At this stage in life, I am much faster at getting over the ‘why me’ phase of a crisis. With the cancer diagnosis, my guttural laughter and maniacal voice screaming, “Of course I have cancer,” drowned most of the would-be pity party. My brain so quickly went into business mode. Years of experience stepped up and took lead. I didn’t have time for cancer. I had even less time for sadness. I left novels worth of emotions wanting for months. It doesn’t seem like a long span of time, but for two months I was intensely involved in each second of my world. The vice grip of that many major muscle movements in my life compressing my soul is still slowly loosening. When I finally was able to exhale after ten months of pressure and changes, the first things I noticed was how much my view of my world was altered.
One by one, I watched my coping mechanisms dwindle into obscurity. They were pulled away from my hands as I screamed like a toddler. Within a few weeks of diagnosis, I discovered that my usual tools used to survive catastrophe were no longer effective or I couldn’t do it because of the cancer or therapy. This forced me into an awakening I wasn’t prepared for. Honestly, I have been somewhat arrogant in thinking I have things enough figured out that I can handle anything. My arrogance hadn’t considered removal of these skills I’ve spent years cultivating. Here I was in a battle with Goliath armed only with my substance.
I felt blind for months. Honestly, the vision is blurry even today. Since everything I was comfortable in was removed, I have had to look at everything differently. I felt stripped. Metaphorically and physically. The haze came in the second I felt a surgeon’s marker on my skin. My body was no longer mine. My soul hovered over my body and watched in disbelief. When my body was done being mauled, my soul rejoined. No longer disconnected, but now everything is strange. Familiar like distant cousins.
I’ve written about the curiosity I have with getting to know the version of myself after cancer treatment. Living in those exact moments as I write this, feels a way I could not have even come close to have predicted. The discovery of who I really am, has been fascinating, exhausting, thorough, and dense with humility. One of the first new perspectives I have gained is experience in being both caretaker and patient. I want to hold my younger self tightly. I feel more connected to the memories I have with my father. They’ve evolved.
One of my favorite coping mechanisms is my instant ability to make the best of a situation. The gift of trauma. Flipping into business mode saves my emotional sanity. This is the root of my independence. The beating, breathing core of how I maneuver. When those elements became harder and harder to manufacture, the depression came creeping out like a wolf to sleeping sheep. Vulnerability invaded like a vicious wave. Fight or flight kicked in and I reclused. I didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. I pushed through emotional torment alone and terrified.
The aftermath of such positing has revealed consequence by introducing me to a new version of me. It didn’t kill me. It has been hard to evaluate so much information about myself. With so much time in bed with my thoughts I didn’t have much of a choice. These days the norms I used to enjoy don’t quite scratch the itch anymore.
There were many surprises when it comes to how I found comfort. My bed was my cozy spot. The cuddle space with my kiddos. Crawling into the fluffy bedding has been where I got to feel best at the end of a long day. That space has been corrupted now. It slowly became a confinement and lost its luster. Many times, I found myself wandering around my house just looking for something to replace that feeling. How do you explain that to someone? I was constantly worried that I was complaining too much. This just heightened my independence to figure out new ways to self soothe. Even if it meant weeks suffering.
I felt like I was fumbling through the entire process. Everything felt so disjointed and awkward. Typical of me to seek the center of attention, these were not conditions I felt comfortable having eyes on me. Not knowing what to do is awful by itself, let alone doing it with an audience. My boys were used to seeing me have all the answers and plans. Being unable to sustain that expectation, I hid. At the peak of this frustration, the boys were with me, so I created places to hide. There were many days I felt toxic to be around.
The boys displayed so much grace when I was disappointing in delivering activities that required more than I could muster. I beat the hell out of myself when I couldn’t do so much as go for a walk with them. Coping through crisis by going on little adventures with the boys wasn’t an option. We had to find new ways to enjoy time together cooped up. We had struggle moments, but we survived. Idle time introduced me to better communication with my kids. Cancer put a different perspective on my relationship with them. They see me more than I realized they did. I also see them with so much more intention in removing my biases. I feel like I see them better than I ever have.
I wonder now how much of this is relatable with my father. I imagine he did have similar internal battles going on that he felt much better isolating in and not sharing in them. I hope he saw me doing my best and didn’t fault my ignorance. This is all in my own head, but being so like him, I can’t help but feel that he did mental gymnastics just like me. Going from the one who took care of everything to near total dependence had to of taken a severe toll on him. While his cancer story is completely different than mine, I’m certain we would exchange a great deal of solidarity.
Things are simpler now. Simple in understanding, not simple in nature. Putting the world back into focus is taking me some time, but this is an exercise in patience not acceptance. I see the world with far less scrutiny. My opinions have altered so substantially that I can’t really be bothered with mundane. Small talk doesn’t interest me in the slightest. It feels interesting to find patterns in behavior. I see them quicker. This has made me somewhat petulant. I’m working on that.
I have found fascination in the relationship I’ve gained in survivorship. This one I’m only just now getting acquainted. If I’ve learned anything about myself this year, it’s my need to settle into acceptance as efficiently as possible. I feel empowered to be able to say I beat cancer. It’s mixed intricately with humility in ways I’m discovering daily. In the pursuit of being understood, survivorship puts me in a very specific box. It’s made introduction back into social settings a challenge.
Now I’m the girl at the party with cancer. Cancer is becoming a part of my identity. I’m figuring out how to have a healthy relationship with this reality. It’s going to take time for this to be part of my story instead of The Story. The teeter totter of living with a cancer diagnosis is a tether right now. I’m learning to accept this reality and thread it through my life instead. This is way easier said than done. People are lovely and I have been met with nothing but generosity and love. Without them, I would be telling a very different story right now. Finding comfort in being understood has become trickier than ever before.
Perception is reality. Never have these words been truer. My coping skill of finding the best in things got a major level up. It was deconstructed and instead of letting the emotions replace reality with delusion, I have found a new control in shaping what I permit to influence my view. My emotions and logic have found harmony. My coping skills are returning to me all grown up. The journey continues to be extremely independent and therefore making it a challenge to be supported. I don’t know what I need. I’m working through this new view on life and translating what I once knew into what is real now. I haven’t lost who I was before cancer. I am however, not the same.
“You never know what a person is going through, regardless of how much money they make or however great a life you think they're living.” – Terrell Owens
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