It’s been such a while since I’ve last posted. To rev up my blogging juices, I’m writing directly into the text box on wordpress. This is quite literally going to be a post that’s hot off the keyboard.
Life has been busy. Sometimes that is good, sometimes that is bad. Basically the goodness or badness all depends upon my anxiety levels. Menopause + dealing with cancer = CRAZY Catherine. In high school some friends used to call me ‘crazy brunelle’ because I would do rather random things (which weren’t at all random, though I guess it might have appeared that way). Anyhow, that was one of the nicknames I had, and it was funny. Now I feel like at times I might actually be losing my sense of control, and that’s way less funny. Even if I tell myself: “these feelings are from the Zoladex,” I still have waves of anguish over not being able to have children, facing a life-threatening stage of cancer, deadlines, messy apartments, fashion choices, making meals, whether Zsolt is mad at me (he never is, I just get these momentary anxious moments where I’m like, “you have got to be mad at me!” and then he says he isn’t, and all is well again).
Anyhow. Sometimes it’s no big deal. But for some of the stuff, well, yes it is a big deal.
One of these big deals is baby making.
It’s rather frowned upon to have a child while in my situation. And the problem here is that most women in my situation stay in this situation. That’s their life. So having a child? Is it wrong to give up hope? Am I betraying that little baby I’ve been imagining since falling in love with Zsolt? Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is wrong or right, I find myself grieving the idea of that baby. I grieve the bedtime stories I wanted to tell them, the heirlooms I wanted to pass onward, the trips we would have taken, the tiny shoes I would have slipped onto their feet. I grieve the daughter I’ll never have tea with, and I grieve the son who won’t get a chance to compare, back-to-back with my husband to see who is taller.
There’s this whole world in my imagination that part of me is saying goodbye to, and it’s beyond the control of my determination. It’s hard, because I’m supposed to be a fierce mother – and that, I reckon, starts even before the babies arrive. Yet here I am feeling a deep loss – and I wonder if feeling loss equates to giving up.
Life has always been unexpected. So many good things have happened that I never expected. And, maybe I’ll go on to have children, or adopt children, or love other people’s children, or sponsor children, or mentor children . . . I’m quite certain, actually, that at least some of those things are going to happen.
There is this idea that embracing uncertainly is a good thing. It is. But I like to be certain, it gives me power. I like to be certain about my priorities, my loves… even if I can’t see the future, I want to feel certain I will see the future.
Would it be really stupid for me to say I want to live? I’m in the mood to live, and I’m not in the mood yet to die. Maybe when I’m 92, or something like that. This might be denial. But if this is denial, it’s sure as hell filled with a lot lot of fear and sadness, and I don’t reckon those things go hand in hand. If I could switch off that by pushing a button for some fearless, happy denial, I’d truly consider doing so.
So, will I live through stage four cancer? Well, I’m here today. And I’m quite sure I’ll be here tomorrow. And two days ago I bought a sweater as an ‘investment piece’, explaining to Zsolt that it was worth $60 because I’ll be wearing it a decade from now . . .
There are many things going on in my head. I guess that is why it’s good to blog and just let it all go. I’m letting it go into this space. It is moving out of me and onto this page. Out of me. Out of my head. More will come to fill it back up, but it’s helpful for now. Thanks for tolerating this little blurb about nothing that is also filled with heavy emotions.
(You know what is funny? When I was first dx and had treatment, I was embarrassed to admit I was afraid it would come back … as if doing so would take away from my determination to beat the cancer. Now that it’s come back, I’m embarrassed to admit that I could be okay, because it takes away from the really shitty realities of cancer at this stage. Strange and stupid in both aspects. I want to hope, and I’m allowed to be afraid. The two aren’t exclusive to one another.)