Rodney Curtis

Tomorrow I check into the hospital for my next round of chemo. I don’t fear it though; I spent half an hour in Jo-Ann Fabrics this morning and after that, any form of torture — medieval or otherwise — doesn’t phase me a bit.

A half week after being sprung from the Muskegon clot-busters palace I once again enter the health system to continue my sojourn toward wellness, productivity and a full head of hair. In between last Wednesday and now, though, were several wonderful hours relaxing at Lake Michigan with my family and about four or five minutes of intense go-kart racing where, if Taylor is to be believed, my daughter and her cousin left me in their distant exhaust. There’s something about remission that makes my family not treat me with kid gloves anymore. I’ll say it; she should’ve let me win.

This, in some ways, becomes the boring part of my saga. Sure the questions loom large about my eventual outcome — marrow replacement or just tons more chemo. The small scheduling scenarios also come into play — will I stay in the hospital after the treatment or come home to recuperate; can the family count on me for the first day of school or all the intense last-of-summer ballyhoos; what about the fall weddings I’m supposed to shoot.

The latter has been answered, or at least the pressure has been alleviated by two wonderful brides I’ve never met. Kathleen in September and Mallory in October have both sent me exceptionally warm wishes and said they’ll accept whatever I can do. If I need one of my many super-duper-shooter friends to help me, that’s fine by them. If I can do it myself, great. If someone else has to shoot it solo, sure Rodney, no problem.

When it comes to the rest of the unknowns, honestly, I’m a journalist by training and thus have an incredibly high tolerance for ambiguity. I used to preach that to my interns or to whoever would listen. Trust that things will fall into place and the feeling in your gut right now will very soon be less knotted and more at ease.

I obviously need that very advice right now.

Since I’ve always been honest on this blog and since my two Clarkston cousins asked me point blank about the blood clot, no, I don’t feel I’ve adequately or fully dealt with the emotions surrounding cancer and the unexpected half-eaten-hotdog that was lurking next to my heart. Sure I’ve cried and laughed and blogged and talked and thought about it all, but I think there’s a longer answer ahead of me. I know there are deeper discoveries about myself just waiting to be spelunked. And I completely believe with every paisley Jo-Ann fabric of my being that I’m coming out of this experience changed for the better.

And since I’ve been kind of internet-quiet over the past few weeks I just want to reiterate something that has been laughing and bouncing around me for about as long as the cancer’s been poking sharp sticks at me. The interconnections that we all share may not seem significant to you now, as you sit in health and normalcy. But please know when the ride starts to get scary, there are people you haven’t even met out there — as well as your closest friends — who will jump into the seat next to you and help keep you calm, secure, fed and smiling. You don’t always know it until you need it, but those bridges you didn’t burn years ago will allow your past to come visit your present.

And if you were truly good to your past, they’ll bring snacks.