Fraidy Cat

I used to be afraid of roller coasters. Horses. 3 wheelers. Something of a "fraidy" cat.

A lot of talk has been had about how cancer changes a person. There is the really obvious seize the moment type stuff. But personally I'm also less worried about the general outcome of things. Where will we will be in ten years? Where will we be in five? Who knows. That's the general recognition, that we don't know what tomorrow holds or how much time we have left. We don't really know, so how much effort do we really want to spend on things that are less important? And how do we gage the importance of the thing? My entire perspective on life has changed. I met with some cancer survivors for lunch yesterday. We talked about how it's different to say that we feel good today, because we may not have the energy level that we once had, but we know what it's like to feel like total shit so it's all relative, right? After cancer treatment it could take 6 months. It could take a year to recover from the toll that cancer drugs take on your body. It could NEVER be what it once was. My oncologist told me, when I inquired about my still below normal white blood count, that sometimes our counts never return to normal. There isn't anything non synthetic that we can do to raise them (the answer to my next question..."Well, what can I do to raise them?") There are studies that show that after cancer treatment our bodies age 10 years. But that doesn't matter so much. It feels good to feel good. Our bodies have been through so much trauma. We have carried a burden so heavy in it's load that even though it leaves us tired, once the struggle of the big fight ceases, the load may have deemed burdensome before cancer seems somewhat more manageable. There becomes an ease to life, a magnificent lightness amidst the tragedy that is so prevalent, and so necessary, for there to exist balance in our world. We decide how much our fatigue and our forever altered bodies will affect our livelihood and our qualities of life. Perhaps we just fuse the energy that we are left with into different things...one peer described that she was a very self disciplined person before, and still is, but that meeting periodically,on a regular basis with other cowgirls reminds her that its okay if the laundry doesn't get done on Wednesday, or if the to do list doesn't get finished by the weekends end. "Weekends are for relaxing", she said". I made a new survivor friend recently that has a very high stress job and she says going back to work after cancer treatment and a series of surgeries feels different. She has a different approach to her work stress. I have a friend whom I've only met online. Her existence has made me a braver person. She is a fellow cowgirl and she is living with stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. Her cancer has spread to her brain and she has had 3 brain surgeries in 8 months. I know her through her blog, through social networking I've been able to see her paintings, her photos, and read her words. She blows my mind. I remember the post where she announced that they had found what might be a second brain tumor and she would have surgery again. She was at a restaurant, drinking a beer with her husband. She was scared shitless. She said so in her blogs. She was asking for support and prayers. She begged her friends not to let her isolate like she did the last time. I could relate to that plea. I was so anti social during my treatments. I could barely look the person in the eye, if I dared let them into my house to visit. But she was being so brave. Just thinking about what her experience stirred in me brings me to tears as I type this. She had surgery shortly after, and it was a tumor. They got as much as they could. A few days later, she posted photos of her surrounded by her loving women friends, and then a self portrait of her, beaming at herself in the mirror. I am sobbing now. That beaming smile came to me at a time when I was at one of my darkest places. I was terrified that I would always feel so bad, that I would never feel a load lighter than the boulders I carried. And she was beaming, a few days after brain surgery. This is a woman who only months before had to learn to walk again, and went into a second surgery not knowing if she would have to do that all over again. Today she is posting online asking of anyone has a recumbent bike that she can borrow so she can ride in the Texas Mamma Jamma Ride, benefitting the BCRC this year. She can't ride a regular bike because she has balance issues, but she's getting out there anyway. Seriously? What the hell. Lets all take a moment of silence and let go of the thing that pissed you off today. I, for one, considered myself a person that thrives on organization and control. I'm not abandoning practical organizational skills, but I have abandoned the need to control others, and let go of situations that are simply out of my control. I don't need to bother myself with what everyone else is doing. I don't need to mama hen everyone. That is a quality that I have had that has been detrimental to my own development and quality of life in the past. I will no longer fuse my energy into that that which does not need my input. Nor do I need to worry about how things get done that are none of my business. Cancer has freed me of this and many other "stories" that I have believed about myself that are no longer true. In so many words, we all agree, as survivors of a traumatic life altering diagnosis and various experiences related to that diagnosis, we share a similar approach to life. It is really easier to let the small things go. Another thing a lot of my breast cancer sisters have in common is a new appetite for life. We want to socialize, especially with one another. But mostly we want to hug and squeeze the people that we love. We want to express our feelings to the people in our lives every chance we get. We have a special insight into the alternative to living that urges us to show up for life. That doesn't mean the same thing for everyone, but it carries a similar weight in each of our lives. Sometimes, for me, it is just savoring the time I spend alone with myself, allowing myself to enjoy the music, take a drive, smell the flowers, pet the kitties, snuggle the doggies, look at my fashion mags, read a book, connect with a friend on the phone...blog....without letting my mind wander and worry about what's for dinner, the bills on the fridge, the to do list in my bag, whether or not I will get fat or break out with acne on tamoxifen or if I will ever do a handstand, when will I have children, will I be a terrible mother, will my pets like the house sitter when we go on vacation, and what if my cat tries to run away?!



