HOW THE DECK SAVED MY ASS DURING CHEMO & AFTER

     Usually it is the wonderful people in we know who save our lives during chemo and afterwards. It is the community of the faithful and family who lift us up during hard times. It is God, of course, who puts her hands beneath us and supports us, whispering words of hope and strength.

     I had all of that, and I am so so grateful for this. But in a very real sense, our deck saved my ass during chemo and later on. Those of you who know where we live--up on a steep hill over 1200' up--with 23 steps just up to the first floor, know that there are no easy walking paths around our property or up the hill at the foot of our steep driveway. Those realities make it nigh impossible to get exercise outside when legs and brain are wobbly.

     So--during chemo and CIPN (Chemo Induced Peripheral Neuropathy)--I made it my goal to walk at least 20 laps around the deck in all weathers, except sleet, rain and snow. Cane in hand, I would sally forth with a warm cap over my bald head, warmly dressed, and stump around our deck. Some days it was only ten laps. On good days, it might be 30. 

Spring on the deck, praise God!

     On one dark day, sunk in depression at my current status, I trailed miserably around the deck wondering, "WTF happened to me? Where is the joyous, energetic, healthy Annie I used to be?" Leaking from my eyes, I stopped at the end of the deck and saw a chipmunk scurrying around atop our low stone wall below the deck, stopping to nose a possible seed, racing forward, then ducking between the stones. Somehow that frisky creature broke through my depression, lifted the dark clouds in my mind, and reminded me that we are surrounded by vibrant life at all times. We only have to look.

     And that summer I decided the 23 steps were a bit much for me with gardening, so I ordered (from Amazon of course) these nifty cloth bags that you put on your deck, fill with light potting soil, and plant sets in. Voila! Instant garden and a happy Annie!

     That was 3 years ago. Fast forward to 2019, and Annie is much better, no question about it--able to work in the new cedar raised bed garden with the 8' tall deer-repelling fence (thanks, Diego!), even digging up a new 1'-wide, long herb bed along the side. Even though I collapsed when coming inside and had to pop some Tylenol and Ibuprophen. 


Still. Better. But not yet back to where I had hoped to be. And isn't that the challenge of aging in general? To accept where our bodies are--a bit wobbly on the stairs--to greet the somewhat diminished cognitive capacities? (Where did I put those damn keys? Why did I come into the kitchen?)

     And do not forget the blessing and uplift of making delicious food. I tried that damn Keto Diet for 2 weeks and thought, "This is simply horrible food. Not to be borne." So went back to Green Chef and my own wonderful meals. Food is a great support for soul and body sickness.

   I am back to getting my laps in on the deck again, as the PN is still there. Better, not as crushing, but there. So I put on my fitbit brimmed hat, sally out at 6:45, and get in 30 laps. Then I sit down at our lovely cafe table on the new deck (thanks, Pease brothers!) and watch birds for 30 min: the red-bellied mama woodpecker who comes every 15 seconds to eat seed (I timed her, must have nestlings now); the chestnut-sided nuthatch; the 4-5 hummingbirds who buzz constantly at my 2 feeders, sometimes coming within 2" of my body; woodpeckers galore; goldfinches in their summer splendor; wood doves; and I can hear wrens, scarlet tanagers, yellow warblers, and the indigo bunting. Such abundance! All of that restores me to myself--the self I am now--who I am beginning to love again, accept, and be grateful for, even if I am still using a cane.