Now what? It’s pretty weird living life in three-month increments. Now, I have been given a by and God willing, six months to live. Live without intense treatment anyway. So, forward I go.
In case you missed the late last week’s post, my chest CT scan came back improved. My MRI was nothing to be concerned about, according to Dr. Pollock from Mayo Clinic. Today, I do not have a single scan scheduled in the next couple of months. Now what?
It’s garden planting time. I have radishes coming up. I also planted onions, potatoes, and beets. My rhubarb was hiding under so much grass I dug out those beds and then cleaned the old grass from under the gooseberry bushes.
Standing on the backyard deck, I noticed the Nanking cherry tree overflowing with blossoms. It was breathtaking. It’s a fairly new tree. We haven’t had any major harvests. I look forward to that day.
Ummm. Rhubarb and strawberry jam. Gooseberry jam. Nanking cherry jam — the fruits of summer.
This is the time of year when as a gardener, I feel like a failure. I stand before the barren soil and will those seeds to germinate. Looking at rows of tiny tomato and pepper plants in the high tunnel, I think to myself, “Wow, what if nothing grows?”
Then, with due diligence and high-powered weeding, in a month or so, the plants will overtake the weeds and fill in all the bare spots with an abundance of greenery. Then comes July and August, and harvest time begins.
In the meantime, we wait. Or, as my friend Shelly said, “You are in God’s waiting room.”
Somedays, I’m tired of waiting.
As we know, “You can weed, water, and hoe, but only God can make it grow.”
It’s easy when you are feeling fine to overdo most anything — gardening included. So, trying not to feel guilty, I will take the afternoon to knit, cook, read, and write. Two of my cancer peers have not had the good news afforded me.
We need to accept the things we cannot change, but it sure doesn’t seem fair that cancer is so tricky. Some of us are given the gift of more time. Some of us are faced with the question of continuing treatment that makes life unlivable knowing it won’t prolong our life or… to let go and let God.
Is it easy? Heck no.
The answer is to take today, the present, and do not worry about tomorrow because tomorrow has enough worries of its own. Working outdoors in the early morning with not another soul in sight is the coolest feeling.
Sometimes, while digging around established perennials, uncovering the potential for rhubarb or asparagus, chives, or winter onions, I feel like a character in a dystopian movie.
I pretend to have come upon an abandoned farmstead and spend my time reviving the plants abandoned for one reason or another by the former owner.
My hair blows across my face, and birds sing, although not nearly as many as I remember from my youth. The sun is warm, and the soil smells like soil is supposed to — earthy.
During the past two years of living with cancer, summers have been my strongest months. I think it’s the garden. The wind becomes the Holy Spirit surrounding everything I do. God is in my garden. We work side by side. I hope he hears my prayers for rain.
INDYchildrendotme 
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