The hustle, the bustle
The constant demands of life
Keep our minds spinning
We never seem to slow down
We struggle to sleep
Find it hard to get up
Sluggish and confused
Weak, tears and blah
Then there’s that
What is that?
Maybe it’s nothing
Too busy to notice
Too busy to care
But Something’s not right
What is that?
Could that be why?
Worry too much
So call a doctor to see
Wait, Wait, Wait
Test, Test, Test
Wait, Wait, Wait
And then there’s the news
CANCER
Now what?
Talking, options, decisions
Surgery, Surgery, Chemo
Chemo, Surgery, Surgery
Surgery, Surgery, Surgery
And then it ends
But it doesn’t
Bills, Bills, Bills
Pain, Pain, Pain
BUT
No More Cancer!
More days to love
More days to care
More days to be
Not so busy
]]>Breakfast was served at 8:00am. There’s no time for sleep. We have fishing to learn to do.
The mornings are staring to cool off here in Central Texas, so when we went outside to learn how to assembly our fly fighting rods and reels it was a comfortable but cool 55°. I started out in just a long sleeve shirt, but it didn’t take more than a few minutes for me to rethink that decision.
Before we even took our rods and reels out of their bags, the oncologist that came for the weekend lead us through some breathing and stretching exercises. Then, we were taught how to put our rods and reels together. It’s not that complicated, but I was very thankful for the step-by-step instructions. After our rods were ready, we received a casting demonstration. They made it look simple enough.
Once I figured it out and began to discover a rhythm, I discovered why people fall in love with fly fishing. There is something so peaceful and relaxing about casting that line. And the sound of our line is muscial. I’m already in love and I haven’t even tried to catch a fish yet.
After trying our hand at casting, we returned inside for a knot tying class. Knots aren’t usually my favorite things to do. They usually frustrated me, but I guess today was my lucky day. I could tie some knots!
We had lunch and then went back out to learn another way to cast and how to pull our line. I was busy doing all this so I don’t have any pictures. We also received a lesson on how to think like a fish which was extremely interesting and informative to me.
During our break, we went around Glen Rose. They were packing up from a festival as we were walking around. It’s a small little place but has some really neat shops including an old soda shop and the best pie in Texas!
We had dinner and then went upstairs for some door prizes and a chance to just talk with each other. We all walk through different battles, and we all deal with cancer in very different ways, but there’s something about being around other cancer patients that heals you really deal with so many things so many hold inside. We watched that happen this evening. It’s amazing to me how much we, the cancer patient, hold inside and don’t talk about. Many times we don’t even realize we need to talk about these things. It was awesome to see some of the women in our group really begin to heal from something they might not have even realized they needed to heal from.
Our night ended with a campfire and great conversation. Tomorrow, will be the day of the fish and it’s supposed to be a “4 fish day” thanks to the super moon.
]]>Our morning started a little earlier for a little reflection and a rock to hold on to or let go of – the choice was ours. What to let go of? What to hold on to? My mind was racing. I’d let go of the debt I’ll probably never get out from under, and I’ll hold on to the support that was there for me on day one and is still here for me today.
Breakfast came next and a letter to my self. Next, we met our river guides. My guide was Jack.
We dressed up in our gear in which I have no photographs of because I chose to take in the moment and enjoy all of it! Jack was everything you want from a fishing guide. He helped me get to a great spot in which I was able to catch a fish. Oh, the excitement when I felt that tug on my line! I reeled that guy in as he twisted and fought to discover he was a wee little sun fish. But Jack made me feel like I’d caught a whopper of a fish! He was too funny. He had to rescue the fly the tiny fish tried to swallow down to his tail. It took a special little tool, but he got it and off that little guy went to probably tell all his friends to avoid me.
I’d get a few bites here and there. The camera guy came by and took some pictures, and just as he was walking away I caught a little bass. Oh, it was so fun! I gave it a sweet little kiss for the picture and sent him back down the river for another person to catch on another day.
As exciting as it was to catch those two fish, there was something quite heavenly about learning to cast. Jack made it look so peacefully beautiful and as he taught me how to make that line dance, I fell in love with fly fishing. It’s as though in that moment when the line starts to sing that the Angels assend from heaven to cover you in peace. It was beautiful! I’ll do it again.
All great things come to an end so did this. We had lunch, received our fly fishing certificates, said goodbye to our guides and went back upstairs for our last words around the circle. There was joy. There were tears. There was love. There was healing. We all left Glen Rose a little different than we came.
]]>It’s been a while since I’ve written. I’ve tried to find this fantasized balance between God-family-work-self, and I hate to admit this but I’ve failed. In my attempt to find balance, I found the dark days of winter. The blah. The scary grey monster that swallows you bit by bit. No one probably notices but me. I struggle to get up each morning and to sleep each night. I go through the motions of life but question whether or not I’m actually living. I escape society as much as possible and dream cautiously. It’s the cycle I secretly live within. The cycle I don’t really understand. The constant battle I still seem to fight to keep the depths of darkness from swallowing me whole. No! I only allow a bit of me and then I fight my way out.
Today, I’ve fallen. The irony of the inky darkness is this calm feeling of nothingness. It’s a mirage though. I know this, yet I allow myself to believe in it long enough to fall. Stupid. I know. Yet here I am. Again!
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