Relay for Life? Or Celebrate Life?

After I went into remission, a very urgent need came to be that I needed to do something about the cancer experience. The core of my belief system is that everything happens for a reason. And, cancer is a big THING! I cannot let the experience or the lesson go to waste. All of that must be put into something good. I had great intentions. I was going to make a difference for those touched by cancer! Although, I was wisely counseled by my boyfriend and my brother that I should probably take things in stride and put it in first gear and take some time to heal and regroup, before any major undertaking. Well, of course it turned out that it was wise advice. I had just about enough energy to go to work daily and maintain the rhythm of the once-interrupted life. It takes time to put things back together, I suppose. Life certainly did not stop or slow down, just because I had to. So, it turned out that it was the best advice.

And now, I finally have my bearings. So, I took some time to research how I could get involved and give back. There are a lot of choices. But, in the end, I chose The American Cancer Society's Relay for Life, in keeping with my former post and a belief that we are all in this together. Yes. There are different kinds of cancer, including mine. But, I wanted to support the organization that helps all cancer. And the American Cancer Society was the best choice for this. I also liked Relay for Life because of its communal character -- camping for 24 hours with your "team," amongst other teams.

So, this was quite an an important decision for me. It was sort of a "coming out" to my community at large -- many of whom did not know I was sick at all. It was also a chance for me to involve my friends and family with cancer, at last! I had my reservations and trepidations about all of this. But I was done keeping my cancer under a bushel. It was time to share. I've had a year to have to almost all to myself. But, the world doesn't benefit from that. Does it? Only in my "coming out" and sharing the experience with others will it do anyone else any good. Time to get over my introvertedness and time to let go! I was not doing anyone any good by keeping all of this under wraps.

Still and all, it took about a couple of weeks of clicking on Relay for Life's website to read up on what it involved to be a Team Captain and to raise funds as well as organize a team for the event. I had to talk myself into committing to it -- being a team captain and assembling a team for the event, with the help of my friends and community of course. And what a "coming out" party it was going to be! We were going to "camp" for 24 hours while raising money for the cause. Brilliant!

Last night, as I put the final touches in the Evite for Relay for Life, I got a phone call from one of my very good friends to discuss another very good friend's bridal shower/bachelorette party. The date and venue was set. All I needed to do was post my response to the event's Evite. Done! Am there with bells on and all that. Of course!

BUT. . . (you guessed it!)

The aforementioned shower/bachelorette party is the same day as Relay for Life! (May I just say that I was mildly annoyed and discouraged? After all that thought and self-prodding to finally do something AND involve everyone else, someone had the nerve to get married!)

Momentary quandary: Should I go through with the commitment to myself and the powers that be to do Relay for Life? Or, should I be a good friend and attend said bridal shower/bachelorette party? Herein lies the rub: The very community that I wanted to finally open up to and involve in my cancer journey will be a the bridal shower. So, really, in the larger (or smaller) scheme of things, what was more important?

Yes. I had (definitely) grand and (perhaps) honorable intentions in doing Relay for Life with my community of friends and family. But really, do gestures of gratitude or reason have to be that grand in order to count? Or, is being there for a good friend during a very important occasion of her life, as grand as being at Relay for Life? Here, the old adage rings true. Charity begins at home. In this instance, I didn't have to make a big splash to make a difference. I am blessed to be alive to share in this wonderful time of her life. There are currently over 200 teams registered to participate in my city's Relay for Life. But my girlfriend only has only a few of us with whom to celebrate her impending marriage.

There wasn't a quandary after all.

RESET

Around this time last year, I was coming away from a big, happy remission party that my friends had given for me. Friends flew in from far and wide, there was an abundance of food and good cheer, and everyone was happy that I had "conquered cancer!" What a celebration!

But I remember being at that party and watching my friends "celebrate me," and feeling as if I were watching a movie, in slow motion with no sound. Yes. I was there. Yes, I was hugging and kissing and cavorting with them. But it felt as if I wasn't there -- as if I was on the outside looking in.

The thing was, even though I was relieved, I couldn't relate to everyone's euphoria and celebration. I was pre-occupied with overwhelming feelings of alienation and void within. My life over the past few months had been seriously regimented with an intensely focused goal -- kill those cancer cells! Mission accomplished! I had entered remission and I should've have been dancing at the rafters. But I wasn't. Well, externally, I was. I had to -- for everyone else's sake.

Inside, I was dutifully grateful, as if by rote. But I was also lost and dreadful, and somehow numb. My gratitude was not as overarching as everyone else's. What was in the forefront were my feelings of dread and estrangement. Yes. I was relieved. But more than that, I felt lost and in flux. What an ingrate, right? How many people would want to be in my place and be in remission? Fortunate! That's what I was and that's the way I should've felt. To no avail.

