Friday I had a medi-port put in my chest just under my skin. It provides easy access for infusion of chemo drugs, which starts tomorrow. I will have my son take me to work, and a colleague who is just finishing her regimen will be my "chemo buddy" for my first time. Since Ben has to work, my neighbor Dee is going to babysit me tomorrow evening. (Abe returns from his national meeting on Thursday.)
I realized something yesterday: I haven't been listening to music for the past ten days. I always do in my car and often in my office as well. Each time I think of starting up the iPod, my thought has been "No, not now." It took me a while to figure out why, since music is so important to me.
Music reaches me where nothing else can, even the lame pop stuff. The powerful pieces are especially emotive for me, and that's what is stopping me. Music doesn't give me a feeling, it reflects it. I play what I feel. And I feel numb. There is no music without feeling, and so I cannot play it. It feels wrong. I did try once, but it became background noise and I turned it off.
Perhaps there is a danger in letting myself feel too much right now. I do okay at work and I entertain myself at home. But in the car, when there's nothing to distract me, I cry. It's okay, crying is good for me. But I must be holding back for fear of what may be there.
I have friends who are clamoring to help and have no way to do it from afar. But I thought of a way that anyone with just a little time can be a genuine help to me: make me laugh. No more than once a day—because I'm expecting a lot—write me a funny story about you, find me a link, send me a picture. I love to laugh, and I know it's good for me. Help me find my way back to the music.
Love you guys.