My Other Children

If my PICC is my third child, my garden has become my fourth through twentith. Or make that twenty-one so I can one up Michelle Dugger.

I check on them multiple times I day. I feed them. I talk to them. I photograph them. I love them.

I've never successfully grown anything in my life. I've even killed a cactus. So during this draining period of my life, I find the garden to be such a source of life for me, both literally and figuratively.

It's joined the other aspects of the outside that have become my therapy. While I am on a mission to kill what's on the inside of me, I thrive seeing my mission to grow on the outside.

The start of a beautiful relationship that has since turned into an out-of-control party. Those cherry tomatoes are crazier than a frat boy on spring break. Clearly the craziest of all my tomato children.
Cherry tomatoes by the millions. Millions!
First spaghetti squash.
Baby zucchini.



Somewhere in the weapy fog of the last five days I remember Kyle reminding me that it's the last few miles of a marathon that are the hardest.

I'm finding the end to be more emotionally grueling than any other part of this journey. I play mental games with my anxiety every time I step foot in that building and find that I cry at the slightest thought or discussion of my experience with chemo. It's not because I'm sad for my life or my situation. It's because I'm so worn down from the cycle of sickness and wellness. To willingly inflict something on yourself that will make you so sick for days is bound to conflict with your short term rationale.

In the long run I know I'm obviously doing the right thing. But while sitting on the couch examining my daily life, it's hard to see past the next treatment.

I was in and out of sleep during those last five days, wondering if the misery would ever let up and wondering why my magical pills weren't offering me relief from the nausea. All I could do was lay there in the dark, quiet room my mother keeps for me and hope I could drift off again to pass some of the time.

I look forward to the day when I can return to the petty nuances of life.

I'll put my hair back now in its thinning little pony tail, hoping it can hang in there for two more rounds and head off for my third Neupogen shot in as many days. What little glimpse of normal I started to see today will be gone by the evening, so for now I'll wallow in it and say to myself:

"Only two more times. I only have to do this two more times."