Friends have suggested that I keep writing about things other than cancer, but ongoing cancer treatment provides a fairly inexhaustible supply of subtopics, meaning: I really didn't have to work very hard to find something to say. Maybe I'll take a page from other cancer blogs...each year that I get my clear PET scan I'll check in and share the gold-star moment with everyone! (And in case you are wondering, I have to wait until sometime in September for my PET...my doc wants 8-12 weeks after last radiation. And of course I will share the happy news once I get results.)
So last I wrote, radiation treatment was over and that bell was rung (I'm speaking literally...a much more petite bell than the one at chemo...more aesthetically pleasing and yet not QUITE as satisfying as making the uber-racket that the Chemo Room ship's bell allowed...) Let's hope I do not have the opportunity to go through this again, because there's a fine line between enjoying a celebratory moment with family and becoming a hopeless bell-clanging attention whore.
As soon as I got cut loose from radiation, I was able to travel out of state to spend time with family...got to have both West and East Coast experiences this summer, which I haven't had in a long time. Things got pretty busy this month as my son began high school and my daughter moved into her dorm and started college--milestones for both kids, and I'm excited to see them move forward with confidence to start these next phases of their lives.
Throughout the fall and spring I felt constant guilt at the Big C competing for the family focus that should have been, in a non-cancer life, unwaveringly on things like, oh, I don't know, college acceptances and graduations maybe? It pleases me to no end to see my kids doing so well after going through this little drama. They were champs.
While I was visiting out East I was fortunate enough to meet Redthreader, and she gifted me with some handmade awesomeness! I'm fairly sure she's one of those people who, if she sees something cool, says to herself, "Hmm...I think I can make that." And then she learns how to do it and flawlessly executes whatever it is that strikes her fancy. (I'm sooo not one of those people.) One of the goodies she made is this etched baking dish:
The big question is: How in the world did Redthreader know that my sister and I have had an ongoing dialogue for years about working to be a 2.0 version of ourselves? (Methinks Redthreader must have some mad psychic skills?) Being "the 2.0" is about trying (and failing and trying again) to reflect on and pay attention to how I think and speak and act. The ultimate goal is to be aware of myself as the thoughts or words or actions are forming, to enable myself to make a better choice. Before the damage is done, so to speak. It doesn't matter that the process never ends. Or that I forget on way-too-many days. Or that I'm endlessly shutting the barn door after the horses (cows? farm creatures?) are already out. The point is to become conscious of sliding into autopilot and to drag myself away from it. To strive to achieve that goal, no matter how many times I fail in the attempt, is to be a 2.0 version of myself.
It is a cliche, I know, but the Cancer Awareness Gift was real. At least for me. Having cancer and going through treatment gave me a tremendously compelling reason to focus inward, to appreciate the people in my life and the world around me, and to stay focused on what is positive and make those things the priorities. I got to live in this bubble in which the regular bullshit that can so easily hijack my mind couldn't penetrate. And that was amazing! It wasn't that I stopped caring about anything but myself--even though, as I read this, that's just what it sounds like. But my brain would instantly assess and discard things that, in the scheme of life, just didn't matter a whole heck of a lot--and it did this without me being aware of it. It just happened. This cancer change was an intense personal experience, and it was a more complete and all-encompassing mental shift than I've ever experienced before. My sister calls it being in Small World--this place you go to live in your head when you are dealing with protracted (medical/other) crisis. You learn a lot about yourself when you reside in Small World. And Big World baloney just doesn't get to follow you there.
My hope was that this magically delicious new way of being would remain post-cancer treatment. In perpetuity. Lessons learned. Done. Like that adorable Rio Olympics weightlifter: You drop that weight on the mat and do a little dance. (Did you not see him? Stop and Google him right now. Oh. My. Goodness.)
However, what has actually come to pass is a little different. Yes, after chemo there was a honeymoon period during which I continued to experience the world around me with my Small World Bubble Attitude--it was amazing. I felt this lightness of spirit and nothing stressed me out. All the little things just didn't bother me. Everything rolled off my back. Cue the choir of angels: I'm a different person! Whoo hoo!
