Chapter Thirty Six - March 2009

Slowly, slowly said the Sloth. I love that book. My sister gave it to me in honor of Trevor and of Shawn. When pressed for time they both seem to s-l-o-w down. Defense mechanism maybe, but it brings my sister from a state of being calm to being extremely agitated in a split second. “Slowly, slowly said the Sloth. “ That’s what keeps popping into my brain this year. In answer to the questions that everyone seems to want to know I feel like my response should just be “Slowly, slowly said the Sloth.”
I have over the past six months just sort of s-l-o-w-e-d down…interesting timing…Not as I expected anyway. But through the chemo and the chaos I kept it patched up…put together…sort of… but upon completion and nearing the end of the journey I felt myself slowing down and less able to respond to the challenges before me…both the physical ones and the emotional journeys too. I felt myself curling inward, waiting…
There’s more though… Part of the reason I stopped sharing myself with all of you was because I recognize that there are those now that read not because you care about me, but because there is a tendency towards unkind voyeurism. I suppose there are those of you who may choose to read me, find me, seek me for reasons that are less than kind or more than mean and the knowledge of that simply silenced me. It has given me pause and hesitation about the information that I share. It has made me feel edited and judged, so what I write is not true nor honest nor real. But my kids and friends have asked and for the first time in months, I feel it again… the energy to look outside the tunnel.
I completed my last surgery a month ago. Since I wrote last, in June I have had check-ups and surgery, ups and downs in my recovery. I ran a breast cancer race, and walked for three days in honor of Susie G., I was on the big screen for the Anchorage Aces Paint the Rink Pink fundraiser and I participated in a local article to help raise awareness with an emphasis on prevention. I also hope to participate in a documentary in September with the goal being to provide the truth about the experience and in doing so, provide comfort and hope for those recently diagnosed. I believe that with enough attention and enough funds there will be a cure and that the cure could come before my daughter ever has to worry that this could be her disease. I believe in that. I believe in the money that I give to help find that cure. I believe in it, for your daughter and mine.
Failed….I hate that word…Failed…I don’t like to fail at anything. I am a loyal little dog…seriously, I come from the kind of stock that sticks shit out. Among other blessings/curses is that fact that I was raised Catholic and I think Catholics understand the notion of sticking with something and succeeding. Anyhoo – I’ve had the word on my brain a lot lately, getting used to it I suppose…. I have always been fearful of it. Fearful of failure, it’s interesting though, now I wonder if the truth is that with failure comes freedom. Hmmm…
My last surgery failed. Did I tell you that? The last one, the final surgery that I hoped would provide the closure I needed did not get the results we had hoped for…….sigh. What the hell though…so I won’t become a topless dancer…still, I’m alive and there are others with the same diagnosis, the same prognosis that are not and so as petty as I would like to be about my most recent failure I guess I will just say this….if you love me, then you love me despite the scars and disfiguration that the cancer has caused. And since we’re being honest, I think we all know that I’m not just referring to the scars on the outside. There is trauma there… ugly and red, less than perfect, far from pretty. But, as it is, you love me or you don’t. I’m okay with it either way. There are other moments more important than that…my daughter…my son….my illness has boiled my life down to those moments. The ones that if asked in the end would be the ones I remember.
Do you want to know a secret about me? I was never comfortable with just me. I wanted my days filled with noise and busy, busy hours. I was afraid of what I would encounter if given enough time to sit and face myself. One of the most liberating moments of my cancer adventure is that I have the ability to sit now, on my own and just be…no noise, no excuses, no friends, no loves, no Gin, no shopping, no kids, nothing more to fill my spaces, nothing except me. Do you know what I think now? It’s more of the shifting that all of you have watched over these years, but I don’t count my satisfaction in any of those ways anymore and I don’t count the moments in which I am killing time or distracting myself from me…I don’t count the perfection that I had once hoped to maintain for a lifetime. I realize now, covered in mud that it is about rolling around in the mud… falling and standing up, making mistakes and leaning on others as you help each other through the days…do you know what I hope for now? Not the pristine appearance at the finish line that I demanded of myself and others…No, I hope now, to arrive, covered in a shit storm of mud and debris and laughter and energy and mistakes. I will know I knocked the ball out of the park….in the end it will just be me facing me and I’m no longer afraid of that.
I danced today, in broad daylight in front of others who were dancing too…no dance club needed, nor men either…just a group of ladies who heard a song that made us start dancing and so we did…shaking our asses in the middle of the afternoon, for no other reason than it felt good. One of my all time favorite residents EVER, was a little lady who wore gold hoop earrings that seemed larger than her 80 pound frame could handle, she wore fur trimmed coats and she laughed with a voice that was sexy despite the years that had crept up on her, she drank brandy in the evenings and she showed me black and white photos of herself and her Love when they were young and beautiful. In a picture that was 50 years old I could feel, not see, but feel the passion that was between them. She intrigued me and moved me and I would go and hear her speak to me in the afternoons and she would tell me stories of dancing… of the dresses she would wear, the lipstick (“always red honey, don’t bother otherwise”) and the shoes and the gloves… and the men, and the music and the fun. She loved to dance and every time I had the pleasure of visiting with her and occasionally of watching her dance again, I would be reminded that at the end of my life I will regret how little I danced in my days, I will…there will be a day in which I realize my body can no longer move in the way that it once did and I will wish I had danced more.

So today, I am inspired by women who I do not know who danced with me….in the middle of an afternoon, there were no regrets today.
In a day worth having, in a moment worth holding….I faced me…and I danced and I don’t care who was watching, and I don’t need anyone else to love me, except for me.
j