Two Attitudes About Tomorrow

   Tomorrow.  This is the day I was looking forward to when this whole journey began back in December because tomorrow I will receive by sixth and final round of chemotherapy.  I should have ended that sentence with an exclamation point but I opted to end it with a period because I find myself feeling ambivalent toward what should be a significant event.  This bothers me.  I think my lack of enthusiasm at this point is because I have also been notified that I need to follow this all up with a stem-cell transplant.  In my mind, my naive and simple mind, I had hoped and even assumed that when chemo was done, I would be ready to resume real life without any more treatments.  While I understand completely the need for this transplant I wish it wasn't to be.  I want to be done.  But I need a new attitude.
   I am blessed.  I know that.  My friends Becky and Scott are both at the beginning stages of chemotherapy.  Please pray for them. Becky's treatments begin tomorrow and Scott just started his rounds this week; meanwhile, I am twenty-four hours away from being done.  But this transplant...it looms, with all of its discomfort, interruptions, and the long list of prerequisites I must accomplish.  None of it all is impossible.  All of it is inconvenient.  But come on, Phil...let's go.
   The Appalachian Trail runs for 2185 miles from Georgia to Maine.  Ninety percent of those who "thru-hike" the trail begin in the south and spend between five and seventh months working their way northward. The goal for north-bound hikers is Mount Katahdin in Maine.  Most of these backpackers eagerly anticipate their first view of Katahdin and ultimately the final climb that signifies completion of the trek.  But I have met more than one hiker who slips into a nearly depressive state as this day approaches.  Thirty years ago, as we approached the end of the trail, we met a woman named Wanda ("The Wanderer") who dealt with her anxiety by summiting Katahdin and then simply "flip-flopping."  Not knowing what else to do, she just turned around and started walking south back to Georgia.
   Why such a bizarre choice?  I think she had no goals for what would come after her time on the trail was done.  There were no "post-Katahdin" plans.  She felt she had no place in this world except the identity she had created for herself on the trail.  What is the rest of her story?  I have no idea, but at the time I found this to be a remarkable--and sad--phenomenon.
   I need to keep my eyes on the end results.  I need to know that there is life for me after this experience.  I need to realize that all of this discomfort and frustration will be rewarded with health and excitement.  I just have a little detour called a stem-cell transplant in the way.  It makes no sense to turn around now and wallow in my ennui.  It makes no sense to NOT celebrate tomorrow's chemotherapy session.  I need to just keep moving forward until it is all completed...detours and all.  Adjustments will have to be made but the goal is still the same goal.  So let me rephrase: Tomorrow is the day that I receive my sixth and final chemo treatment!! Praise Jesus because, after all, even this pending stem-cell treatment can be conquered!! Come on, Phil...let's go!!