Walking up the hill

Did I tell you how liberating it was when I stopped in my tracks and realized last week I was perfectly okay to pause and catch my breath halfway up a hill?

I suppose I had thought that because I was choosing to carry on as normal, my body should be able to perform as normal.

"How on earth does a poison physiologically make it more difficult to walk up a hill?" I asked in frustration.

Ready to launch an enquiry on the World Wide Web, I was gently reminded it was simply that my blood has less oxygen to carry around, hence, less energy. The chemo wasn’t, as I had momentarily imagined, eating away at my muscles.

***

Yesterday when I was walking home, a group of young adults about my age powered past me on the eight-sets-of-steps hill between downtown and the road above. They were all carrying bulging grocery bags.

A debate began in my mind – another chapter in the ceaseless battle between self-pity and acceptance. It just felt so blatantly in my face this time, watching their behinds bound up the steps in front like.

It was the girl lagging behind that helped win the battle for acceptance. 

Glancing back, I saw her with a nonchalant smile on her face, taking her time, and unhurried by the fact that her friends were up ahead. I smiled at her and said, “they’ve gone and left you behind, huh?”

She didn’t seem to mind.

The thought, “she doesn’t have any excuses like I do” didn’t last long as I realized just how ludicrous it was. Why should she need one? Why do we need excuses? Why do I need to explain myself taking my time walking up a hill?

You could say chemo is an uphill battle and some would try to differ – yes, I know it gets worse and worse. But with every challenge it presents I learn something about myself I wouldn’t have learnt otherwise, and that’s what I call an uphill battle.