Purely Personal Post....

I’ve been reading this book of essays written by Andy Rooney. For those who don’t know the name (and are probably under twenty-five), he used to be on “60 Minutes”. He’s a pretty famous writer, who usually wrote about 1500 words on some silly subject. I got the book for two reasons. The first is that I don’t really like novels right now; they require too much attention. The second is that I remember every time I watched “60 Minutes” (the few instances I did), I found his segment funny – and I like things that make me laugh.

In the course of the book, I found the following quote which I will repeat verbatim (it’s long, be patient): “There’s nothing mystical or magical about being a writer. A writer is just a person who writes something. There are almost no people who are not dentists who can fix teeth, but there are a lot of people who aren’t professional writers who write very well. This is one of the reasons why being a writer is tougher than being a dentist.”

Why did I find this amusing? Again – two reasons. One: I consider myself to be a very good writer. I’d say excellent sometimes, but that’s just immodest (and up to whomever reads this). Two: I haven’t written a word since the beginning of April, which is very unusual, borderline unacceptable.

Those of you reading this know the reason why I’m sure, but I’m putting it in print anyway. I fought cancer, and I beat it. Don’t get me wrong, on most days the after-cancer (as I call it) usually kicks my ass. I have surgery scars that are a pain in the stomach (they aren’t technically in my ass). I take multiple meds a day. I get tired easily, and I am currently embarrassed to go out, because I have a stupid bag attached to me 24/7. I can’t eat what I want anymore, which sucks for the newly discovered foodie in me. I’m starting chemo AGAIN in forty eight hours. Ironically enough, that’s almost as long as the treatments. I will continue all of these processes probably until the first part of 2012.

Some parts of having cancer at age 39-40 for me are just like reliving my teenage years and early twenties. I have the same fashion sense I did back then – only now it materializes in yoga pants and long t-shirts. My eating disorder from the 1980s came back with a vengeance. I was scared to eat anything when I got home from the hospital, and spent literally days having dry heaves after I put anything in my mouth (including Gatorade, which used to be my salvation). The panic attacks I used to have in my early twenties came back too. If you’ve never had a “mean red” (thanks, Audrey/Blake), it means that you literally can’t do anything (including moving) for total fear and have to just sit on the floor and rock back and forth. The good part is that my wonderful doctor gave me medicine which takes both of those feelings away, and as long as I take my meds regularly I’m in good shape.

But I also found out that there are some positive things that came out of this experience. One of the things I didn’t realize is the number of friends I have. Some of these are people who I would have just considered acquaintances but now check in with me very regularly. Some of these are people that I thought were friends that I now realize that could just be friends for life. I have remade contact with someone I used to be close to many years ago. I have issued forgiveness to myself for some things that happened in my past. You learn who cares and who doesn’t (as well as what matters and what doesn’t) when you sit in a hospital bed for several days.

My boyfriend and I have reached a plethora of plateaus in our relationship. He and my mother have finally reached détente. He’s been there for me as I’ve cried and as I’ve laughed. He’s held my hand through many sleepless nights, my hair as I puked, and he’s fanned my bottom with a picture of Johnny Depp (which doesn’t indicate my opinion on Mr. Depp at all). We are finally in a place where we are both grown up and mature and able to handle whatever life throws at us. As I tell him often, he didn’t sign up for the “in sickness and in health” but he’s handling all of this with a sense of grace that I didn’t know existed. Plus, going through all this with him has finally given us the healthy relationship that we’ve been trying to build for over several years.

I’m also working through some issues with the rest of my family. For many years, I felt ostracized from them. Now I realize that I did some of this myself. With maturity comes a sense of taking ownership of one’s deeds and misdeeds. I am also working to rectify this – one person at a time. I don’t need to make amends; I simply need to show up. And the competition that I thought was there was there only in my head. Yes, my family is confusing and we’d make a great sitcom (starring Tina Fey as me, of course – thanks, Sherry) but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Lastly, my mom and I are finally in a good place. We’ve actually been in the same house for several days without having an argument. I am starting to understand what makes my mom tick, and although I may not always understand it, I am learning how to deal with it (and in some cases, how to appreciate it). My mom is stronger than I give her credit for sometimes, and I do feel like I draw part of my strength from her. We are both learning different definitions of "advice" - she gives it, and for the first time in my life, I realize that sometimes she IS right. :)

Everyone tells me that I’m an amazing person; something which I’ve never really seen (and still don’t). People say that I’ve handled all this in a remarkable way – but really, what choice do I have? I’m an overachiever by birth. Does anyone REALLY think I was going to let cancer get the better of me? Chemo may give me chemohead, but it doesn’t take my intelligence forever; it just gets a much-needed vacation (as do I, from work). I have learned how to humble myself. I do need help sometimes, and the only way to let others know I need help is to ask for it. If I do that, the amount of help and support I get astounds me.

I don’t know if it’s the cancer, turning 40, or finally having the time to start thinking and reflecting, but I’m actually pretty ok. My life has gotten much simpler now – a metaphorical cleaning of the closet (thanks, Marshall). I know deep within me that I can get through all of this and come out stronger on the other side. The only way out is through (thanks, Alanis), and you’re just as far in as you’ll ever be out (thanks, Anna). Sometimes clichés and song lyrics are the only things that work – then again clichés are overused because they’re all true, and the song lyrics I just stole.

I can’t say enough good things about all the people who have helped me through this – professional and otherwise. You all know who you are. I love you all, thank you all, and finally I hope that someday I can repay you all, under much better circumstances.