Grief comes in waves.
Losing someone close is not a clean-cut mourning process
with a timeline. Anniversaries, songs, places, even smells, can trigger random memories
that spur waves of sentiment months and even years after the original goodbye. There
is the initial tsunami-sized emotional destruction and then continual reminders
of the loss that ebb and flow as the tides.
Occasionally these emotional aftershocks are even more
severe and more poignant than the initial grief.
And I got smacked by a rouge wave a few weeks ago.
Cancer = Grief Even
When you Survive
A cancer diagnosis, treatment and recovery resembles that
very same cycle of grief. We’ve all lost something: a body part, a physical
functionality, an innocent ignorance (or an ignorant innocence!). In my case, the grief surrounding the loss of
my breasts pales in comparison to the grief involved in the loss of the it-can’t-happen-to-me-ignorant-peace-of-mind
that accompanies youth and a lifetime of good living, good health and good
luck.
Where’s the Damn
Finish Line?
Ten days after surgery number four, following yet another
recovery plan to the letter and eagerly anticipating the celebration of another
birthday, I was physically coming right along but emotionally knocked flat on
my arse.
Perhaps I set myself up for it. I expected this final
surgery to be a breeze, I looked forward to being ‘done’ with cancer and all
its trimmings.
Logically I know this doesn’t happen. I’ve written those
very words before. You don’t package diagnosis and treatment into a nice little
box and label it Cancer Memories.
The process is permanently altering in many ways.
Yet my thoughts were still trending toward, “Once the
exchange surgery happens, I can get back to normal.” Yep, I said the word
“normal” to myself.
Oops.
This last surgery was reactionary to remove my leaky
expander and while definitely desired, it was comparatively unplanned. My recovery plan was hastily put together and
resembled my January plan in many ways. I felt as if I already had this t-shirt
and was not really in need of another.
Hindsight has such clarity. I realize now that four
surgeries in 10 months is a helluva lot for any single body to handle.
Physically and emotionally. I lost things tangible and intangible. But I needed to be reminded that everything
I lost was real and it’s okay to grieve. I also believe I forgot that a
recovery in the middle of a recovery
may be physically similar but emotionally more complicated.
Birthdays: A
Celebration or a Lead Up?
And then there was the issue of my birthday. My 41st
birthday.
Part of me, a large part, was just glad to have made it to
another birthday. I am attuned to the fact those are not always givens and, in
the past year, have lost several people who will never reach their 41st
birthday thanks to metastatic cancer. But another part of me, a smaller but
very real part, didn’t want to upset the proverbial apple cart with too much
pomp and circumstance.
You could call me superstitious and you’d probably be
correct, but the anxiety surrounding a repeat of last year’s month long birthday
celebration that was capped off with a cancer diagnosis was not something I was
looking forward to.
And the Tide Flows
Out Again
In the thirty-seven days since my last surgery, I have laughed
and cried. I have berated myself for ‘going backwards’ and also celebrated my
successes.
In other words, I have lived every moment of what I felt.
I feel centered now. I feel strong today. And while I not-so-secretly
feel as if this ‘journey’ should be over, I realize that two steps forward may occasionally
be accompanied by a single step back.
And, by anyone’s measure, this is still progress.
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