I'm happy ... and I haven't even taken my Lexapro yet!

Dear friends,

I'm happy! It's so wonderful to feel this way, so I had to write and tell you -- I'm happy. Right now, not thinking about the past weeks or what's coming up, it feels so good to just sit here and savor this moment. To think about Andre and Mira, all of you, my friends, my family, to take in the world, even to know that there are some cancer cells wandering about in me, but really who gives a shit, because I'm happy! :)

I'm so glad that I made the decision to take this week off and not go back to treatment even though I could have forced myself to. I observed Andre after we returned from the last treatment and even though it went alright (God knows, we have such dire comparisons that it doesn't take much to be able to make that statement!), he was exhausted. He had neck pains and was lethargic, and I felt so bad for him. So, when I was trying to decide if I should go back, I thought to myself, "Andre really needs a break." And on the heels of that thought, I heard something say, "Imagine how you feel then -- you're the one getting the chemo." And the decision was made, and it was the right one. My blood values came back from the lab today and they are all great, so now I can even say that the data supports that conclusion. Though really, who cares ...'cos I'm happy!

I can't stop saying that! It's almost strange to feel happy again and to remember the days of emptiness and sadness that were. Those moments feel so crushingly real, their heaviness feels like the weight of truth compared to this lightness and freedom of joy. And I know those moments will be back. But right now, this feeling of happiness assures me that I can handle them, secretly even hope that they might not come back. Joy really is a seductive friend without whom we could not go through life. I guess what I should remember is that while Joy seems inevitably wrong about her optimism, Gloom is too in its pessimism. And that's the saving grace.

Ah well, enough maudlin philosophizing. Isn't it great to be happy? I really don't care to think too much. When I'm in the grip of sadness and emptiness, I do a lot of thinking and writing in my head. I think that it's brilliant writing that would bring the warmest approbation from Henrik Ibsen or Fyodor Dostoevsky. As Marcia says, though, that's until one puts it down on paper. Then the words have a habit of looking at me with sneers and uplifted eyebrows, as though astonished that I would choose to place them together at the same soiree. Perhaps I should learn to write with my eyes shut, like the Cat in the Hat.

Dear friends, I want to thank you for all the love, thoughts, and words you have sent my way. They are so uplifting, and I need them in my dark moments. I lean on them, remembering how they carried me through those horrible months of January to March. Some of you know that when I was diagnosed, I decided not to tell my parents – my father was scheduled to undergo heart stent surgeries and it just seemed that it would be too much to throw at them. Unfortunately, that was also when the tumors in the lung made my voice raspy and short of breath and I was in so much pain, I knew that it would be hard to hide behind the phone. So, I chose not to call my parents at all for 2 months, a decision that was horrible for them and miserable for me. They both suspected that something was up and it was my dear brother who had to keep my secret and support me and them through it all. (My brother is amazing!) That was a hard time, when I felt so cut off from my family --- the love that all of you gave so generously and spontaneously to me was what supported me through that time. You became my family then, holding the space for me as I cried in pain for my mom and dad. I am so glad those days are behind me. In March, after my father had recovered from his surgeries, I told my parents in a very hysterical phone conversation what was happening. And though I know it's awful for them, it's been such a relief for me to be able to talk to them, to lean on them and know that they are there for me. They can't come and be with us because my father is still recovering and air travel is not advisable (especially the long journey from India here), but just talking to them on the phone gives me so much relief. It's funny ... we don't outgrow our parents. One of things that I was told when I was so depressed was to think of living to see Mira graduate or get married. Try as I might, I couldn't bring those pictures up, but what I could tell myself each time I cried for my mom was that I needed to live so that I could be there for Mira if and when she needed me.

Mira herself is so wonderful. I feel so blessed to have her -- after I return from treatment, she seems to understand that she can't make too many demands on me. She amuses herself but comes to check on me occasionally. Once I turn the corner, she takes the cue from me and hangs out more with me. It's such a joy to see her and even when I feel depressed, I am awed by her strength and maturity. I wish I had as much maturity! I am so grateful to the families who take her in and care for her when we go to L.A. We are always so protective of our children, wanting to keep them safe from anything that might hurt them. I had to let that go after my first diagnosis in 2006, and I learned to have faith that Mira had inside her the strength to handle what life sent her way. But she was so much younger then, and when I recovered, I could hope that she would forget the entire experience. Now, I tell myself that this is an experience that will form her into the person she is going to be. It is not an experience I would have chosen for her, but it is not given to parents to choose the experiences that form their children, else this world would be a different place. What I am truly grateful for is how this experience is bringing her in contact with so many people who are so loving and kind, friends who are family and give her love and care like her parents. What a wonderful lesson it is for her to learn that the world is full of loving people. It is certainly the lesson that I have learned from this experience .... and for that, I am so grateful to all of you.

We leave for L.A. on Monday again and I hope that the rest and this happy feeling are preludes to a round that will go smoothly. But if not, I'll have Andre read this entry to me on Wednesday to remind me that the fog has lifted before and will again.

With love,
Radhika.