The Incubator

Thanks to some rest with the cats, some good friends and lots of love in the air, I am gradually coming back to life. I still feel weak, tired and not particularly peppy but, it is only Tuesday night, right?

Over the last few months, I've wrestled with the paradox of "this is only temporary" and "live in the present." Certain things lend themselves to the realm of temporary, like puffy eyes, upset tummies or extreme fatigue. I know that I won't look like Uncle Fester forever. I hope! I will eat cruciferous vegetables again without fear. And, my "claire-level" energy will return.

Certain things, however, do not lend themselves so well to this premise. This is my life, dammit, and I want to live every minute of it. For me to be fully present, I need to experience, I need to live, I need to be involved. Sight, sound, taste, smell, feel. Passion. Intensity. One hundred percent. Sacrificing to the halfway, the mediocre: not for me. If I can help it.

I'm not saying that I don't need my quiet time. Yoga, meditation, lazy naps with my cats curled up around me like two sleek guardians. I love to lay on the couch and read a good book all day. I like to lounge in the sunshine with a frivolous magazine. Not because I have to. I don't do well with being told what I can or cannot do. Cancer treatment is no different.

My day was highlighted by two wonderful conversations with two very different women, both of whom I have not seen in far too long. Both beautiful, wise blondes from two really crappy jobs in Los Angeles that yielded really cool friendships. Maybe I've had so many jobs because I needed to find all these amazing friends that grace my life now? Thank you Jenny and Camille for the wisdom, love and comfort.

The sage Camille offered some concrete nuggets for me. To help my existential struggle with the same old questions, she suggested a reminder of "this is why I decided to do chemotherapy." Back in February, I decided to have chemotherapy based upon all the knowledge and input I had gathered at the time. Tap back into the reasons I said yes to the drugs. I shouldn't second guess myself now.

And, Camille created the Incubator concept. She suggested that instead of being "on hold" or "treading water" during these months, perhaps I'm just incubating. A higher level of brilliance is percolating, something that I'd dared not even dream to date. I need to be a bald, little egg while this transformation occurs and I can then blossom into my full potential.

I like it. For now, I'll continue covering my bald little head with warm hats and fake hair, knowing that I'll emerge somehow new come summer.