Why then was I in this state of being? Why wasn't I shouting through the rooftops with joy like everyone else? Why did I feel empty and gray?

First - when I was diagnosed with cancer, Auntie Mame told me that my illness was but a detour; and that life will go on after I beat cancer. She meant it. I believed it wholeheartedly. And because of that. . .

Second - the months ensuing were intensely laser-focused on one thing: cancer. I was surrounded by the most competent people and together, we marched to the drum of beating cancer. I lived and breathed it. It was my sole purpose of being. There was nothing else.

Third - because of the above, everything had a sense of urgency and (if you will) sensationalism. My family, friends, and colleagues were panicked and frantic. All eyes were intensely on me: Dr. T and his team, my family and friends, my colleagues. Although I fought hard to be at arms' length with family and friends, it still felt like I was very much in the limelight. Herein lies the rub: Eventually, I bought into it! I got used to the attention, even if it was unwelcome, many times. Kris Carr was right! Cancer is crazy and (yes!) sexy!

Now, I use "sexy" in the loosest way possible; sexy like in "interesting" or "attractive" and yes, even "sensationalistic." But definitely, more on the "interesting" bent. Cancer is sexy that way. And because it is, people gravitate towards it -- people gravitated toward me. For a few months, I was the cause celebre, all due to the fact that I had cancer -- phone calls, cards, people flying in from everywhere to visit, prayers, tears, gifts, parties, you name it. What was particularly welcome was the care that I received from my oncology team. I felt as if in a protective cocoon of medical care. I'd gotten used to it.

So, as intensely as attention and care was showered on me during my period of illness was as quickly as all of that disappeared once my remission was declared. After the party, there I was, left in the cold and facing the abyss that was life without cancer. Silence. . . that was what I was left with, after the party, the fuss and the doctor visits had stopped.

Last - After I went into remission, I started believing that cancer wasn't just a detour. Rather, it was a divine push of the "reset" button. Everything happens for a reason. I believe that. And so, of course, I questioned why I got sick and then was spared afterwards. There had to be a reason. And I had to repurpose my life. New beginnings. There had to be something bigger out there. What was it?

After all the concentrated attention lavished on me, so much so that sometimes I couldn't even breath, I was left with myself -- to figure out why my life was on out "reset."

If there was ever a time I really felt alienated from my waking life, it was then. Somehow, I felt I didn't belong to the cancer community anymore because I was in remission. But, at the same time, I felt I didn't belong to the other comuunities who hadn't been ill with cancer either. I felt disconnected from everyone and everything. I was facing this foggy abyss and I didn't know how deep or wide it was. But I had to try. I had to take steps to repurpose my life -- quickly! Life's too short, afterall. And so, I tried . . . for a year. . .

Last weekend, the same friends got together for a party at the same place around the same time. Only, it wasn't my remission party, it was 4th of July get-together. It seemed to me as though everyone had changed: babies born, couples married, friends almost graduating from school, kids getting older, and friends being pregnant. A good friend asked how I was doing. Me? Fine, I guess. Nothing's changed. I'm still in remission. Am still in the same job. Still have the same aches and pains. Have I discovered the "reason" why I got sick? Have I discovered my new purpose? Had I done anything significant over the past year except suriving cancer? No. I had nothing to report. An immense feeling of disppointment overcame me. I am now, where I was last year -- still feeling alienated and somehow lost. No progress.

What I didn't realize was how spent I was. Having put all of my energy into overcoming my illness, I was bereft of direction or will to do anything else, despite the internal pressure to grandly rebirth myself ala "Phoenix rising from the ashes!" Little did I know that the ashes would weigh me down for while and blur everything. And, so after a year of walking around in circles (it seems), I am back in the same place, with my hands up in the air still asking "Now what?"

I spent most of the 4th of July in tears, discouraged.

But today, even feeling like I am where I was last year, I renew my commitment to keep at it. But it's another year and it deserves a new commitment. So what if I still don't know why? or when? or how? What's important is that I'm still here walking, albeit in circles and stopping from time to time asking "Now what?" But, I'm here and I'd like to turn a new page. Perhaps by doing so, I'll find that "passage" and read the answers. Maybe someday, I'll find a way to the clearing. But none of that will happen until I press the button myself (not the universe, not the divine, not cancer nor anyone else) . And so . . . .

Here I go. . .

RESET!

Someone Up There Has a Sense of Humor

I like astrology, not in the "weekly horoscopes" type astrology, or even as a basis to predict my future. Rather, I'm a huge fan of zodiac characteristic profiling. It's pretty spot on, in my humble opinion. Most Libra's I know are people pleasers, wanting a balance in their environment. Leo's and Aries are pretty strong-minded and stubborn. Virgo's are pretty solid, salt of the earth people. I am a proud Pisces -- pretty fluid and goes with the flow for the most part. Look up the standard character description of a Pisces and you pretty much have pegged me (well, as much as you can peg "water"). I was a March baby, born on St. Patty's Day and I love, love, love, love being a Pisces.

