Teeter Tottering

When I was a young girl, we had a teeter totter next to our swing set in the back yard. This was in the innocent, pre-litigious days of childhood when kids were allowed to roam free in neighborhoods and parents lived by the creed that “kids will be kids” - including the occasional bumps and bruises earned from falling off teeter totters.

My siblings and I, along with our friends, spent many happy hours riding that teeter totter, up and down, up and down.

Sometimes we would seesaw quickly, trying to get our stomachs to bump into our throats, laughing and giggling when we caught our partner unaware. Sometimes we would ride slowly, trapping the other person in the “up” position until they promised us imaginary gifts - “I’ll give you a triple scoop ice cream cone if you let me down.”

Up and down, up and down, we rode, rising and falling our way through the endless days of childhood.

Today I am riding on a different teeter totter. My days are filled with treatments and doctor visits, surgery and side effects as I seesaw my way toward wholeness, striving to remove the cancer that has invaded my body. There are “up” days when I feel good and I can cling to the hope of future plans and goals. And there are “down” days when I struggle with exhaustion and other side effects; when I can’t find the energy to make dinner, let alone the strength to look at tomorrow.

Being treated for cancer is an up and down ride.

Yesterday

I dreamed of a future

without treatments

without doctor visits

without exhaustion.

Yesterday

I had the strength

to leap forward

and hope.

But today,

today is swamped

in the reality of now.

And now

is almost more

than I can handle.

When I was a girl,

my teeter-tottering would end with a call from my mother,

“Come wash your hands. It’s time for dinner.”

Now I wait for another call.

A call from my doctor,

“Congratulations. You are cancer-free.”

Until that day, I teeter totter.

Up and down. Up and down.

(written day 142 of breast cancer treatment, October 2009)