A --> B

A --> B

While I thrive on new experiences, I like a compulsive, ritualistic form of repetition.  I have an old-school Bose six-CD player and an iPhone connection in my Rogue; however, instead of changing tracks, I like to listen to the same songs, over and over again, for several months.  One of the three songs I have listened to constantly, on a CD I have nostalgically labeled “Summer 2014”, is Matt Hire’s ballad “A-B.”

His lyrics are synonymous with my current reality:

Darling, nothing ever goes exactly how you planned it…

My trip itineraries are detailed to the second; my substitute lesson plans are meticulous.  I did not plan on getting breast cancer in 2009; I did not plan on getting leukemia in 2011; I did not plan on getting metastatic breast cancer in 2014.  If you’ve forgotten the story, after my dear friend Bridget Green, sent me to the emergency room at St. E’s in March of 2011, I was confronted by the cancer center’s Saturday on-call oncologist.  In a somber voice, the doctor said, “You have leukemia.”  Brian and I were intending on spending two weeks in China that summer: every detail was mortared together and perfectly in place like the Great Wall once was.  My untypical response to this blunt statement: “Can I still go to China this summer?”  His labored retort: “Can you get your money back?”

I guess I've been here long enough to see
That time can be your dearest friend…

I don’t want my metaphorical money back.  I am constantly shaped and molded by my experiences—even if that “experience” is having cancer—and those experiences are nonrefundable.  Like The Great Wall, my experiences erode and wear me down in spots, but, at the same time, the texture gives me character. 

Or time can be a bandit
When tomorrow changes into history…

I have laughed an August diagnosis of “you-might-have-two-months-without-treatment” in the face.  Like I said, I still don’t accept my current reality, which I heard after my December 26^th PET scan: “you-might-have-two-years-with-treatment.”  I wrote in my August 26^th blog entry “My Dash” about how I have approached my life prior and post cancer diagnoses: “My philosophy has always been to cram in as much living as possible.  If you know me at all, you know that I don't like wasting time.  Every moment needs to be important; every experience needs to be rich, interesting, and fulfilling.”  

      

But you got, you got to see
That you can live your life walking in a straight line
But it's more than just A to B…

I have managed to stretch out my dash; I plan to keep on stretching it.  I will continue to taunt my diagnosis.  I will do things that healthy people are scared to do: I will jump and land out of a “perfectly good airplane.”  I will run and finish a half marathon with minimal training.  I will continue to seek out new adventures and make new connections.  I will find the way to make the impossible possible.

It's life and what you make it
It's the traveling, not the road that gets you there…

So, I ask you… What will you do with your time?  What will your journey be like?  What adventures will you have?  What knowledge will you seek?  How will you make a difference?  How will you get from A --> B?

But it's more than just A to B
Yeah, it's more than just A to B…

The journey can be simple.  No kidding, I asked Brian to teach me how to make scrambled eggs tomorrow (I just learned to appreciate them in their Costa Rican form this summer). 

The journey can be challenging (and, to be honest, I like to get my way)—I wanted to cash in my Nebraska retirement early, so I could fund South African animal bucket list adventures and cat proof flooring for what I call our house, somewhat affectionately, “Duke’s House of Pee.”  Apparently, I can’t take out retirement without quitting the job I love and am currently fully capable of doing, even though my cancer diagnosis comes with an average two-year warranty.  For the record, I’m not your average “warranty”: I got A+ grades for eight of my 10 graduate classes, and I was angry at myself for getting the two As, even though they were probably due to absences lobbying for Be the Match in D.C. and attending Katherine’s wedding in NYC. 

The journey can be fun and inspirational.  I can continue my honorary role as “Cancer Center Mascot.”  I can make people laugh at an awful disease.

The journey can be mundane or repetitive.  But I can make any journey interesting, because I can see the nuances (“But these cows have bells!”—Right, Brian?), and

it’s more than just A to B…