I went to the WeSPARK post-treatment support group this week because I've been feeling lost and out of sorts and very, extremely depressed and decided I needed to get some help and guidance.
As I was on the bus to the group, I got thinking about what I was going to talk about. I haven't been able to go because of the new job and wanted to be able to summarize the last couple of months fairly quickly so as to not take up too much time.
As I was thinking about how I was feeling, I realized something.
I'm afraid.
Of course I'm afraid my cancer will come back, first and foremost. I mean, who wouldn't be? And I wish I could not take this hormone suppressor because it is making me very depressed and incredibly moody. So depressed that I can't get off the couch.
But...
I realized I'm also afraid of moving forward.
Before I was diagnosed, I felt like I had almost everything I wanted. My teaching job was going very well and I felt optimistic that I would get my studio within a year or so. School was amazing - being able to go and paint for four straight hours, straight A's, learning so much it was incredible. And, of course, the Filmmaker. Fun, easy days and lovely, sensuous nights with him.
Perfection.
And then...
Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.
And now it's all pretty much gone, except my teaching job.
Now, who knows what would have happened had I not been diagnosed. I would have lost my father either way. The Filmmaker and I may not have lasted anyway. School, I'm pretty sure, would have still be straight A's because I wouldn't allow anything else.
But now, as I try to put my life back together, I realize that I'm really afraid to do just that - put my life back together.
Because what if I do...
...and the cancer comes back.
What if I build back up this life that I love and find another man who is just as wonderful as the Filmmaker was and what if I fall in love with him and get my own studio and go back to school and my life finally starts to make sense again and...
....what if...
That terrifies me.
Partly because I don't want to build everything up just to lose it again.
And a lot because I don't know if I could go through all of this again. I'm so moved and humbled by my friend who has gone through cancer treatment numerous times and is currently on borrowed time. She is so brave and funny and snarky while at the same time being incredibly vulnerable and honest. I don't know how she does it. I don't know how her husband does it. He, as well, humbles me and inspires me by his sheer devotion to her and to making her life the best life it can be.
I don't want to do this again. And I'm terrified that I will have to.
My risk is fairly low due to the size of my tumor and the fact that I had chemo and radiation and I'm on this stupid fucking crazy-making drug. However, the risk is still there and it's still very real. And cancer's a sneaky motherfucker. With having lymph node involvement and ER/PR positive, there is still a risk of recurrence.
And I'm so terrified right now of it coming back again just as I get my life together - again.
And I've rebuilt my life so very many times over the past 30 years, I'd like to not have to do that again for the next 30.
And I don't know if I could do it again.
I was very lucky with my diagnosis. Caught early, small tumor, only a couple of lymph nodes. Very quick recovery, according to my doctors. After all, I am my father's daughter and have genes of steel. I was able to keep my breasts and even my scars are starting to recede and get less and less obvious. And my hair's grown back into this punky rock star style that has people asking me how I got my hair to look that way. Chemo is always a quippy, snarky answer that shuts them up.
And I got through treatment fairly well.
But if it comes back...
If it comes back...
I'll go through it again and I'll survive and I'll rebuild and I'll do what I need to do. Because what choice would there be?
But I'm so afraid to start moving forward in case I get knocked back. I don't want to lose everything again. I just don't.
So I have to get past this fear and keeping going. But it's hard. And the depression doesn't help. Hopefully I'll get some help on that end very soon.
But still...
What if...
But I can't live by "what if" and I have to move forward.
I'm just...
...stuck right now.
We'll see what next week brings...
6 comments:
But what if you don't do anything but live in doubt and fear.
What if , what if.
What if the cancer DOESN'T come back but you lost all the time you could have been painting and living because you got stuck in the mire of negative thinking.
You have definately been through a lot. But you made it to the other side. Now look fear in the face and shout it down. Paint, smile, breath, paint LIVE!
It helps me to put the negative out there and acknowledge it. Then I can put it away, once I've given it shape and a voice. Thanks for your comment and your support!
WHAT IF is a mystery. There really is no answer to it. All our conjecture can't equate to a real future event or our actual response to it. And...depression is a bitch. My therapist says if you are afraid, do it anyway. That's where all the growth happens...in the fear. I tend to agree. Playing it safe for the last 50 years has gotten me nowhere. I wish I could say the cancer won't come back. I wish I had that kind of power. But holding back in fear is less of an answer than the alternative. You're gonna be okay! "Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end." Author unknown.
The What If game is a big one. And hopefully I'm moving past it. If you've followed this blog, you know that What If rarely slows me down. But this is a big one. And I'm just processing...
I found your blog through the most curious of avenues, but am so glad I did. I think we do reach a point where we're just tired of picking ourselves up and starting all over again. Each time I've fallen down I've worried that it'll be the time I can't get up again. And then I do.
But each time it scares the shit out of me.
Thanks, Chloe. I am getting back up and moving on.
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