My Happy Place

 The treatment continues to work as intended, proving tolerant to me but attacking the cancer cells in my body. I am well into the more gentle regime of five nights of oral chemo each month and little in the way of other medication. And the last two MRI scans have shown as positive a picture as the oncologist could hope for. This pattern is not uncommon, but is far from universal, and is a great blessing and source of hope, even though statistics say that the cancer nearly always returns eventually.

 

Best of all, we were cleared to travel to Europe. We arrived in Portugal on May 19 and will stay here until June 17, after which we will spend one further week in Italy before returning to the USA. I must take one cycle of pills while here, and also visit a local lab for a blood draw each week so the oncologist team in New York can continue to monitor progress somewhat. I also have to be especially careful in the sun.

 

Portugal, and specifically the villa I bought in 2005, has been my happy place for a long time. To me, Faro airport has its own unique smell and arrival there signifies many blessings in my life. It is where I relax with family and friends and ponder all the reasons to be thankful in my life. What is most remarkable about this visit is how my nausea disappeared the moment I arrived here. The previous cycle included regular bouts of manageable nausea, but in Portugal I have only noticed a slight passing twinge once so far. My appetite is back to its normal state too, so we have been able to enjoy the full range of fine food and drink here.

 

The other remarkable thing about this visit so far has been that I have found myself to be emotional a lot of the time, with frequent bursts of tears. It took me a while to understand what lay behind that, but I think I worked it out eventually.

 

Goodbyes are the hardest part of my emotional journey, and this trip has already included several. My son-in-law had to leave after just a few days, and yesterday my daughter and her daughter also left, on the day before Kiara’s second birthday and her last day of eligibility for free flight. Spending time with loved ones always has a bittersweet element in the new situation, and it always leads to a mixed menu of mixed emotions when I am with my daughter and grand-daughter. I find I am the subject of more photos than usual and I am called into more deep conversations too. My family has also signed me up for a service called Storyworth, in which I am asked to write on defined topics each week. It is a bit like blogging, and it is clear that all these unusual projects are nakedly about creating memories for after I am dead, especially for baby Kiara. I go along with it and even appreciate it, even if the context is rather sombre.

 

Then we are also using this trip to simplify my affairs in Portugal, so that my daughter can take over seamlessly when the time comes. My wife had a theory that implementing some of these changes, after all a preparation for death and a significant concession of control, might be one reason for the tears. It is possible, but I don’t think it works as an explanation. Actually it has been a relief to get the necessary administration started, especially because my wife and daughter have bonded over the project and I can live free of worries about any future disputes.

 

Even so, all those practical changes might have left an emotional scar. The goodbyes certainly did, with the prospect of many more in store over the coming weeks. The deep conversations can be tough and have also surely contributed to some emotional consequences. Part of this is about our change of mental timeline. A couple of months ago we felt unable to plan more than a month or two ahead, but now we have allowed more optimism into our minds and even talk about 2024 sometimes. It is good, but it does not change the fundamental situation so can be tough. And the new horizon makes such discussion more complicated too, involving many dilemmas and trade-offs. 

 

 But I have decided that none of these are primary causes of my tearfulness. One sure primary cause is a torrent of thankfulness. Portugal and time with loved ones always cause me to feel thankful for the unusual range of blessings in my life, past and present. This trip has already surfaced an abundance of happy memories, as well as much present joy.

 

But thankfulness does not explain it all. I have worked out that I am also mourning. I am finally mourning the loss of a large part of the anticipated shared future for my wife and I in retirement in Portugal.

 

It was just about now that our plan was for my wife to retire early and for us to move permanently here. That notion had given me much anticipated joy in recent years and it vanished on the day of my diagnosis. We both quickly realised that it makes little sense for my wife to plan to live here as a widow, at least not until she is much older. We could hope for some joyful visits to Portugal. In our new mood of optimism we can even open up possibilities of spending much of my remaining time here together. But the dream of a long, peaceful, idyllic life here together is no longer realistic.

 

I started this mourning process in the frenzied steroid-charged days and weeks following diagnosis, in the same way that I also started the administrative changes that we are implementing on this trip. I suppose the steroids did their job. But the administrative changes eventually required a trip here, and I believe the same is proving true of the need to mourn.

 

I have been calmer in recent days and am hopeful that the mourning process may be running its course now. Even if there prove to be more tears, I know that the tears are healthy ones in a necessary cause. I am in my happy place. We have achieved what was required administratively. I am surrounded by love and full of thankfulness. There is joy to be had from memories and from current experience and even from some anticipated future joy, even if the final category of joy has been curtailed somewhat. And that requires some mourning. Bring it on.