A few days before Christmas 2005.
I’m collapsed on the couch, recovering from my first cycle of chemotherapy for brain cancer—B-cell lymphoma. After receiving the initial dose through an intravenous tube, I was kept in the hospital for four days of observation until I had peed and puked out enough of the drugs from my body to go home.
It was a brutal few days, but lying here at home I feel a surprising inspiration. I say to myself, “You’ve got to do something!” As weak as I am, my intuition tells me a little exercise will help me get better. So, without really thinking, I roll off the couch and ease down onto the floor.
My first impulse is to begin as gradually as possible. I’ll just try a stretch.