Chemo toe realizations

"We're toe twins," Bob said.

Bob's got a big toenail that is... unusual. It's very thick and last I checked pretty gross. The toenail on my right big toe is now super thick and weirdly white, and I was telling him about it. "Yeah, I guess that makes us toe twins." This was before I looked closer and discovered that it's pulling away, and is, pardon me for being graphic, leaking pus. (In other news, the big toenail on my left foot now has a stunning tortoise-shell color.)

Dr. M told me to soak my feet in Epsom salt water. "And if it falls off?" I asked him. "Just wrap it up," he told me. And here's a bit of trivia for you: it can take a year and a half for a big toenail to grow back. So no pedicures for me.

Chemo problems. Still happening.

I've been saying how radiation treatment is much more physical than chemo was. I've got a precise outline of the treatment area, filled in with what looks like a nasty sunburn, complete with a blistery rash. But it's not just the physical signs of the treatment, it's physically demanding. Laying down with my arms over my head doesn't sound hard, but by the time we're done my shoulders are screaming. I'm thankful it only takes about 15 minutes. It's also very physically exhausting. It doesn't seem like it should be, but the fatigue is almost worse than with chemo.

But, it's all physical while we're still here. And that's what's had me thinking about the Incarnation a lot lately. "The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us." The reality of Jesus' being "made flesh" is a big deal. God could have done it any way he wanted, right? But Jesus was a man. Jesus got thirsty, hungry, sleepy, and in the end suffered and died.

Driving to and from radiation every day of the week gives me tons of time to think about this sort of thing. I spent some time recently thinking that I should think of my body as insignificant. Hair or no hair, shouldn't care. Plus, there's the small matter of having parts of me removed and amputated.

So that should free me up, right? Not exactly. I can't look at the people waiting for their turn in the radiation room and think of their bodies as insignificant.

There's one man I see every morning, he must go in after me. He seems so shy, almost never makes eye contact. I've only ever said "hi," to him once. He's older, thin, and has a longish white beard. Anyway, one morning last week I woke up with the song "What Becomes of the Brokenhearted" in my head. I often wake up with songs in my head, but rarely this kind of song, so I paid attention to it. Who's brokenhearted? This man popped into my head immediately. He looks like what brokenhearted sounds like. He just wants to feel better.

That's all of us, though, right? Jesus knew -- he healed people physically. They were all changed, forever changed. But, all the people he healed eventually got old, or sick, and their bodies died. Even Lazarus, who Jesus raised from the dead, got old or sick and died a second time.

The mystery is that we share in the human nature but we also share in the divine nature. We're given the gift of faith, through grace. "For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God." (Eph 2:8) We can have a real relationship with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. And, as I often think, rather obsessively, there was a beginning, but no end. We had a beginning, but we have no end. We're made for eternity.

To me this means that -- while I'm here -- I can care about the physical nature of being human. I can work on getting rid of the chemo-10, spike up my new white accidental-pixie, cuddle under a fleece blanket, smell the oregano, soak my gross toe, exercise (enough), go to daily Mass, dance around the kitchen with my husband, eat an avocado, put mascara on my growing lashes, and laugh at all of Bob's jokes. (Well, most.)

And know that this will end, but this is not THE end.