One year

My surgery was one year ago this morning. The last 365 days have been full of fear and wonder, discomfort and joy. I have been transformed, both inside and out. If the self of that day met the self of today, we would not recognize each other.

That's not entirely true. Some things remain the same. I am still driven to do too much. I am still, I think, basically me.  But sometimes I wonder. I have a new impatience, a new bite to my thoughts. My measure of everything is whether it will waste my time or not. Time is everything to me these days. I mark my days between mammograms and thyroid tests as the sweet spots in which life must be lived to the fullest. I don't know when the party will end, but -- for a long while at least -- I suspect I will remember the way that a single doctor's visit turned everything upside down. Point to point, mammogram to mammogram, I now live, six months at a time.

What wastes my time varies. Certainly I'm spending huge chunks of it with the opera company these days. Unpaid, as usual, and on projects that I am firmly convinced will bear fruit but, of course, are not guaranteed. Still, I'm full bore on these things. Working on grants, writing a new show. I am working 14 hours a day these days, either at the day job or at home, writing, writing, writing. It's a good thing that's what I do, I think, as I tackle whatever the next project is. This would sure be a drag if I hated to write.

Weeknights for the rest of the month are grant nights. Weekends are for the show. Last weekend I holed up in an Embassy Suites in El Segundo and did nothing but breathe, eat, and write Gilbert and Sullivan. This weekend I may do it again. I take my breaks at work scanning Expedia and weighing the costs and benefits of pure solitude. The Embassy Suites tour... where for less than $200, I can buy myself quiet, a desktop, and a bowl of rather gluey oatmeal. How much am I willing to spend for the luxury to think nothing but my own thoughts for 24 hours? A lot, as it turns out.

I have not yet hit my stride. I have an intense amount of inner energy, which is contained in a still somewhat fragile exterior. By this I mean I'm not Ironman on the outside, even though I feel like him on the inside. The fragility is rapidly falling away (in all areas except work where I fatigue rapidly and often). Outside of the office I am riding my bike more and more miles, with increasing elevations, and feeling stronger daily. Yesterday I brought home my first set of cleated shoes, and am both excited and dismayed at the prospect of learning (basically) how to re-learn to ride my bike. I spent a half hour by the washing machine, propped up, just clipping in and out, fifty times each side, hoping to build up the muscle memory so I don't topple over the second I get on the road.

So yes, the fragility is falling away, at least in terms of physical stamina. But I do not suffer fools gladly these days. Irritation factors are high. (I asked my oncologist: "Is it the tamoxifen, or is everyone in the world just basically really annoying?") Give me something meaningful to do, or talk about, or watch, or enjoy... and I'm fine. But don't waste my time. I have too many things I want to do, whether it's just sleep or ride the bike, or continue with the myriad projects. I don't have time to kill these days. I want to be out there breathing the air, stretching my body, engaging my brain with creative and productive thoughts.

Quite a year. Transformative. Being back in the trenches is both exhilarating and frustrating. I deeply want and need six more hours to each day. I deeply want and need my brain to be able to relax into the new groove enough to enable me to find the pause button a bit more frequently. Biking is the thing that keeps me settled down, the anxiety at bay. It is a form of active meditation that forces focus on the present moment. When I'm done with a ride I'm in my body and mind and soul again fully. Ready to tackle the projects I've set out for myself once again.

To the Kathy of 4/14/14, I send my greetings and my best wishes. I am glad we made it through. I would not want to be you again, for anything. But it was a good year in so many ways, laced through with such grace and laughter and compassion and love. I am deeply and tearfully grateful to be on this side of that year... and at the same time I would not trade it for anything.