Balancing Act

Coffee has long been one of my most dangerous temptations. In New York, I bordered on addiction, no worse than when I was writing. My roommates and I would put a fresh pot on sometime around seven in the morning, and usually filter out the last pot around one or two the following morning. When I started chemotherapy, it was one of the first things I cut out, mostly out of compassion for my body. There have been things all along this ride that I have had to put on the back burner: frozen margaritas, extreme diving, hallucinogens, speed dating. Simply put, my system can’t balance them. Exhibit A: an afternoon shot of Jack Daniels served as the celebration for the end of a round of chemo (I know, I know. I’m still just as blond as I acted before). My afternoon ended in convulsions on the couch. It was awesome, trust me. You had to be there.

Three months ago, I threw meditation into my morning routine, the annoying hippie kind where you sit on a yoga mat, roll your eyes back, breath in incense and hope that you’ll be visited by Ghandi or Dali. You hope, though you can’t often witness it, that something is happening as your legs squirm and your lower back quivers in agony. But something has been happening, I find myself feeling more and more balanced. My body, my life. The strangest result? I’m craving things I haven’t craved in years. I suppose they’re just thoughts, and the crude matter keeping me from nirvana. But dude, a snickers is a snickers. And I was told strictly to say ‘yes’ to anything that heals. ‘Nuff said.

Then two weeks ago, an old friend asked for permission to join the party again, my morning cup of coffee. I hesitated: coffee and chemo don’t mix. Well see, I’ve believed chemo and a lot of things don’t mix. I’ve been surprised, you wouldn’t believe how much so. So who’s to say, really? So I went and got my cup of coffee—perfect temperature, perfect milk ratio—and, not knowing where else to take it, walked with it back to my yoga mat. I sat down and drank in each warm, sinful taste. Nothing tastes better than forbidden fruit. My spine shot up, rigid. My abdomen tightened like a screw. My head began almost floating. And a tiny smile came to my face as shock registered in my eyes. That’s right, the morning cup of coffee was actually helping me to balance. I held it out, let it tilt a bit, played with it’s proximity to my stomach. I could feel my body struggling to keep up with this added weight. But I smiled down to the last drop, remembering mornings in Brooklyn and musical epiphanies. Quality memory in this case outweighs health benefit.

When you give something up, I think you’re always secretly terrified that you won’t get it back. Chemotherapy has been a journey of giving up for me, and also trusting that it will all come back, whether it’s a tolerance for late night parties (one of my favorite pre-chemo rituals) or a relationship. It takes time, it takes patience. A lot. But little by little, I’m starting to notice that I can very naturally balance things that I couldn’t before. For someone like me, who has come to see every minute step of this as an adventure, this is a giant leap in recovery. But I suppose it’s only a very small step for a former coffee junkie.