Yesterday I was waiting for an elevator at the mall (because riding an elevator in a mall is an exciting activity if you have a 3 year old companion), and a woman stopped me to say...
"I have to tell you, I love your haircut! I wouldn't do it myself, but I think it's really great."
I was shocked for a minute, then confused. Did she secretly KNOW that I would never have chosen this hairstyle, that this hairstyle isn't really a style at all, just what a person's hair would look like 2 months after she was bald? A closer look at her stylish apparel and long flowing mane didn't seem to present someone who was spending a lot of time thinking about things other than style, though. How could she? I would have been emotionally AND physically exhausted if I had to shop for that stylish outfit, and spending that much time on my hair, ever, would never have been possible for me. I would have thrown the curling/straightening iron out the window in an impatient rage. (I know, it's possible she has conquered domains foreign to me AND spends time searching out strangers who have recently battled diseases to compliment them.)
Normally in this situation, I would have opened my mouth and told her all about my cancer, even down to the size of the lump, the bilateral mastectomy, the kind of chemotherapy, etc. (Not only am I unable to keep my mouth shut, I like to take every opportunity to educate, even if it is inappropriate. Well, it is probably the inability to keep my mouth shut...I only rationalize it with the education piece.) I think I have learned some restraint, though, because I just smiled and said, "Thank you so much!"
12/14/08
12/11/08
How I'm not crazy, and why I love friends
I have received the nicest messages from people about my post yesterday...and first I should say, THANK YOU! for caring and saying such nice things. Next, I should say that I'm really not diving off the deep end!
I love my mom, but I am very at peace with her spot in the universe and have been for so many years now. In fact, I often feel more protected than I could have been if she was alive. I've had several very visceral moments when strange and miraculous things have happened to me, and at each of those moments I really felt my mom. So I am happy, and not grieving for her.
I DO think, though, that sometimes anxiety can be a habit. Yesterday when I wrote I was trying to get to the bottom of WHY I might be feeling anxious...and I think it is partially a holiday habit which I now must break. Maybe there is something about this time of year that subconsciously puts me on edge. I think it is something like how I used to attribute fall in Beverly Hills to being miserable, because during my first year here, I was feeling sick, pregnant, and depressed in the first trimester with Katie (I was off depression meds during that first trimester...don't think I didn't want Katie very, very much!). I love Beverly Hills/this area but for a few years after that I got a whiff of that yuckiness during the fall. Perhaps my holiday anxiety was also a habit which needed to be broken, again!
On a last little side note - we did turn our hard day around, with the help of great friends (like Patty, who commented!). Maybe in 2003, we had a caroling party on my mom's day, and then again in 2005. So now on that day I can remember the fun we had during those parties! I may just have to pull out another one of those again next year (it might not fit with my theme of relaxing through the holidays this year!). Oh, and I have to get a piano, and commission Rob to come again and play for us...and maybe someone who can lead the songs, since singing is not my forte (though I love to do it).
I love my mom, but I am very at peace with her spot in the universe and have been for so many years now. In fact, I often feel more protected than I could have been if she was alive. I've had several very visceral moments when strange and miraculous things have happened to me, and at each of those moments I really felt my mom. So I am happy, and not grieving for her.
I DO think, though, that sometimes anxiety can be a habit. Yesterday when I wrote I was trying to get to the bottom of WHY I might be feeling anxious...and I think it is partially a holiday habit which I now must break. Maybe there is something about this time of year that subconsciously puts me on edge. I think it is something like how I used to attribute fall in Beverly Hills to being miserable, because during my first year here, I was feeling sick, pregnant, and depressed in the first trimester with Katie (I was off depression meds during that first trimester...don't think I didn't want Katie very, very much!). I love Beverly Hills/this area but for a few years after that I got a whiff of that yuckiness during the fall. Perhaps my holiday anxiety was also a habit which needed to be broken, again!
