Bring On The Rain

I wish I had more to tell you about the clinical trial, but there really isn’t much to say.  Friday will be the last Friday I attend before I become a once a week patient.  Then, I will trek up to Scottsdale every Tuesday for blood work and the drug before coming home.  At the end of that four weeks, I will have another CT scan to see if the tumors have shrunk any.  So far, my PET scans post drug week one do not show any changes.  In fact, one of the scans showed that the tumors are officially into my pelvis and that large, almost grapefruit sized tumors are wrapped around my ovaries.  My pain, thankfully, is mostly tolerable, but the news is not what I want to hear.  Staying positive is a challenge.

Tonight, I was completing my usual prayers; beseeching God to let me have a miracle, even if I know there are probably so many people who deserve one more than me.  I had started to cry, which happens often when I pray or think about cancer in general.  I had just finished thanking God for my blessings –Milo, my friends and family, the good days sprinkled among the bad– when I heard it.  The gentle patter of rain on the window.  It was soft at first, but I could hear it start to fall harder and I perked up.

I love rain.

I love water in general: watching the waves at the ocean, the sounds and smells of rain falling or waves crashing on the shore, even tracing the tracks of the rain drops on window panes.  I’ve always been drawn to the water: it gives life and renews.  When the rain finishes, it always smells so clean and pure outside for a while.  It’s like a giant eraser.

Before I could stop myself, I was padding to the door in nothing but the over-sized ratty t-shirt I had stolen from Milo, my undies and a pair of flip flops.  I cracked the door, watched the pouring rain, took a deep breath…

And stepped outside.

The air was cooler, the water felt amazing on my skin.  I stood, eyes closed and face towards the sky letting the rain mix with my tears.  And then I twirled.  I spun slowly and just let the water run over me, cold as I was.  Clean me.  I thought.  Heal me.

I didn’t stay out long, a cancer patient with pneumonia is not a good thing, but I enjoyed it.  Even now, as I finish this blog I am listening to the rain and thunder considering a second trek to play in the rain.  I don’t want this to be my last storm to play in.  I don’t want to miss it.  Or a good puddle to jump in later.  I want there to be years of quirky things like this for me ahead (especially when they surprise poor Milo who came out of the office to find me soaking wet in the hallway).

Some days, I find I am losing hope and running on fumes.  It isn’t easy to stay positive when people keep reminding you how monumental it would be for you to beat what you have.  I hear the subtext: if you had caught it sooner, if it was a different cancer, if…if…if..

I keep pushing through the best I can, but I feel like we’re reaching my limits.  How much more am I expected to take?

I’m not sure, but tonight I am thankful for the rain.  Bring it on.

(For a great music video by one of my favorite artists, check out: http://youtu.be/xWYRfsjBNQk)

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4 thoughts on “Bring On The Rain

  1. Chris says:

    Our dear niece that we love with all our heart, we all will continue to pray for that miracle that you so deserve.
    Please try and stay postive, all though it seems hard to do. We hope that at the end of this storm that you are facing
    there will be a rainbow, with a pot of gold which will be the miracle that you so deserve.
    Love your aunts…..

  2. jdp64 says:

    That’s really funny. Not “ha ha” funny, but “odd” funny. I have always loved the rain, and water. It has alway bought me peace. A relaxing that nothing else seems to accomplish.

    I would love to say “hang in there” or “hold on”, what I will say is Keep praying and believing that you will get that miracle. Believe it for your sake. Believe it for our sake. Dad and I have to believe it, or we will fall. We need to believe that you will get that miracle, because it is too painful to consider the alternative.

    We love you so much that I can’t quite put it in words. We are here for you, whatever you need. You or Milo.

    Keep loving the rain.

    Mom and Dad

  3. As always your writing is full of emotions which make me want to both laugh and to cry. It was so easy to imagine you dancing in the rain but also so easy to imagine your torment as you struggle to be positive for yourself and others who depend upon your positivity. You clearly have a huge life-force and I am sure that will help to sustain you in the dark, dark moments when you don’t dare to hope.

    Let’s hope the rain was, in some way, a purification which washed away the cancer cells.

    Everyone deserves a miracle and I hope you find yours.

  4. Cora says:

    I love to read your writing. Thank you for sharing.

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