With cancer everything is relative. When I say I’ve had a good scan, it simply means that there are no new lesions and things look relatively stable. Nothing in the tissue. On the slightly more positive side my tumor markers in the blood have gone from 8.1 four months ago to 6.6 one month ago to 2.6 now. All in, an uplifting result. My spine still kills after I’ve been up and about for a few hours, but it is manageable. I made a grave mistake this time opening my eyes just as I pulled into the machine to find the top 1cm from my face. I freaked out momentarily and yelled to the technician that I needed to come out. Ha! I knew I had all of one minute to pull it together, but it was a meaningful minute, and then I breathed deep, reset, and went back in for 35 minutes. It is a funny way to live, 6 weeks at a time. Not bad, just odd as I try not to get worked up about the results each time and pack in as much good life and rest in between as possible.
My friend sent me some wonderful pics of the magical Mossbrae Falls from our fishing trip to Shasta. It takes a precarious walk along the railroad before you drop down into this little haven. It is a place I go to restore my calm, summoning the memory of the cool mist and lush ferns, a deep pool at a curve in the river.
We attended a lovely wedding at Cavallo Point last night, cozy in the pouring rain, a breath of spring with big loose bouquets of brilliant white orchids, blossoms, tulips, and Cala lilies. The bride glowed in a timeless, beaded Monique Lhullier. These two are good partners and will fare well. It was heartwarming to witness their joy. My favorite moment was her grandpa’s toast. I’d put him at 88+, a strong multi generation melon farmer from Turlock. He reminisced about his own rainy wedding day where one woman came in a lace dress but forgot her slip….one tripped on the way in, fell in the mud, and carried her bouquet high. And so on. Yet it paved the way for 65 good years. How lucky she was to have her grandparents there! I would have loved to have heard my grandpa’s toast. He was a wonderful writer. When you’re 28 at the altar the words are just that. As you hear them again over the years, in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, etc they carry more weight and you realize how much you ask of and give to one another. How easy it is to take it all for granted until life throws you the curveballs, and then you are grateful to have picked the generous soul who sticks with you through the storms. It was wonderfully inspiring to see her grandparents in that spirit.
The rain is drenching SF. So needed. The garden is happy and it gives me ample opportunity to nap. I ripped through a book so kindly given to me from a friend remembering my HK days unfortunately I cannot give The Expatriates a good review. It is one of those books where too many of the characters are so annoying and pathetic that it becomes impossible to read. On the serious side I’m almost done with a terrifying book about a boy soldier in Sierra Leone. A Long Way Gone is written by a remarkable boy who now calls the US home but who experienced horrors at 12 that I cannot begin to imagine. Sometimes I marvel and despair that this can exist in the same world that gives us beauty and joy and endless promise.