- Published on
In January
I read Jill Ker Conway
And volunteered in a charming second-hand book store,
Wolverine Farm
Specializing in local and sustainable fare.
I wrote pieces for their blog
And priced vintage books.
I started rehearsals for The Tempest
And learnt about scansion, meter, and metaphor.
I ran the streets of Fort Collins
And felt fit
In February
I researched my play
Went to my first stitch n’ bitch
Tried to stay warm in the polar vortex,
Cycled the length and breadth of Fort Collins
Going between babysitting, rehearsals, and the book store.
In March
I performed in my first Shakespeare
And fell in love with the good people of OpenStage Theatre
I saw the touring company of West Side Story
And marveled at the show’s ability to still reduce me to tears.
I started volunteering at Happy Heart Farm
And planted tiny shoots of leeks, potatoes, peas, and cabbages
With kind souls and happy spirits.
I made meditation videos and posted them online
In April
I read Joan Dye Gussow and stories of pioneer women
And transferred seedlings from the green house to the earth
The Tempest played on
I shared meditation with new friends
The farmer’s markets moved back outside
I started running with a new friend and despite her energy, felt exhausted
In May
We went camping in the Poudre Canyon
And walked around the stupa
We packed our little Fort Collins home into the car
And said goodbye to Colorado
We drove across country and stayed with friends in Cleveland, Chicago, Lynchburg, and Richmond
We said goodbye to Ruth
In June
We found a Brooklyn apartment to live in
I signed up with a temping agency and worked for the first time in NYC
We headed up to camp
We staged Avenue Q in 3.5 weeks
I felt continually exhausted and on the brink of breaking point
In July
I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia
And told I had a month to live.
July to December became cancer, cancer, cancer
And chemotherapy, radiation, and a bone marrow stem cell transplant
And being the sickest I’ve ever been
And feeling loved by friends and family all across the globe
And having access to the best medical treatment
And healing slowly
And becoming cancer free again
In August we moved to Brooklyn
Aaron collected the keys whilst I was still in hospital
In September
I turned thirty
And couldn’t believe the circumstances
The next day I started a second round of chemo
In October
I was re-admitted to hospital for the transplant
My sister and Mum flew in from Australia
My immune system was wiped out by radiation and chemotherapy
And replaced with stem cells formerly belonging to my sister,
Now in a novelty-sized syringe
In November
I healed slowly at home
Lay fetal on the couch feeling exhausted and broken
I read Lena Dunham and Neil Patrick Harris and Cary Elwes
And started learning Danish
In December
I remained fetal
And wished the new year would come
The new year when I would be healed
And this dream would all be behind us
And we could be in NYC
And live and work and play.
I read Jill Ker Conway
And volunteered in a charming second-hand book store,
Wolverine Farm
Specializing in local and sustainable fare.
I wrote pieces for their blog
And priced vintage books.
I started rehearsals for The Tempest
And learnt about scansion, meter, and metaphor.
I ran the streets of Fort Collins
And felt fit
In February
I researched my play
Went to my first stitch n’ bitch
Tried to stay warm in the polar vortex,
Cycled the length and breadth of Fort Collins
Going between babysitting, rehearsals, and the book store.
In March
I performed in my first Shakespeare
And fell in love with the good people of OpenStage Theatre
I saw the touring company of West Side Story
And marveled at the show’s ability to still reduce me to tears.
I started volunteering at Happy Heart Farm
And planted tiny shoots of leeks, potatoes, peas, and cabbages
With kind souls and happy spirits.
I made meditation videos and posted them online
In April
I read Joan Dye Gussow and stories of pioneer women
And transferred seedlings from the green house to the earth
The Tempest played on
I shared meditation with new friends
The farmer’s markets moved back outside
I started running with a new friend and despite her energy, felt exhausted
In May
We went camping in the Poudre Canyon
And walked around the stupa
We packed our little Fort Collins home into the car
And said goodbye to Colorado
We drove across country and stayed with friends in Cleveland, Chicago, Lynchburg, and Richmond
We said goodbye to Ruth
In June
We found a Brooklyn apartment to live in
I signed up with a temping agency and worked for the first time in NYC
We headed up to camp
We staged Avenue Q in 3.5 weeks
I felt continually exhausted and on the brink of breaking point
In July
I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia
And told I had a month to live.
