#787: Joy And Apprehension
Saturday, August 18, 2007 As of 1:30 yesterday afternoon, I am CANCER FREE.
My initial reaction to that information confounded me. I stepped outside of the doctor's office and stood blinking at the sun. I wanted to cry but would not allow myself to, because I felt devastated. I did not feel elation or relief. I felt wrung out.
I went for coffee with Savia, bought laundry detergent, and went for a walk, but still my body shook. I was reacting as I had the day I was first told of my abnormal cervical cells. I had never experienced being told my cancer was gone, and I was sure I was doing a horrible job of it.
Luckily, my lack of enthusiasm for not having cancer was a short-lived phase. I decided to go out where the people were and get over whatever it was that was holding back the joy I just knew had to be hiding around my person. I decided to tell every single person I ran into whose name I knew my good news, and by the time I had told five people, one of whom was some guy I didn't even know who bore a striking resemblance to someone else, some of that joy started to kick in.
And that joy was, well, pretty joyous, right up until I woke up this morning. I lay in bed looking into the light filtered through my eyelids and wished that I would never have to open my eyes again. I wondered how easy it would be if I could just simply quit breathing.* My first morning cancer-free was anything but happy. I was starting to wonder what kind of consummate asshole I must be to to be so ungrateful for the good fortune of having such a short and relatively easy battle with the Big C.
It wasn't until I had a chat with Neil that I realized what it was. As much as cancer sucks and the last several months have been difficult to get through, this period of time has had the strongest narrative of my life. Something was large in my life every day. I came from somewhere and was going somewhere and there were points of import dotted along the way. As soon as I walked out of the doctor's office, the next point of import was nothing more my cubicle and horde of favourite pens in a week's time.
See what I mean? Asshole.
Of course, I am happy to be rid of the devil rot. Who wouldn't be? But I have become accustomed to having the tide that carries me forward be something a little larger than the city bus to and from work. Does anybody know of any circuses I can run away to?
* It is difficult to die by refusing to breathe. There is that issue with the passing out and the involuntary breathing process.**
** Also, I didn't actually attempt to stop breathing this morning. I tried it when I was nine or ten years old, so I know it doesn't work from firsthand experience. Plus, it makes me panicky.
the cancer
Reader Comments (36)
Well, it's your own damn fault for being so successful at kicking cancer's sorry ass. We need to find you another project. I vote for Becoming a Published Writer and a Recognized Photographic Artist.
Gotta give yourself a break babe, it takes time...
I will freely admit to having no idea what you must be feeling. But I am very happy to read that you are cancer-free. Can I get a woot, woot?
; ) (Happy! weekend. Also, may I suggest: chocolate cake? With copious amounts of celebratory frosting?)
That's such great news! It is strange how narratives carry you along and then become anti-climatic like that.
I was driving around in my old city and thinking: I MADE IT! I SURVIVED! WITNESS MY TRIUMPH! I really had my doubts about survival at the time. Then I realized I was this aging plump chick driving around in a mini-van with a car seat in the back whose professional future is a fairly doubtful. I hadn't made any plans for success at the time since it was all about survival and now I'm like--why haven't I done more? Where is the more?
I'm not saying this is the same as what you are saying---just my way of groping for something to understand your thought. For one thing, I wasn't facing an actual fatal illness. But it is strange how survival itself is kind of a let down in a way because what comes after? It's like the last scene in The Graduate with the couple after they finally end up together. And now what?
Is it movies and books that create this problem or is it simply a problem of narrative itself?
seems fair enough reaction to me. I'm so glad you are ok:)
x
I'm happy to hear your news -
as for your reaction, well, there isn't a script for these things, is there?
Congrats on your great news, that's wonderful!! As for your reaction, that seems understandable. And even though YOU are cancer free that doesn't mean you can't use cancer to continue to give you a purpose.
That's wonderful news! It means you can STOP holding your breath now, actually.
I am so happy for you - I am smiling in Ohio.
YAYYYYY! No, you don't know me, but I'm happy for you anyway. You might want to be gentle with yourself; there is no right or wrong reaction to receiving that kind of news. I'm with Kerrianne--woot woot!
I am utterly thrilled for you. I am dancing in the streets. I am cheering and celebrating from my couch. I hear you saying you're not sure where to go next -- and I sympathize, but I am SO HAPPY that that d*mn cancer is gone from your body.
This is wonderful news.
No matter what you think, you never can truly predict your reaction to certain things.
Maybe you were afraid to feel happy?
You don't know me. I followed a link from another blog who referenced this post, but I had to comment...
It is fairly normal to not be happy and in fact become depressed after such a situation. So don't call yourself an asshole. You're not. You're a normal, breathing, LIVING human being who went through a difficult time. And now it's over. The joy will come, I promise, and you may find you'll be happier than ever. But it takes some time.
*hug*
Endings inevitably create crashes and emptiness for me. And so far the bigger the struggle or theme, the longer it takes my body and then my emotions to catch up with my head--sort of a bio-emotional jetlag. You can tell your brain you are in Figi all you want, but if your body is hovering around San Diego and your emotions were reminded of 3rd grade by the flight, it might take a while.
I'm happy you have all the time in the worls.n
Well, I'm chuffed for you, anyway.
Pint of Creme de Menthe shandy, if anyone's buying.
i'm chuffed for you too, and beaming, though i recognize the truth in what you're saying about the cancer battle having a very clear narrative that is, in its own way, tough to beat.
(bad pun mostly unintended, btw)
but i'm with Savia...new project! published writer and recognized photographic artist is not exactly a cakewalk you know...almost as hard as kicking cancer's ass and apparently more fun.
i wish you joy over apprehension.
I'm so glad to hear the good news! And I hope you get used to the idea soon and start moving forward. Congratulations on being cancer free!
Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! And you have been through the wringer.
I totally get you on that count. It's like it's over and suddenly you say "Huh? Is that it?"
However, on your behalf, I choose to be totally stoked.
Here via WhyMommy, good job on kicking cancer butt!! One of my BFF's is in the process of doing that right now.
I'm so so glad cancer has left the building. I hope your next Big Thing is a lot more rewarding and a lot less sucky.
Oh, Schmutzie. I've followed along quietly. I'm so happy to hear that you're C-free, but remembering how my mom felt after hers, I think your feelings are pretty normal. Try not to give yourself quite so much shit for it, it's a process and you're doing what you need to do.
Sometimes we artistic types have better forward momentum when we've got some drama in our lives to drive the bus.
virtual hugs and thanks for answered prayers.
xo,
a mostly lurky long-time admirer
What glorious news, especially now that a friend has been diagnosed and it's under chemo, each fortnight and for 6 months. He's 24 and strong and your good news and strength are positive.
I'm so happy for you.
Schmutzie,
I've commented before because I recognize your struggle. I had cancer in 2005.
I had the same reaction you are having once it was removed. It really did not mean anything to me, and still doesn't.
I was ushered into a severe depression, the likes I had never experienced before. I think surgery and loss of parts of your body can do that to a person.
Cancer is so hard. So effing hard. Do not be hard on yourself and think you should feel thankful. You should only feel what you feel. I still am not thankful to be cancer free. The cancer did so much damage while it was there, it's impossible for me.
So, you're not alone. Don't make yourself feel something you don't, and don't be ashamed. The only people who would expect you to be thankful now are people who have no idea what recovering from cancer is like. And their opinion should not matter because they are uninformed.
Blessings to you,
Tekoa
Can't imagine the rollercoaster you've been riding. I'd be surprised if you didn't have a ridiculous mix of emotions.