Fear

"Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don't really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together and fall apart again. It's just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.

When we think that something is going to bring us pleasure, we don't know what's really going to happen. When we think that something is going to give us misery, we don't know. Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all. We try to do what we think is going to help. But we don't know. We never know of we're going to fall flat or sit up tall. When there's a big disappointment we don't know if that's the end of the story. It may be just the beginning of a great adventure."~ Pema Chodron When Things Fall Apart

The truth is that I have  lived a large portion of my life in fear. Fear of not being taken seriously, not being smart enough, of being alone, not being good enough or successful enough, and most of all fear of getting sick. Terrified, in fact, of getting sick. The anxiety that has permeated my soul from this particular fear dates back to fairly early childhood, and grew stronger in early adulthood. Over the last year I had been facing this fear head on. I had been working to rationalize my irrational fears of getting sick, had worked on sifting through the root of the fear and what it is about getting sick that I'm actually afraid of. Actively i had been working through this, right up to the very morning of my diagnosis. And now I have cancer. And wheni got the phone call, I literally breathed a sigh of relief. In that instant I was cognitively aware that this fear was going to be addressed, once and for all, and that this was the beginning of freeing myself from it. Then there comes the myriad of emotions that I imagine anyone diagnosed with a dreadful disease experiences. There is the anger, the anxiety, the sadness, the depression. But the fear I was familiar with. The fear did not suddenly become more real. I have been practicing the fear for years, and it has always been real. Cripplingly so. So maybe what I am trying to say is that I am willing to embrace this time in my life because I see it as a real turning point for me. I can't know what this disease holds for me. I can speculate. I can do my best to control what I can control about the situation but I really just.can't.know.

The Bridge

Here is the ketchup. I was diagnosed with breast cancer on Monday. Three negative pregnancy tests and today my monthly visitor came. TMI? Such is my life right now. I am squabbling with myself over starting a new blog, the cancer blog, or keeping up with this blog since we are still, technically in our first year of marriage. The marriage and the cancer go hand in hand now. The cancer is part of the marriage. The cancer is in me. The cancer can go fuck itself. To say that I feel disconnected from the world is an understatement. I feel like I can't connect to anything. To live, to cope, is to go through the motions of my life pre cancer. I can do it well. It's called autopilot. I'm passing. Unfortunately there are decisions to be made, and while decisions like whether or not to lop off your boobies in exchange for something else entirely, or just scoop out part of one boob should be made under sound mind and calm spirit, I just don't know that that is a possibility. The decision could still be made for me, although it would be nice to have some control in the matter. Perhaps I jumped the gun when I went about chirping cheerfully that I knew that underneath all of it, without a shadow of a doubt I would come out on the other side of this cancer thing a better and more inspired person. An inspiring person. A fearless person. And by underneath it all I refer to the fear,the anxiety,the sadness,anger, the mourning of my unborn child, the mourning of a pregnancy I will never have,the mourning of my breasts as i know them,the mourning of my hair(that will grow back, i know), the changes that will take place inside of my body once chock full of chemicals and radiation and hormone blocking drugs with horrible side effects. Perhaps I put too much faith in the old adage "fake it till you make it". I am faking it most of the time. What i have become as a result is a vessel completely void of emotion, eerily calm, or synthetically optimistic, or a blubbering,irritable mess. I feel right now as if I'm about to lose myself. If I make the decision to have this surgery I will lose a part of myself. Forever. And I like that part of myself. In fact , I like all of myself. The self that I knew before cancer. This new self, I fear. I don't know her. I don't know this aggression. I don't know this pain. I don't know this fear or this resentment or this loss. I don't know how to bridge the gap between myself and the people around me that don't have cancer. I suppose that the body who is writing this entry is the bridge between pre cancer and post cancer me. I am not familiar with this body.

Last Leg

As I compose this, surprisingly composed as I do, I could have cancer. On the flip side,I could be 0 to 30 hours away from the biggest relief of my life. After a series of events that could turn out to be a blessing, non issues, or one complicated decision laced with painful and difficult decisions, I sit here on the last leg of my waiting period, succumbing to whatever lies directly ahead. You see, I could be 8 days pregnant and diagnosed with breast cancer. I am this close to receiving news that could mean a plethora of new realities for Kayla and me. From one end of the spectrum to the other I have been randomly putting my finger on the map of hypothetical new realities and analyzing what it would mean to be faced with each one. This is torturous, I know. It is what well meaning friends and family advise you to avoid. But it's how I do. And somehow it makes me feel more prepared for whatever I am about to go through. Here are the scenarios, whittled down to the basics, in order from most desirable to least desirable.
Scenario 1: I am pregnant. I do not have cancer.
Scenario 2: I am not pregnant. I do not have cancer.
Scenario 3: I am not pregnant. I have cancer.
Scenario 4: I am pregnant. I have cancer.