The Day After Chemo Treatment One

The sun has set behind the mountains in Jackson and with one fan in the window of the writing room blowing out, the cool of the early evening flows in through the open windows here in the living room.  Just a few feet away, the music of Johannes Brahms flows just as easily out of a small wooden speaker on top of the coffee table.  Nestled on the floor with his ear pressed against one of the table’s wooden legs is Will. 

He seems to like Brahms because he does this on occasion with some music he likes – quite often symphonies.  He cannot hear it, of course, but he feels the vibrations. His body has the slightest rock to it as if he is conducting with his heart.  When I move around the room his eyes follow me, but his ear is steadfast.  It’s married to the vibrations. 

Just above Will, Atticus is stretched out on the couch.  He’s sleeping but when I move about the room his eyes also follow me.  He’s tired and he should be.  For the first time in more than a month Atticus took two pretty good walks.  Both through forest paths lined with soft, rusty pine needles.  The first was too short; he wanted to walk a little further.  But the walk this evening was longer and he was happy to get back to the car and is content to be resting now at home. 

The fact that Atticus took two good walks the day after his first chemo treatment has me smiling.  His foot seems fine.  The amputated toe does not hinder him and he walked without his Muttluk to protect it.  There is the slightest limp, detected only by his floppy ears being out of sync in the way they move with each stride.  But the bounce in his step belies any evidence of cancer or chemo.  He’s not ready to go up a mountain yet, but he was certainly ready to be out in the woods trotting along meandering trails.

Toward the end of the second walk we stopped by the lake. I sat on a log and he sat a few feet away at the water’s edge watching a couple of ducks.  After a few minutes he came and sat by my side and together we watched the clouds looking down at their own reflection in the smooth-as-glass lake while the laughter of children from the busy side of the lake played in the background.  He and I didn’t look at each other until it was time to leave.  I felt his eyes on me and said, “Okay, you ready?”  With that we both stood and walked together along the trail. 

We’ve been through a lot these past few months and while Atticus and I have had each other, what we haven’t had was our hiking.  It’s a strength for us and peaceful place to retreat to and renew ourselves.  It was finally good to be getting reacquainted with the woods we love.  The broken bone in my left foot is only a memory and he seems to feel the same way about the bones removed from his left foot. 

Emerson wrote, “In the woods we return to reason and faith.”  This morning and this evening we did exactly that, but we also returned to where we are most comfortable, where the outside world fades away like a dream at waking and our souls are filled and our spirits elevate. It felt right to be where we were listening to birds, watching red squirrels and the smallest toads we have ever seen.  At one point I picked one up, held it in the palm of my hand, and together we sat looking down at it as the toad looked up at us.  It didn’t seem panicked or in a hurry to leave because when I placed it down on the log we’d found it on it stuck around for a while – and so did we. 

It feels good to know we’ve now made it this far and what we share will only be fortified by nature’s embrace now that the beginning stages of hiking have returned.  This is the world we are happiest in, where the seasons dictate the pace of life, not technology, time clocks, or social life.

One of the advantages of having Atticus as a hiking partner is that he has no trouble stopping on a trail and letting me know he wants to turn back.  He didn’t do that today, but what gave me the confidence to walk as far as we did when he is supposed to be most susceptible to fatigue is knowledge that he knows his limitations and understands he has a right to choose.  I’m told that in this chemo portion of our lives we’ll be on a physical rollercoaster.  There will be good days and bad days; days when we feel like we can climb mountains and days when just making it out into the backyard will be enough. That’s okay.  We’ll take whatever is offered. 

Soon enough we will be sitting on a mountaintop once again.  Then another. And another.  I know the mountains will come and they’ll mean even more to us now than they already did.  That’s something I didn’t think was possible.  But watching Atticus bounce along the trail today was a hint of things to come.  In watching him I felt a joy that is indescribable and I can only imagine what it will be like once those walks get longer and we start to go up – up until there is no more up, which is what Atticus has always done.  

Those days are coming, but tonight here we are – two of us listening to Brahms, all three of us feeling him, and I’m dreaming of the mountains we love as never before.  Oh, the hikes we will take this autumn will be gifts indeed – there will be peace and laughter and gratitude and joy.  Most importantly there will be the two of us.