A year ago today (June 25, 2009), dear Dr. T said these magic words "Well, your CA-125 score is 7 and I'm happy to tell you that you are in remission." He said it! He said "REMISSION" on June 25, 2009, the day I was given a "second go" on life! So, today's my first [second] birthday!

I cannot believe a year's since passed. It is at once so near and yet so far. It's fresh, still. But, it seems like a long time ago. I haven't forgotten. But it seems the world has, or at least the world around me has. And I wish I could forget like they could. But, I know that it'll be with me for a while, because Dr. T made very clear that I was in remission and not cured. Nonetheless, I am happy to have a second birthday. I'm happy to be here watching World Cup re-runs. I'm happy to have silly arguments with my daughter. I'm happy to be getting frustrated at work. I'm happy to wake up every day, even though getting out of bed is painful on all levels. Yes. I'm happy that it's been a year and I'm still fine. I'm blessed to be alive, no matter how grumpy I get. I'm happy it has not reared its ugly head at all.

It? What's "it?" Why, cancer, of course!

But guess what? When I looked up what Zodiac sign corresponds with my June 25 "birthday," I was amused when I found out it was "Cancer!" That's when I had a good chuckle with the powers that be! Someone has a sense of humor up there.

And, I'm glad to laugh about it. Now, please pass me a piece of that wonderful [Cancer] birthday cake.

L'CHAIM!

Telling Hurt More Than Hearing

It was bad enough to hear that I had cancer. But it's worse to have to tell others about it. The prospect of "sharing" my cancer was the last thing I wanted to do. I was arrested by a slew of emotions that almost muted me.

First, I felt immense guilt -- guilt that I had let my nearest and dearest down, particularly my children, parents and siblings. Had I made better choices in my life, I wouldn't have to be telling them about this bad news and therefore causing them pain and worry. Cancer was my fault and the burden was on me to sort it out, not theirs.

There was also a lot of anger at myself because I thought I had failed my children. How dare I put them in this position! They're young adults just on the verge of starting their own lives. But, with my cancer, they were going to be noosed with caring for a very sick mother. What a burden to give them! Parents are supposed to set their children free, not hold them back. Never mind living with the threat of losing one's mother. No child deserves that. Shame on me! I would have done anything to spare them all that pain of that fear. Anything!

No parent wants to survive their children. Neither does a parent ever want to see their children suffering. This was nothing that my 77-year-old mother, living thousands of miles away from me, should have endured. Certainly, once she heard about my illness, I knew that the only thing she would have wanted to do was run to my side and care for me, without regard to her own health limitations. But, alas! She was incapable of doing that. What torture for her!

Then, there was the feeling of being damaged and somehow inadequate causing me to feel sorry for myself. And because I already did, I wanted no one else to feel sorry for me, especially not my healthy, vibrant and very lively friends and family. One drop of "I'm sorry," and I would have lost all form composure and a never-ending pity party would have ensued (no cover charge at the door!). No thanks. What I wanted was to still be seen as "normal" and not someone sick with cancer. But if I told, then...

Last, there's also the "sensationalism" of cancer. It's not as if I just had this hang nail or my appendix removed. It was that I had cancer, the "killer!" And for an introverted person like me, the prospect of being attached to such a sensational disease as cancer was unsavory. "So and so has cancer!!" And then one becomes a spectacle (sort of like the bottle neck at the highway when there's an accident). I just couldn't stand the thought of the all the fussing and the gawking.

This was true particularly at work. I thought that if my workplace knew I had cancer, it would be disruptive. I didn't want anyone asking or checking on me. You know those folks who wouldn't even give you the time of day and then suddenly they're all over you because you have cancer? I didn't want that. Business as usual, folks. Please move on, nothing to see here. Go back to your desks.


If I had my way, I would've just "disappeared" for the 6 months of planned chemo treatment and not told anyone; then re-appeared later, as if nothing had happened. [Sure, why not? Pigs have wings, right?] But of course, the reality was that I was going nowhere for no time. And I had to face up to the fact that I couldn't keep my illness to myself. In the end, the chips fell where they did and most of my fears were not unfounded.


But even now, a year hence, I still feel the same as I did then. I still want to have spared my family (especially my children) and loved ones the pain of cancer. I still resent the spectacle that is cancer. And even though I fought the good fight and am in now remission, I still can't help but feel damaged and inadequate sometimes.

But, no matter. Here I am today -- still telling. Because the hope is that in the telling, someone else's pain might be alleviated.