Then one day I was driving and trying to merge onto the freeway. Speed limit 65 mph. And this car in front of me was moving down the onramp, not only having a hard time maintaining the lane (texting, maybe?) but also doing so at a speed maybe 20 mph under said speed limit. Soooo sloooooow. Come ON! Let's go! Oh my gosh! Just drive, do you know how to drive?! Are you kidding? And now you're putting on your brakes?!? What?!? Idiot! Merge, merge, MERGE already!!! AAAUUUGGGHH!!
Whoa, Nellie. Who the hell was that? She does NOT live in Small World!
I'm not saying that I think it's possible for me to be this saintly, unperturbed, spiritually evolved being who never gets upset about anything. Puh-leeeeeze. That ain't happening.
But should I spike my blood pressure about how some yahoo is driving? Really, that's the thing that's going to put me over the edge? Out of everything under the sun? I can't control how this person is driving. But I can make a choice to control myself. Do I really want to pop a vein over this? Save the emotional investment for something that merits it--and traffic definitely doesn't rate as a high priority. Why do I want to give some stranger in a car control over my headspace?
I thought the 1.0 me was long gone. I can't say I was pleased to hear that me coming out of my mouth. A blast from the pre-cancer past.
Another example: During the months of chemo, the constant voice inside my head that would always tell me how fat I am, how terrible I look in some outfit, yada yada yada over my appearance, the voice that's been with me for my entire life (well, okay, since 4th grade, probably)--that voice fell silent. I didn't hear a peep from it. I thought it was dead and gone. Halle-flippin-lujah! Ding-dong the witch is dead! Excellent! You have no idea how much I HATE that voice. The voice that wants me to live every moment in a place of self-consciousness and low esteem, the voice that wants me to have no confidence and feel unworthy. Based on how I look. Because that's more important than my character, right?
All during cancer treatment I wore what I wanted to and didn't give a thought to how I looked in comparison with others. I just wore what made me happy and felt good about myself for just being around to wear the damn clothes.
Well, here I was, living my life after chemo, and suddenly that familiar voice piped up again. It wasn't dead after all--it just hadn't been able to penetrate the Small World bubble. Now, you know I was totally down with my bald head. I was diggin' it. Easy maintenance, nice and cool, great for hats, no hair covering fun earrings...I'm a big fan. Well, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror and that obnoxious voice said, "Wow, that's some big fat head you've got there. On a fat neck. Your head sitting on your neck looks like a cankle. How ugly is that? Wow."
Is everyone familiar with the cankle? "A leg with no clear definition where the calf ends and the ankle begins." Yet another thing that those of us with body-image issues can find fault with.
So I finished chemo treatments for good and this is what my brain conjures up? Because that's important? I'm alive, for cryin' out loud! Doesn't that matter more than having a cankle head? I mean, why should I even care if my head/neck combo is a cankle?!? To quote the noted philosopher Carrie Fisher: "My body is my brain bag, it hauls me around to those places and in front of faces where there's something to say or see." Enough said.
It comes down to all these little moments in my day. All the opportunities to make a better choice than the one that, sadly, just comes naturally too much of the time.
So I can either feel insulted and uncertain when the woman at the cash register--who, no lie, looked very much older than me--asked if I would like the 60-years and older senior discount, or I can find the humor in that: Me, slowly, with my head slightly cocked to the side: "Well...I don't know. If you think I LOOK like I'm 60, then go ahead and give me the discount." Rrroww! Hisssss! I dare you! (Trying. To. Find. Humor. Trying. Failing.)
Or: My primary care doctor, while I'm explaining how my health is now that I am finished with treatment, interrupts several times to clarify my address and phone number and pharmacy location so he can be super-efficient and type it in his laptop instead of listening to me. After I've told him about all my hot flashes, night sweats, and joint pain, he says cheerily: "Well, I see your weight has been trending downward." At that moment I had some choices. I could get up and punch him in his clueless face...or start quietly seething...or I could laugh out loud and say: "Uh, well, that would be the CANCER!" And then start looking for a new doctor. I chose the latter. Two-point-oh. Bam!
So although I feel as if I am, more frequently than I was before I had cancer, looking at situations through the rosier 2.0 lenses, increasing those moments really does require work. I know that even the best relationships take work to remain healthy and to evolve and grow, and this is a relationship between me and the world around me. I would have been much happier if this had been a permanent shift that required no further thought or effort on my part. Damn. I'm lazy that way. But having had a glimpse of what is possible is a motivator to keep trying. So I don't have too many two-point-oh-no moments!
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