August 22, 2006 - Day 7 - Week 20 - Freedom

If you are the least bit observant, and a regular to the Kreitler Compact, you will notice a new photograph on the opening page.  If a picture can tell one thousand words, then I have nothing to amplify what this picture represents.  On the water, smiling, with hand raised signifying all is well with the world this picture reflects that deep inner feeling of relief, though the body is still week and struggling to find equilibrium.  Yes, my spirits are elevated as I express my gratitude daily.

Here is perhaps the irony of this photograph taken in the San Juan Islands somewhere at sea, for the craft upon which I ride in complete comfort is named Freedom.  The bold letters on the stern accompanied by the port of call, Friday Harbor reflect how I feel today.  As I have described cancer through the past few months it has become clear that when the disease is contracted a leash is attached and you can not roam very far from your medical team and attending therapists.  One with cancer is anything but free, and yet now being given a reprieve, for the time being, though I hope permanently,  I am starting to have a sense of what real freedom feels like.

Ask any parent suffering from a chronic or debilitating disease and you will soon discover what shackles do to the human psyche and the will to be productive on a daily basis.  Ask the person caught in cycle of poverty about freedom and you get a blank stare.  Inquire of the recovering drug addict and you will hear horror stories of being chained in a cocoon of denial, guilt, dysfunction, and fear.  In some ways the loss of freedom during chemo therapy or radiation is not as troubling as the situations above, but having the burden removed is making each step a little lighter.

As I walk I must cope with shortness of breath, perhaps a side effect of the chemo and the infection in the chest, or the heart not pumping at its normal rate, but whatever the current state of the body the mind has been free to celebrate.

I am going away for three weeks.  I am not going to write to you for three weeks.  (well maybe occasionally)  My body needs to heal, in part because of the drugs that have streamed into my body for months, in part because the interaction of heart, diabetes, and cancer has taken its toll on  me.  Physically I am not up to par, and for 21 days on Cape Cod I am going to focus 100% of my energy on getting well.  I may check in occasionally ( I already mentioned that), but suffice it to say that being useless for awhile is probably an antidote I need.

Please read tomorrow’s offering.

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