Well folks, I’ve now finished 3 full weeks of treatment, which means that when I wake up tomorrow I am officially half-way through this part of my treatment!
It definitely feels good to be half through the radiation, though last week was a little rough on the nausea front, hence no posts until today. I think my biggest complaint at this point is that the side-effects are so inconsistent and unpredictable. During my second week I felt pretty much fine, then last week I honestly felt like crap. The one happy consistency is that I feel well over the week-ends when there’s no radiation treatment. I guess I can also be grateful that nausea is the worst I’ve had to deal with at this point, as I know cancer can be a lot worse.Hitting the half-way point in this leg of treatment has certainly made me reflect. It’s hard for me to believe it’s only been 2 months since the first diagnosis; time has definitely slowed down immeasurably. Most of the time it feels like a gift, leaving plenty of opportunity for reflection. Of course, there are the days when the radiation has left me feeling like I drank a gallon of cheap tequila. Those moments I’m less excited to have extra time to ponder the beauty of life.
Even at those moments though, I can look back on experiences that at the time seemed irredeemable, and yet in hindsight are some of my best (and maybe funniest) memories. I’ve been thinking a lot about India recently, and can’t help but remember my first trip there in 1996. At the time I was traveling with my friend Harry but we had decided to split up for a bit. He wanted to go South and I wanted to go North, so we decided to split up and agreed to meet up at a specific day in front of a famous temple in Puri. Of course, at the time we didn’t know that it was one of the 4 holiest temples in all of India, with tens of thousands of people visiting every day.
The day before we were supposed to meet I was in the city of Bhubaneshwar after visiting the ancient temple of Konark (please excuse any and all spelling mistakes folks). This night I hit the one bought of ‘Dheli belly’ with which I have been cursed in all my travels, and it was a whopper. I won’t go into details of that night, but will say that it was measurably worse than anything I have experienced since, including all my current treatment. Waking up the next day, I knew I needed to get from Bhubaneshwar to Puri to meet up with Harry. After the previous evening I felt absolutely spent, and all I wanted was a simple, easy trip. Those who have traveled in India can imagine how that went.
I decided to hire a taxi for the trip (about US$15) since I felt like absolute death, and after getting the taxi and paying my hotel bill I was off. All was well, and I was enjoying traveling through the tropical countryside of Orissa when the driver stopped. I looked out and there was a line of other vehicles all stopped in front, and when I asked the driver what was going on he only replied ‘Student strike’. After waiting for 10 minutes I got out and walked up to see what exactly was going on. I then discovered that a ’student strike’ involves a group of 10-14 year-old girls pulling their classroom benches across the road, completely blocking it right at a bridge. Aside from the signs the girls had put up on their benches, there was no indication of what was going on (no changing or singing or anything like that).
Soon it became clear that this was a long-term situation, and I began to worry about my meeting with Harry, especially since neither of us had any way of getting in touch. I went back to the taxi and asked the driver if there was another road and he of course said no, there is no other road. I then, in traditional Indian style, asked if there wasn’t a special road and the driver informed me that yes, there was a special road, but it required a toll. After some quick negotiations we settled on 200 rupees (at about 35 to the dollar) to take the other road and I thought all was well. After handing over my cash, the driver proceeded to turn off the road and, ignoring any protests on my part, drive off across the dry, red-clay fields. We drove along for something like an hour across fields with no sign of a road, and I was starting to get concerned when we finally hit the roads on the outskirts of Puri (my destination). I can hardly describe my joy as I passed the sign for the temple where Harry and I were planning to meet with minutes to spare. Given that I had spent the night convinced I had cholera (and still felt physically devastated), and had just had a somewhat terrifying ride across rough terrain in an Ambassador, the relief of arriving at my destination was immeasurable. Of course, those who know India know it doesn’t end there.
The taxi stopped in front of what looked pretty much like a riot but was in fact a normal day at the temple. As I said, it turned out this was one of the 4 holiest sites in India (a devoutly religious country to begin with), and it was a festival day to boot. When the taxi driver told me to get out I found myself standing in front of what looked like about a million people crowding around this temple. As people began to notice me, they began to take a uniquely India interest in me (which I had gotten used to already) and crowded around me (personal space is not a reality in India) staring. Imagine tens of thousands of people compressed into a small (relatively) square in front of an ancient temple, with you trying to wander through and find one other person in the crowd, while carrying a big backpack and suffering from a night of dehydration and nausea. Not a great day.
As I began to wander aimlessly towards a more-quiet corner of the square, I suddenly heard my name called out. I turned around, and there about 100 feet away and just getting ready to leave (thinking I had not come to Puri at all) was Harry. Within half an hour I was checked into a great little hotel near the beach that Harry had been staying in for a few days, and had the best meal I had in all of India that evening.
That is a normal day in India.
I guess the reason I tell that story is that I often think about that day, and a hundred other horrific and glorious days traveling around the world (ok, especially in India) where the world hands you an inconceivable combination of pain, sickness, confusion, beauty and joy. During those days, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to curse my existence and whatever creator or creators have played a part in my life. Yet each time when things seem the bleakest and most painfully surreal, somehow just by sticking it out, by digging in and holding out for the inevitable pay-off, I end up having the greatest experiences of my life and making the greatest and most vivid memories. Whether it was that day from Bhubaneshwar to Puri, or getting lost on my own in the mountains outside Pokhara, or fighting brain cancer, those experiences give me the certainty that everything works out in the end if we just allow it. I guess that’s all any of us can ask for.
Best wishes to each and every one of you as you face all the challenges, big and small, in your days; I hope you find a little India in you as well.
-Ted
-PS I encourage anyone who has had a tough travel experience that turned out to be one of the best experiences of their life to tell everyone about it by leaving a comment right here on this page.