On a last little side note - we did turn our hard day around, with the help of great friends (like Patty, who commented!). Maybe in 2003, we had a caroling party on my mom's day, and then again in 2005. So now on that day I can remember the fun we had during those parties! I may just have to pull out another one of those again next year (it might not fit with my theme of relaxing through the holidays this year!). Oh, and I have to get a piano, and commission Rob to come again and play for us...and maybe someone who can lead the songs, since singing is not my forte (though I love to do it).
12/10/08
Making Christmas
A special kind of panic descends upon me during the holiday season; some years it seems to come down harder than others. For a few years after I became a mom, I almost thought I was cured of the panic, as the thrill of the special traditions we were making as a new family superseded the worry that everything got done perfectly. This year, though, the stress seems to have come back. (It could just be that I can handle a certain amount of worry, and now that breast cancer took up some of the open spots in the worry section, I don't have room for Holiday Worries.)
Christmas was my Mom's favorite holiday. I have memories of her taking a job at Toys R Us, just for the toy discount, of the year she special ordered all of the Strawberry Shortcake pets because we had the dolls before they came with pets, of adorable stuffed animals under the tree for each girl, of stockings brimming with fun, lovingly placed on our beds by Santa, and her little notebook filled with notes on all the special things we girls wanted. Somehow, she also managed to have special things for my Dad, as well as for the other many members of our extended family. It was beautiful, magical, and filled with love.
Christmas came crashing down one year, though, when we came home from Mass on December 22nd, to find my mom dead on the floor. (We didn't know that at the time, but the sight of my little sisters crying and my Dad trying to find a pulse was enough for me...I don't remember who called for the ambulance but I waited and prayed for it outside.) I was 12, and keenly aware that the magic was gone. I recall my Dad calling me to his room as he waded through all of the presents, trying to match gifts with girls. I remember the pain I felt as I thought of the slippers hidden in my own closet, bought for a mom who could no longer wear them. As my broken family opened presents on Christmas, after two days of visitation at the funeral home and the day before we buried my mom, the pain began to morph into the panic I can still feel. I felt obligated to take on this holiday and to keep it special for my family.
It was a doomed operation from the start, though. Holidays are a time when you so keenly feel a loss, and if you lost the person who MADE that holiday for you, a mother, and 3 days before Christmas, you just can't fix that. It may have been the same had I not fretted so long and so hard over what to get for my Dad, or how to make the holiday special for my sisters, because it just couldn't be. I wasn't smart enough to figure that out, though, and for me the holiday season just became this time of smiles I plastered on my face, covering the anxiety I couldn't control. "HOW can I make them not feel the loss of what we had?"
I found more joy in Christmas once I had children...but at the same time, I'm completely flummoxed by the happiness my mom seemed to get from this holiday. HOW IN THE WORLD DID SHE DO IT? I'm about 1/5 of the Christmas mom that she was, and it's still making me crazy. Could it be that I am worn out from all of the work I put in from years 12-26? Or is it that the grief of those years somehow injured my brain, and made me incapable of even a fraction of the stress the holidays brings on?
I think I had a revelation last night, though...I can't do it all, and I can't MAKE the holiday for anyone. More importantly, I don't NEED to Make Christmas for anyone for myself. My dad and sisters, and each member Bill's family all are part of their own special units who provide the most intimate celebrations. My own little unit doesn't even have a form they are filling out, "How this Christmas compares to all the other Christmases ever had, by anyone, and why ours is suckier." They are going to love Christmas because it is magical, all the time with the family and the exchange of gifts/love. And they are also going to feel let down when the presents are all opened, but that doesn't mean it was a failure, it just means that they are kids. Lastly, I can't compare the joys I take from the season to the joys my mom took, and it's not wrong if I don't love the shopping, the buying, etc.
