I find it difficult to believe that, as my daughter says, "Mom, you've GOT to write! People are waiting, and you haven't written anything since you were half-way through chemo." Alright. Alright.
I keep trying to convince her that there is more going on in the world than Linda Parry's treatment for breast cancer combined with her long and difficult recovery from widowhood. I really don't want to start every sentence with "I."
So, okay. Treatment is behind me. It wasn't one-tenth as awful as I'd thought it would be - and aside from a little lingering fatigue, there isn't much more to tell. My entire family was with me for the ceremonial bell-ringing signifying the end of chemo - and the radiation treatments were almost a non-event, save for one amusing incident. One afternoon, the radiation machine broke down half-way through my treatment. All kinds of techs and nurses were scrambling around and electronic mayhem was going on. I was still on the table, daring not to move. I didn't want my liver fried, or my pancreas radiated. And everyone just told me to hold still. Then one of the techs said, "Don't worry. We have three physicists who will be in and out working on things, but you're covered up." To which I replied, "It's not my body I'm worried about showing off - just put a blanket over my face!" Lotsa hilarious laughing in the radiation room, including the physicists.
I finished up on June 23rd - spent the summer hiding from the sun - and learning various techniques for tying scarves around my head while I waited for my hair to grow in.
Sadness hit at the end of August when my sister lost her darling husband to end-stage Parkinson's Disease - and I hopped a plane to California to be with her for the memorial service and a little time after. I decided I couldn't go out there looking like someone's cleaning lady, so took myself off to a "secret" little wig shop in Annapolis. The wig fitting took all of 7 minutes. The owner took one look at me, went over to a mannequin, grabbed a wig and plopped it on my head, and VOILA! The old Linda was back! Even my own sister didn't realize I was wearing a wig until I told her a few days after I'd arrived. Amazing!
My life began to take shape again with the onset of fall - back to regular church attendance, chorale practice, and attending some of the many fall festivals held here annually. I'd already had bronchitis once in the summer, (chemo leaves you with NO immunity for awhile) - and that thing called "chemo brain," I'm told, should gradually subside over the course of the next 18 months or so.
And one day - either in October or November, (still can't remember), I came home to a phone message from David, an old high school classmate of my late husband's. Charles and I always gravitated toward David, and his wife Sarah, at class reunions, because they were fun, interesting people, and not part of the hard-drinking, rowdy crowd. Turns out David was living about an hour away from me, and had himself become widowed two years earlier when Sarah succumbed to a particularly vicious form of brain cancer after a 13-month battle.
Our conversation was light and friendly - and we ended with, "Let's get together one of these days." The opportunity presented itself about two weeks later when I saw a thing in the paper about a singer friend of mine who was doing an entire evening of Irving Berlin. I know David is musical, so called and invited him to the evening of song. We went out for a quick dinner first and then off to the show. A quick peck on the cheek at the end of the evening - and promises to be in touch. Then it was to be Downrigging Weekend here - so I invited him to join the crowd, which included daughter Vanessa, husband, and the almost-three-year-old twins. It was a good fit. Everyone liked him - peck on the cheek good-bye - and further promises to be in touch soon. He called to invite me to a production of "The Book of Mormon" a few weeks hence - and I promptly came down with bronchitis again, which turned into pneumonia in a few days. My first priority was to get well in time to sing for our Christmas concert - and it took three full weeks, a change in antibiotics, and a course of Prednisone to get me back to good health. I had to pass on the Broadway show and a couple of other things, rebounding JUST in time to sing. David came for our evening concert, then came along with a group of us to a local watering hole.
He mentioned that we'd only had a couple of pecks on the cheek - and I assured him that there was no particular rush - all the while thinking that while I was enjoying his company, it was a damned shame that there seemed to be no chemistry.
A few more dates later, including Thanksgiving dinner with our family, I don't remember exactly when - the whole situation flip-flopped for me, with a REAL kiss good-night. Holy Cow! I have no reasonable explanation for this, except to say that this is a very gentle, tender man who just sort of opened my lonely heart and soul with the sweetness of a kiss - and I suddenly became this moony-eyed, swoony being who just adored him. Sort of takes my breath away to even write about it.
Lest anyone think that this experience wipes out 47 years of memories of a very special marriage to the love of my life, let me hasten to reassure you that it doesn't. But at the same time, there is an element of "coming home" with David. I feel safe, secure, trusting - and oh-so-comfortable with this man's arms around me.
So-ooo - I almost can't believe I'm writing this! I. am. in. love. And he with me. And we fit together so well. No, we're not going to get married. No, we're not going to move in with each other. And we jokingly say we'll tell everyone we're "going steady." (Friend Elaine is aghast at this expression. She says, "You're in a relationship." She doesn't get our silly sense of humor.)
A year ago this time, I was in a daze of apprehension and fear of the unknown. Today, I have so much to be grateful for. So much. And I feel so blessed, so grateful. A second chance at life. A second chance at love. Doesn't get any better than this.
And I know-know-know deep down in my heart of hearts that none of this would have been possible without the love and support and encouragement and prayers you all have provided for the past year. Thank you, all - family, friends, acquaintances. For the first time since 2010, I'm feeling truly alive again - and happy for each new day.