July to December became cancer, cancer, cancer
And chemotherapy, radiation, and a bone marrow stem cell transplant
And being the sickest I’ve ever been
And feeling loved by friends and family all across the globe
And having access to the best medical treatment
And healing slowly
And becoming cancer free again
In August we moved to Brooklyn
Aaron collected the keys whilst I was still in hospital
In September
I turned thirty
And couldn’t believe the circumstances
The next day I started a second round of chemo
In October
I was re-admitted to hospital for the transplant
My sister and Mum flew in from Australia
My immune system was wiped out by radiation and chemotherapy
And replaced with stem cells formerly belonging to my sister,
Now in a novelty-sized syringe
In November
I healed slowly at home
Lay fetal on the couch feeling exhausted and broken
I read Lena Dunham and Neil Patrick Harris and Cary Elwes
And started learning Danish
In December
I remained fetal
And wished the new year would come
The new year when I would be healed
And this dream would all be behind us
And we could be in NYC
And live and work and play.
- Published on
With the new year upon us, and many people making resolutions for better, brighter 2015's, I thought I'd re-share my 30th birthday wishes in the hope you'll incorporate at least one into your new year.
Thank you for reading this year. It has been an adventure.
With love,
Lu xx
- Write to someone you have been thinking kindly about. Make it a person you have not spoken to in a long time. Do it without expectation of a response. Tell them you’ve been thinking of them and why.
- Buy a copy of The Big Issue, or equivalent street mag, from the next vendor you see.
- Pay attention to your breath for one minute. Don’t worry about whether you’re “doing it right” or breathing “properly”. Just pause and watch your breath go in and out for one minute. Repeat throughout the day as you remember this request.
- Read an actual book. Not on a device, an actual book. Smell the pages. Feel the pages between your fingers. Savor the delicious feeling of being-almost-at-the-end and not wanting it to be finished.
- That instrument you’ve always wanted to learn? Work out right now how you can get a hold of that instrument, and seek out lessons. The internet is an amazing place.
- Seek out your local farmer’s market. Buy something you’ve never seen/eaten before and learn what to do with it.
- If you are willing and able, donate blood and/or platelets. Google it right now to find out where you can do so in your city. If you can’t donate, consider sharing information on how to do so.
- If you are willing and able, sign up to be a donor on the bone marrow registry in your country. You could be a life-saving match for someone. Google it right now to find out where you can do so in your city.
- Be kind to yourself. No really. Stop being so hard on yourself. You are awesome and more loved and valued than you realize.
- Remember that you are alive. Remember your passions and what makes your spine tingle with delight, your heart race, and your soul feel happy. Allow yourself to feel sad when you’re down. It’s ok. This too shall pass. The good, the bad, the ugly. Just be here.
Thank you for reading this year. It has been an adventure.
With love,
Lu xx
- Published on
Dry skin
Dry mouth
Cracking nails
Nausea
Nausea
Nausea
Never ending queasy excruciating incapacitating nausea
That leaves you lying useless on the couch
Some days you can’t read can’t watch tv even music is too hard
Nausea
Fatigue
Extreme exhaustion
So tired all you can do is sleep for fourteen hours
Get up and lie on the couch all day
And still feel tired
Chills
Weekly appointments at the hospital
Blood work for blood counts
White cells, red cells, neutrophils, hemoglobin, platelets
Check nymph lodes for swelling
Check ankles for swelling
Check skin for rashes
Blood pressure, temperature, weight, and measure around the stomach
Measure liquid intake
Monitor food intake
Friends visit
Friends write and send sweet cards
You talk with family on Skype and viber
You try not to despair that you can’t go out into New York
Because it is filled with bacteria-bearing crowds
All in good time
Be a patient patient
Feel guilty that your love is exhausted
From caring
Feel awful that you don’t have the energy to help
Wish you could fast forward time to the part where you’re better
Swing between depression and despair
And happiness and hope that it’s all going to be ok
One day you’ll be healthy and “normal” again
This is recovery. This is healing.
Slow and tired and boring and frustrating and necessary.
Dry mouth
Cracking nails
Nausea
Nausea
Nausea
Never ending queasy excruciating incapacitating nausea
That leaves you lying useless on the couch
Some days you can’t read can’t watch tv even music is too hard
Nausea
Fatigue
Extreme exhaustion
So tired all you can do is sleep for fourteen hours
Get up and lie on the couch all day
And still feel tired
Chills
Weekly appointments at the hospital
Blood work for blood counts
White cells, red cells, neutrophils, hemoglobin, platelets
Check nymph lodes for swelling
Check ankles for swelling
Check skin for rashes
Blood pressure, temperature, weight, and measure around the stomach
Measure liquid intake
Monitor food intake
Friends visit
Friends write and send sweet cards
You talk with family on Skype and viber
You try not to despair that you can’t go out into New York
Because it is filled with bacteria-bearing crowds
All in good time
Be a patient patient
Feel guilty that your love is exhausted
From caring
Feel awful that you don’t have the energy to help
Wish you could fast forward time to the part where you’re better
Swing between depression and despair
And happiness and hope that it’s all going to be ok
One day you’ll be healthy and “normal” again
This is recovery. This is healing.
Slow and tired and boring and frustrating and necessary.