We'll start with a picture from my last day at chemo. To celebrate, I decided to brighten the room by pulling out the one Hawaiian shirt I own. I actually got the shirt from my uncle after he passed away as a result of lung cancer. This was the first time I have worn it. Typically, Hawaiian shirts should be reserved for tropical themed parties in the middle of the winter. And maybe, just maybe, they can also be worn while in Hawaii. But I think chemotherapy gives you license to occasionally act outside the bounds of otherwise normal civilized behavior.
Goofy half-smile and crazy-eyes are almost certainly the result of the massive doses of Benadryl that accompanied each infusion.
The rest of the pictures are from the ski C and I went on last Friday, discussed in the prior post.
C was all smiles, glad to be skiing on a gorgeous snowy day, energy building in her legs waiting to be unleashed at the first sign of an incline.
I, on the other hand, spent my time desperately trying to fill my lungs with precious, precious oxygen. This particular picture was taken at the top of short, but steep, climb. I labored into position at the crest. C was waiting, wearing the same smile pictured above, camera-phone at the ready, trying to get me to move into a better spot so she could snap a picture with the sun and mountains visible in the background. I think I stared at her with an expression much like that she ultimately caught here. "I can hardly hear you speak through the heaving of my chest. There will be no more moving today!" I declared. But, eventually I regained my breath and my perspective, and C got her way and coached out a smile:
All in all, a fine day to be on the trail in the low angled sun of an Alaska winter.
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