When I began running in University, I ran in the basement of the boys' dormitory on a treadmill. It was hard work. I was not a good runner. Red-faced, I would watch that blinking red light move slowly around the circle, knowing when it made the bottom, I was finished one lap: 1/4 mile done. 3 more laps to go.
Well, on Tuesday my blinking chemo light reached the bottom for the first time. I've completed 2 of my 8 treatments. 1/4 way done.
Sometimes I think this is a good way to look at things. Other times I think I'm damning myself. I mean, I still have 6 treatments left. The second half of my treatment is a full month longer than the first, to boot.
But, I need to feel like I'm moving forward; growing nearer to ending this phase of treatment. I never thought I would feel like this. I have been doing really well--only a little bit of exhaustion and some minor stomach issues. The thing is, when you don't feel like yourself, you don't feel like yourself.
Heck, right now I don't even look like myself (enter buzzed hair because it was falling out by the hand full).
I praise God because I am a quarter of the way done. I praise God because I have been feeling relatively good. I praise God for the generosity and care of my friends and family. I praise Him because He is good, and good is coming from all this pain.
There is a crying out, too. I cry out to God because I know that there is more to life than this. I cry out to Him because in some ways I feel like only a fragment of my former self (I also feel very much more whole in other ways). I cry out to Him for the child that we have loved and lost. I cry out to Him for healing.
Friends, as I move through each day, knowing that the darned little red light on my chemo treadmill is inching ever closer to the goal, sometimes I want to give up because it feels too hard and sometimes I want to run as fast as my little body can take me to the finish line. Strange paradox for sure.