a flash of lightning in a clouded evening sky

“Hers is a timeless life weaving through other longer lives like a flash of lightning in a clouded evening sky.”
~ Beatriz Fitzgerald Fernandez, Shining from a Different Firmament

I think that the hardest part of this is trying to stay in a good mood, up-beat, positive. I am a period of waiting and it is just too much time for me. I miss the good ol’ days of daily appointments meeting, doing new things, meeting new people, taking new tests. i was exhausted during that phase of this – but things are settling, and people are on vacation, and I can’t seem to speed up time to get this crap experience behind me.

https://www.museodelprado.es/en/the-collection/art-work/women-gladiators/ee076233-5858-4a35-a5c0-9ce631cd5382
Women Gladiators by Jusepe de Ribera [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
People keep calling this cancer experience a battle, a fight, a difficulty… blah, blah, blah. I hate those words, and you can throw in journey in to the mix.

The truth is, that there is a certain call to gird up one’s loins in this stupid “experience”.  I mean there is prepping oneself for a cold and then there is cancer.

The other side is that in spite of the certain enlightenment we have in the western world about disease, cancer is still pretty weird.  I could share horror stories with you of a few of my dear, beautiful, well-meaning friends saying crazy shit to me about my new-fangled diagnosis – there are still people out there that think a radical mastectomy is the way to cure this beast and further they feel it is OK to imply that if I choose otherwise would be tantamount to saying I don’t want to try to stay alive for the sake of my son – how incredibly fucked up is that?  For the record, I think they have a brain injury, I tried to be patient.

Then there are those who are convinced that injecting THC into my boob will make it all go away. Bless them, but its exhausting because they love me and will argue with me about its advantages. I don’t for one second believe that doing this will cure me of cancer, it might well be part of the process but it isn’t the only one.

Maybe the weird part is that in spite of being the one with cancer, I am still forced to care for those that love me enough to talk to me about their opinions (none of these are medical peeps, they have a different level of communication about this with me).

I have a friend that is a nurse that is coming with me to most of my appointments and who checks in on me and for all the love in the world, isn’t trying to write my narrative of this experience. She knows, for example,  that I hope to avoid having a port if possible, so can advocate for me if I need it, but also knows that if it isn’t something I should avoid that she can walk with me in those facts.

Words matter, in spite of an all-encompassing need for the individual to throw out mental garbage via vocabulary – they matter –

I am not say that cussing like a sailor is bad, I love my salty friends, they keep it real for me.

I am not saying you have to temper each comment before you utter it, some of the greatest shit I have ever heard can come from those who have a tendency to insert their foot in their mouth.

I think I am talking about the need to talk for the sake of fucking talking, which is a luxury that should be rarely offered up.

Life is hard enough without verbal lashings for the sake of;

  • talking
  • sounding authoritative
  • funny
  • elitist
  • or what the fuck have you.

But what distinguishes talking like I refer above and talking – as in the real deal?

I think, and mind you this is my own thoughts, and this is a journal, not some expert piece of advice for the masses – this is me thinking out in type.

So, I think that a skill that is lost is that talking (the real ind)  is about the relationship between two or more people trying to communicate ideas to each other.  I don’t know if in our digital age that we can recognize this, mainly because we might be too busy trying to show someone we love them by sharing a silly buzzfeed video.

I do have people, though, that are cheking in on me – sending cards and the best emails and texts. they are so wonderful and when I get their notes I am humbled and am able to refocus on the gift of them in my life.

Like the one that sent me this for Independence Day:

Our rebel Pope (I say rebel because he is a Jesuit and they are apparently considered barely  Roman Catholic) said this:

“To defend human life, above all when it is wounded by illness, is a duty of love that God entrusts to all.”
~ Pope Francis

That quote was about a baby in the UK, I think – but there is something there that touches on what I am saying and you don’t have to be pro-choice/life/retrograde-abortion to try to appreciate it.

It brings back the experience I had when I dealt with cervical cancer and having people wanting to overwrite my narrative with the narrative of others – that should never have happened (I am still a little bitter). This is my story, I get to tell it.

In person, to someones face, I tell it very differently. On here, it is very raw, unfiltered, ever-changing, fierce, and scared-shitless, full of shit grammar and spelling.

My sister posted this song today on her social media, so as part of my quote/picture/song – I post it here (I miss her and my baby brother, they are my half siblets and live too far away).

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