Like I’ve said before, if love could cure cancer, I’d be the healthiest son of a bitch in North America.

But now I must walk through a door I’d never have chosen, to a place I cannot come back from. All I can do is go forward. I have my love and my rituals; my family and my friends; my camera and my keyboard. With these tools I shall walk on. Someday I shall once more walk free.