Balancing act

(Sorry, didn't realize my comments were turned off so you can feel free to comment now...)


Today for the first time since my diagnosis three weeks ago, I'm feeling normal.

The past three weeks have been a roller coaster of emotions. 

The first week, I was numb. I won't even say I put my game face on because I couldn't even find a face. Just putting one foot in front of the other was almost impossible. And to every difficult person I encountered, I wanted to scream, "Don't fuck with me! I have breast cancer!" To every difficult parent I had to deal with, I wanted to say, "I'm sorry your child is a brat and you don't know how to handle them but right now, I don't give a fuck because I have breast cancer." Guy at the bus stop who insisted on talking to me, despite the earbuds in my ears and my intense focus on "Doctor Who" on my iPhone,  "I really don't give a fuck which bus you ride and why, I have breast cancer!" Etc.

I moved through the world, telling close friends, avoiding putting anything on Facebook because it would only be about my diagnosis and I wasn't sure I wanted the world to know yet because I still hadn't wrapped my own brain around it.

Luckily, my friends led me through the numbness, taking me by the hand, whispering gently, giving me space and giving me normal while I sorted this out.

The second week is a blank. I have no idea what happened.  Had a lot going on, including WonderCon, a comic book convention I was really looking forward to. And I got to spend time with the Filmmaker and his beautiful, amazing children. And I did an art show that was a two night event, the last night of which the Filmmaker joined me. 

But I'll be damned if I can really remember any of it. I remember feeling angry because my body was stretched beyond its limits. And it pissed me off that my body, which has always been able to manage through days without sleep for production and which has rarely let me down, now let me down constantly as it tries to do battle with itself. 

And I was angry at school because , well, because I set the bar very high and the expectations of my teachers is extremely high, even with this diagnosis. They have cut me a lot of slack but I still have to deliver. And I didn't want to. I wanted to just be average, to just be normal and not have this ridiculous high jump to hurdle while going through this.

And I was angry with my best friend because she was busy. Now, understand, she spent plenty of time on the phone and by email with me but that didn't matter. I was angry that she was out of town on business and that I couldn't reach her. There were other people who I talked to and who helped me out but there's no reasoning with irrationality. I wanted her and she wasn't there. 

And I was angry with the Filmmaker. For no other reason that he is so close to what I want but not ready to be what I want. And he may never be. And that made me angry because I wanted to call him every day and cry and say, come over and hold me and tell me that everything will be all right. But I couldn't let myself because I couldn't let myself be that vulnerable with him. I couldn't let myself admit that I want him and need him and wish... And it made me angry that I let myself get into this place again - almost but not quite. When right now, 
I don't know if I can let myself be in an almost place.

And I was angry at the world. Because. Who else am I gonna be angry with? 

This week, I hurt. I let myself hurt. I let myself cry. Today, looking in the mirror at the studio, making sure I didn't have paint on my face, I pushed my hair out of my face and thought that I have to find a better hair color to cover my gray when I realized, in a few months, I may lose my hair, depending on my treatment. And that brought me to my knees, in the bathroom, in the middle of teaching.

I hurt for all the things I could lose. I hurt for all the pain I've already gone through in my life. I hurt for the fact that, despite the friends and the Filmmaker, I am still basically alone. There is no one at my side day-to-day for this. And my friends are amazing and supportive and incredible. But it still comes down to just me and that hurts.

I hurt for wanting more than almost.

It hurts that I'll be 50 in a week and I'm essentially still alone. This is not where I'm supposed to be. Where's the husband and the family and the house and the life? Where's the success?

Hit bottom. Gave up. Almost decided that I needed to stop seeing the Filmmaker (a weekly occurrence due to the clowns in my head).  Thought about quitting school. Wanted to just hide and stop everything. 

Woke up this morning, still feeling the hurt and pain. Didn't want to teach, which is rare for me because I love teaching art and I love my kids. But I went because I need the money and I need the joy I get from teaching.

And I began to feel normal again. Just for a moment. Hugs from the kids. Working with my program director, who's awesome. 

And when the Filmmaker came in to drop his daughter off for class, I forgot about the clowns and the hurt and the fear and all of that. He hugged me and all I could think of is that I'm so glad he's here. And teaching his very talented daughter is one of my favorite things to do.

I don't know if it's all the outpouring of energy from people this week or just that I'm dealing better or what. But tonight, right now, this second, I can get through this. I've gotten through so many other things in my life, this is just one more thing.

And maybe these past seven years where I've learned to live with myself and figured out who I am and what I am all led up to this. Because despite having a great support group, I do have to do this myself. No one else is going to be there every night. No one else is going to be there every day. It's just me. And it's been just me for almost seven years. And it's been hard but it's taught me how to do this.

And when the Filmmaker hugged me this morning, all I could think is that I'm so glad he's here, whether it's for one more month, one more year or ten more years, he makes me happy and he makes my heart skip a beat when he smiles at me. And for now, I'll take the almost because he's given me such rom-com moments that it gives me hope that there is a more, whether or not it's with him.

And while I wait to meet with the oncologist/surgeon, I will embrace the short period of "normal" before I get on with the business of breast cancer. And hope that whatevr's on the other side of it, I will continue to live the life I've created and find something more over there.