Hope. I consider the word deeply as I settle once more into NYC for another week of treatment. According to Emily Dickinson, it’s “the thing with feathers that perches on the soul” like a bird, which means it comes and goes as skittish birds do.  For me, hope’s more like a roller coaster. It goes up and down with symptoms; elated one minute and sad the next. Getting off seems an impossible task. Like Woody Allen, I’m often without feathers.

Obama wrote a book called the Audacity of Hope; the main theme being “rescue, rebuild, restore” and of course he was talking about our country, but isn’t a body like a nation? Will I be rescued, rebuilt and restored? Hope so. There’s that word again.

Hope is defined as “a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen.” If only I could be without expectation and/or desire. I’ll work on it.

Walking along the city streets, I negotiate a sidewalk between a woman and her pit bull. I’m angry when she doesn’t pull the leash in thereby taking up the whole walkway. I’m working on that anger ‘thing’ as it’s not good for me. And as Mark Twain once said, “Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”

I need to mail a letter, but there are no mailboxes or posts offices in sight. The only boxes I see are from the prehistoric age. More importantly, I can’t seem to find a store where I can buy a washcloth. Ohmmmmm. I will stay calm. Later, after I buy a trio of cheery bar cloths at a hardware store, I find out that the Down and Quilt Shop on Amsterdam between 85th and 86th not only sells wash cloths, they sell entire towels sets. But I missed that opportunity.  Ohmmmmm.

I go to Whole Foods where I’ll buy a small amount of goods for a large amount of money. At the register, the fragrance of essential oils is apparent. This gives me hope, which is quickly dashed when my doctor responds to an email with a contradiction to what he has told me in the past. Ohmmmmm. The only reward of the day so far is my temporary senior citizen Metrocard, which grants half price subway and bus rides. 

At the medical facility, they up my dose and it’s okay. I can take it. This gives me hope. Ohmmmmm. I’m not at the preferred dose yet and some people, I’m told, never get there. “What happens then?” I ask to which the technician replies, “Ask the doctor.” But he’s not in on Mondays and today is Monday. Ohmmmmm.

I ride the bus from 34th and tenth to Amsterdam and 88th. I’ll go to Whole Foods again and get some dark chocolate. Surprisingly, it doesn’t cost a million dollars. Dark chocolate’s supposed to be good for cancer as long as it doesn’t have sugar. Ah, but it has coconut sugar. Hmmm, I wonder if that counts? I buy it anyway just to have it. I don’t feel like eating it, but someday I might.

I’m tired but I must visit the Down and Quilt Shop. Aside from it’s beauty abound with gorgeous pure cotton quilts of all styles and colors and everything in between (like wash cloths), some of my closest and longest friends work there; Beth, Tracy and Gregory whom I’ve known for thirty years. We share stories of our lives. We laugh. I need that. I stay until closing and just before I leave, Tracy hands me a Powerball ticket for a chance at $900 million dollars. I am so touched. It’s not so much that I think of winning (none of us did), but that Tracy thought of me. This gives me hope.

RAMONA JAN is the Founder and Director of Yarnslingers, a storytelling group that tells tales both fantastic and true. She is also the roving historian for Callicoon, NY and is often seen giving tours around town. You can email her at callicoonwalkingtours@gmail.com.