Message 1

A brief preamble: You are the people who have asked to be kept informed of what is going on with Karen. I'm not sure this message will be the norm or how many like it will follow. Certainly, there will be information-only messages and updates, the less fanciful, normal traffic you might expect.

Karen reminded me this morning to write, just to put pen to paper and see what came out. For those who don't know me well, this is how I cope, by writing, reshaping reality with metaphor, carving understanding in allegory. For those not comfortable with my analogies, nearly every work of fiction, however mundane, uses much the same structure and many of the same terms. But ignore that man behind the curtain.

Most people who write about cancer and treatment portray it as a journey, a path none take willingly but many find themselves stumbling along. Me, I see Karen and I as starting out on an adventure. Not the "company of companions out to save the world" variety of more successful writers than myself, more the hero cycle of myth and legend, a classic quest. Some dark and chaotic lich lord has laid a geas upon my wife, setting her a task, a dragon to be slain as it nests in its dark, deep cave awaiting the hatching of its evil brood.

In this casting, Karen is the hero, the central figure, the focus. She is the Celtic warrior queen, the Norse shield-maiden, the Greek amazon in a classical, left-handed sense. This is her quest. Regardless of the guidance we give her and protective spells we weave around her, the final battle is hers and hers alone. This victory, like most, requires intelligence and endurance as much as or more than sheer strength.

I enter as her sidekick, her constant companion, in my case part warrior, part minor mage and not a small part pickpocket and thief, one not above fighting dirty to win, with sharp knives in the dark if necessary. The one who won't leave her side, the one who always guards her back. A Norse skald, a Celtic bard. The one who commits her deeds to paper and, hopefully not literally (for you and me), to song.

Among other roles to be cast are mentors and guardians, shield men and spear carriers, heralds, companions, confidants, perhaps the odd minstrel to be eaten later, each as important as the other. Along the way there will be side adventures, dead ends, ambushes, backtracks, switchbacks, distractions, danger, anxiety and boredom, a lot of anxiety and boredom. Unlike the heroes of screen and page, we don’t have the luxury of skimming past the parts where we're hungry, cold, wet and alone on the road listening to unidentified predators snuffling through the last of our food outside the tent that partially collapsed two hours before in the wind and rain, the bulk of what real-life adventures are made of. That and blisters.

Not all who set out with us will arrive at the destination. This I understand from experience: people, unlike characters, have their own lives, their own crises, their own adventures to face. More will join us along the way, some we've never met before, others long away. All are welcome for as long as they are able to stay.

As with all adventures, we begin by gathering equipment, stocking supplies for uncertain days ahead. With our focus elsewhere, we prepare as if for extended absence or siege. There is rarely time to shop or complete even minor repairs once the ravening hordes encamp outside your door. We settle the house in a way reminiscent of both anticipating a trip and preparing for a hurricane short of locking the doors and boarding the windows. From basics to specialized equipment, pastimes to quick and simple meals, we try to anticipate our needs on the road ahead.

Before setting out into unfamiliar territory, we consult a variety of sages, fellow adventurers, rumor mongers, mercenaries, artisans, apothecaries and cartographers hoping to discover the lay of the terrain, the trials to be faced, the obstacles to be overcome. We consult tomes, some well thumbed, others quite dusty, in search of a weakness in our enemy, perhaps the incomplete portion of a map. Divinations in the form of lab tests are cast, bribes as co-payments are paid, drinks in chatrooms are bought to loosen reluctant tongues.

Armed with knowledge, good portents, a sharp knife and a stout walking stick, we armor ourselves for this long, perhaps dangerous path, dressing for both comfort and protection, shielding ourselves behind both hide and mail, remembering comfortable shoes. After all, the journey of the thousand miles begins beneath our feet.

I hope you walk with us a while.

© 2007 Edward P. Morgan III