So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I used to be afraid of roller coasters. I used to be terrified to drive on the highway. I used to lie in bed at night wondering when I would die, when my parents would die, when my lover would die...depressing right? Terrified of that moment, frozen by it so that it kept me from living. Something is changing in me. I'm not saying I'm throwing caution to the wind, that I have a death wish, or that I might want to skydive... But I will say that I'm less afraid of what might happen tomorrow. I'm more driven to go see the things that I need to see,pet the horses, ride the helicopters, the airplanes, the three wheelers, the proverbial roller coasters of life. I'm more open to the vast possibilities of tomorrow, rather than limit my possibilities to what I "think" I have planned.

How does this tie into my marriage? At lunch we talked about how our new outlooks, I prefer the word "awakenings", translate into our relationships with our partners. Many of my peers have moved out of old patterns and their partners may not have arrived at the same place, or aren't getting there at the same time. A balance needs to be met. And that's OK. These women have changed. In so many ways we are not the same wives we were to our partners when we started this journey. I have been thinking a lot about this actually. From the beginning of diagnosis, I was very aware that this thing was going to rock me. It would rock us as a couple too, in one way or another. We had just signed up for "till death do us part", and the death part was looming in such a way that was a bit...er...uncomfortable, 7 months into that very serious commitment. Here we would be tested. I was nervous because I had the insight to know that This Thing would break me open and it might be ugly and painful before it was beautiful and it may not bade well for our marriage. I had the insight to know I would be given the gift of being woken UP in some way. I knew that she would stand by me. I never doubted that she would be by my side. I never doubted that because when we grasped hands right before we walked down that aisle together in front of god and everyone, I felt in my gut that she was truly the one that could withstand to be my partner for life. I had an inkling that one of the most integral components of a successful marriage was to be able to bend and sway, and I believed us both to be willing to do what it takes. So when I was diagnosed I knew that we could "do this thing" because we "get shit done" but I didn't know what struggles would emerge in our relationship to each other because of it. But I had to let that go. I had to trust that she would do right by her and I would do right by me and we would do right by one another because that's who we are at the core. I had to put a trust in her that I never imagined I would need to put into practice so dramatically that soon into our marriage. I had to let go. I had to stop believing that she needed me to meet every need and take care of her in every possible avenue of life that I had the power to care for her.

So, now I feel the need to express this very very deep to the core guttural gratitude that I have this person in my life that not only can stand beside me and hold my hand through the shitty stuff, but that can bend and sway as I grow. That she had the intuition to let me hide away when I needed it and celebrate my new life as I gained it. I know that my diagnosis and my experience has jilted her to the core. Not in the same way as it has me, and that's okay (letting go of that mama hen stuff...). But in a way that we can look at one another today and realize that we both have changed, we both have grown. We have shed. We have both gained perspective from this experience. And we are steadfast in our love and commitment. In many ways that means the same things that it did before. But in many new exciting ways I am recognizing a new stride that we are learning the steps to. We are opening up to new possibilities for our lives as a result of what cancer has given each of us. There is a new dynamic in the making here. It's becoming more clear to me that my partner has also acquired an appreciation for the unknowns in life. We will still make plans. But we will remain open to the vast possibilities of life. Together.