I can no longer taste my coffee. It came as a shock. Not because I wasn’t expecting it. But because I thought that it would continue to be a gradual affair. Chemo isn’t gentle on the taste buds, everybody knows that. But… in case it was a fluke, I went ahead and brewed a fresh pot. No joy—the second cup of coffee also tasted as if someone had washed their feet in it.
I distracted my caffeine headache by imagining just how fantastic my first cup of the post-chemo magic stuff will taste in my mouth. In fact, I’ve been planning my post-chemo meals. Steak is always at the top of the list, which is a bit strange, since I’m not all that crazy about meat. Who knows, maybe the cavewoman within is craving iron.
Anyway, I was sharing the details of my taste buds’ betrayal with a friend, when she said, “I understand why you’re hating your life right now.”
“What do you mean?” I said, wondering if she was hearing voices or if my tongue had been flash-possessed by the tiniest of life-hating ventriloquists.
After that, I spent
probably way too much time rambling about the visuals involved in tongue possession and discussing how sad (not to mention useless) it would be to dwell so much in what we have lost that we forget to delight in what we still have. At some point, I might’ve been accused of being infuriatingly positive. But you know what? I don’t believe that’s true. I am just stubbornly rational. And, perhaps, as contrary as they come.
I enjoy a good fight (even a not so good fight): the chemo beast takes away my coffee? I binge on blood orange leaf tea until coffee tastes good again. I could shriek and kick and flip the bird skyward, but… why waste energy growling into the abyss? Like my Knight Writer so wisely said, “It’s better to light a flamethrower than to curse the darkness.” So, flame the freak on!
Also, you can often find good in the bad, if you look hard enough (yes, by “you” I mean “me” *I’m a great looker*). Examples:
1. A few days ago, my digestive system wasn’t doing its job. After trying all I could think of, I made a macaroon cookie recipe my Mother in Law sent me (after she read it helped someone with issues similar to mine). The cookies helped and were delicious, too.
2. Bone pain is a huge bastard between chemo infusions. The pain can get so nasty that standing up, sleeping, typing (serious nail pain) can become a problem. I soothed the pain by plotting poetry in my head. I’ve added five new poems to the collection I’m working on. I’ve also rewritten more than one third of AlmaMia Cienfuegos (more on that soon, soon, soon…).
3. I have always admired the life-giving beauty found in scars and decay, but never as deeply as right now. So, when I saw that my amaryllis (which looked dead not so long ago) is sprouting a new bloom, I took the sight as a sign: out of weary bones, my wild fire springs anew.
Doing It Alone Is Quite Yummy, But… (week 3)
Doing it together is super easy. Just write a post about something that matters to you in a good way (arting, living, tightrope walking). If your muse is not in the mood for coming up with a new topic, just dance with my theme: share your thoughts on taking a recent not-so-wonderful situation and twisting it around until it gave you something good.
Let Your Divine Radiance Shine, by Magic Love Crow