Left-Right-Left

I went on a bike trip last summer that included several tunnels that were originally built for railroads. One, in particular, was very long and very dark. One of my companions had encouraged all of us to get light fixtures on our bikes but it was one of the items that fell off my 'must-have' list and onto my, 'I'll work it out when the time comes,' list. That was one of several things that I wished I had seen to, including bike fenders so that when it rained, I didn't look like a doofus with a mud splash up my back.

As we approached the tunnel, I got scared. The path was narrow, wavy, and made of hard-packed dirt. There was just a flimsy plywood railing separating the path from about an eight foot drop to the ground. Because I was afraid to be in the tunnel at all, I was determined to stay on my bike till I got to the end. That was my goal: to be through it as quickly as possible. My companion with a headlamp was in front and I focused on staying near enough to her so that I could benefit from her light. I made it about ¾ of the way through when I realized that I'd begun to tailgate, which was dangerous for both of us. It's difficult to ride slowly and in a straight line and I began to wobble.  Briefly, I grazed my elbow or knee against the rock wall which would send me correcting out to the edge. After a several wobble-scrape-careen-recover sequences, it became clear that it was time to get off the bike and step-by-step my way to the light. It was slow and scary and a darkness like I've never known.

My goal is to get through this as fast as I can. On Wednesday morning, unbelievably, I signed up to have breast surgery with a man who specializes in bariatric procedures. I felt so desperate to be on the other side. But with my sisters' love, support, and intelligence, we've changed our plan. We cancelled that surgery and now, I have an appointment to meet with a team of specialists at the Dana Farber Cancer Center. It's clearly the right path but it requires more time. I've been wobbling and careening (i.e. crying) all day. I want to show up at the Dana Farber Cancer Center and have them knock me on the head with a mallet and take it out with a big knife. But it's just like the bike trip through the tunnel. I want to ride but the evidence has suggested that I get off and start to do the step by step thing. It will take more time. It is scarier. I'm reluctant but I'm not stupid. This is an exercise in patience, faith and surrender. All worthy, all difficult, all ephemeral.