June 1st. The last infusion. One poke by an angel of a nurse called April, and an hour and a bit later, I was walking home. Fourteen months of showing up every three weeks. What to make of it all? I looked around today at the crowded waiting room and I saw the new-comers and recognized the regulars. Every age and shape. What I mostly sense, however, is courage and hope and kindness. Yes, bitterness and disappointment and anger also appear as the whole catastrophe of life is represented in this space within the Tom Baker Cancer Centre. Yet, it is a lively, light-filled environment where people devoted to their work are doing the best they can to help us all along. I will be forever grateful for the help they have given me.
When I read that quote today, I smiled, look at the name of the book it is from - Balloons. And today I too experienced the "joys of the expected."It was a glorious day. Sweet dreams. Trudy
PS This digital bouquet of red balloons from Sheila was delightfully unexpected.
Isn't it grand to be awash with gratitude? I share in your joy, Trudy, and applaud your courage, dedication to life in all its fullness, and your loving heart.
May yesterday be your last day at Tom Baker--ever. At least as a patient. I'm sending a mental red balloon!
Love,
Carol
Posted by: Carol Ingells | June 02, 2009 at 08:58 AM
I'm so, so glad for you, Trudy. I'm off to scour my cupboards for a red balloon. I'm moved, too, by what you say in your previous post about those for whom treatment is not possible, mindful of a family member whose diagnosis has come too late for either chemo or surgery. It makes me more aware what a wonder it is when someone comes to the end of treatment. Blessings and continued good health to you!
Posted by: Imelda / GreenishLady | June 03, 2009 at 06:52 AM
I had been busy all week, and visited your blog today, to see this wonderful news, red balloons floating and a journey continuing. Celebrate!
Posted by: Teri and the cats of Furrydance | June 13, 2009 at 12:37 PM