In probably a month, I will have a mastectomy. I may or may not wake up with two breasts. It's possible I'll wake up and have only surgical drainage bulbs where my breast once was. I've done a lot of convincing myself that this is fine, but the nearer the mastectomy, the more the drama of it sets in. Looking at the powerpoint from the plastic surgeon is oddly unhelpful.
Cancer is lonely. In a way it feels like being cheated on. You know that wrenching feeling of betrayal and loss? That angry heartbreak? It's a little like that, except that I get to be the first (I sincerely hope only!) of the people I am close to to experience it -the first one whose cells cheated on her, the first one whose ducts gave way to the sneaky, destructive cancer- so no one knows quite what it's like. And to think it all started so long ago! Here I've spent the last few years blithely taking mediocre care of my body, enjoying it, criticizing it, learning to be comfortable in it, and all the while it's been bested, duped in to my undoing by a couple of half-baked mutations.* A tiny parasite nibbling at my trust - can it happen again?
*In cases of actual cheating, I generally disagree with blaming the third party, but here I think it is reasonable.
Some of the loneliness is self-selected. It's hard to reach out to
people with this weird need I can't even place when I've gotten into a mood about this whole ordeal that makes me think I am not the
sort of company to which I ought to subject anyone. Sometimes I find
myself having an internal dialogue that goes something like this: I don't want to have cancer! I want my fucking life back! Well, obviously you don't want cancer - no one wants it. Shit happens. Big breath. Go. Not
reaching out in these moments is also a way of sparing myself. No one
wants me to be stressed out or to feel sad or to lose it. You're going to be ok. You're going to kick this thing. Don't worry. - the
collective kind mantra of the people who care about me. Oh, ok. Cool. I
didn't realize it was so simple. See? I'm being a jerk just thinking
about that advice.
Here's the thing - in any bad break-up, your friends are right when they say the philandering, untrustworthy party is an asshole. They're right to discourage you from getting too wrapped up in the heart hurt. I completely agree... cut loose the offending appendage! We don't need its kind around here. But we've gotten awfully used to it, so there is bound to be a painful adjustment period.
Next time you're feeling crappy and sad you should definitely call me (because seriously Sara, remember that time my dog died and I called you because I wanted to come sit on your couch and cry for like two hours? I think I owe you). We can just talk about how much cancer sucks, and is stealing all of your awesome world traveling summer plans along with your right boob. Cancer is a total dick, and just because there's going to be another side to this where everything isn't so bad eventually doesn't mean you aren't entitled to feel like everything sucks a whole lot right now.
ReplyDeleteThis post really helped me connect to how you're feeling. When my dad died, I simultaneously wanted my friends to be constantly available to me and to never have to see them because I was so tired of talking about it, but it was all I could think or talk about. There's a turkish poem that goes, "loneliness cannot be shared, if it is shared, it's not loneliness." I hope we can hang out while I'm home! I'll give you hand massages and we can talk or not talk about it as much as you want.
ReplyDelete-AMKY
Adding to that: loneliness cannot be shared, but sharing will be had anyway, and I hope you feel supported by all these hands from all over, because we're thinking about you. I know I feel blessed to have a friend that is willing to display all the drama on this blog so that I can be a witness!
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