What I can do is add some misery to the holiday, if I want to keep stressing about it - I can make Bill miserable by nagging him to participate with the writing of holiday cards, holiday decoration, and all of the things I have felt for so long were essential to a good holiday. I can make myself miserable by carrying around my own checklist: "How this Christmas compares to all the other Christmases ever had, by anyone, and why ours is suckier." OR, I can dial it down a notch.
I can trust that everyone will indubitably feel the magic, even if I don't make 10 different kinds of cookies, get all the perfect gifts, do every service project I run across in this holiday season, etc. If I can't take the stress, I can remove some of it. I don't need to do everything...being here and happy is enough. Dancing around to some Christmas carols, taking time to relax, enjoying the moment...that's going to have to take the place of some of the extra presents and preparations this year. I hope no one misses what could have been, but I am pretty certain they won't.
I sure wish I had figured this out 20 years ago...
Christmas was my Mom's favorite holiday. I have memories of her taking a job at Toys R Us, just for the toy discount, of the year she special ordered all of the Strawberry Shortcake pets because we had the dolls before they came with pets, of adorable stuffed animals under the tree for each girl, of stockings brimming with fun, lovingly placed on our beds by Santa, and her little notebook filled with notes on all the special things we girls wanted. Somehow, she also managed to have special things for my Dad, as well as for the other many members of our extended family. It was beautiful, magical, and filled with love.
Christmas came crashing down one year, though, when we came home from Mass on December 22nd, to find my mom dead on the floor. (We didn't know that at the time, but the sight of my little sisters crying and my Dad trying to find a pulse was enough for me...I don't remember who called for the ambulance but I waited and prayed for it outside.) I was 12, and keenly aware that the magic was gone. I recall my Dad calling me to his room as he waded through all of the presents, trying to match gifts with girls. I remember the pain I felt as I thought of the slippers hidden in my own closet, bought for a mom who could no longer wear them. As my broken family opened presents on Christmas, after two days of visitation at the funeral home and the day before we buried my mom, the pain began to morph into the panic I can still feel. I felt obligated to take on this holiday and to keep it special for my family.
It was a doomed operation from the start, though. Holidays are a time when you so keenly feel a loss, and if you lost the person who MADE that holiday for you, a mother, and 3 days before Christmas, you just can't fix that. It may have been the same had I not fretted so long and so hard over what to get for my Dad, or how to make the holiday special for my sisters, because it just couldn't be. I wasn't smart enough to figure that out, though, and for me the holiday season just became this time of smiles I plastered on my face, covering the anxiety I couldn't control. "HOW can I make them not feel the loss of what we had?"
I found more joy in Christmas once I had children...but at the same time, I'm completely flummoxed by the happiness my mom seemed to get from this holiday. HOW IN THE WORLD DID SHE DO IT? I'm about 1/5 of the Christmas mom that she was, and it's still making me crazy. Could it be that I am worn out from all of the work I put in from years 12-26? Or is it that the grief of those years somehow injured my brain, and made me incapable of even a fraction of the stress the holidays brings on?
I think I had a revelation last night, though...I can't do it all, and I can't MAKE the holiday for anyone. More importantly, I don't NEED to Make Christmas for anyone for myself. My dad and sisters, and each member Bill's family all are part of their own special units who provide the most intimate celebrations. My own little unit doesn't even have a form they are filling out, "How this Christmas compares to all the other Christmases ever had, by anyone, and why ours is suckier." They are going to love Christmas because it is magical, all the time with the family and the exchange of gifts/love. And they are also going to feel let down when the presents are all opened, but that doesn't mean it was a failure, it just means that they are kids. Lastly, I can't compare the joys I take from the season to the joys my mom took, and it's not wrong if I don't love the shopping, the buying, etc.
What I can do is add some misery to the holiday, if I want to keep stressing about it - I can make Bill miserable by nagging him to participate with the writing of holiday cards, holiday decoration, and all of the things I have felt for so long were essential to a good holiday. I can make myself miserable by carrying around my own checklist: "How this Christmas compares to all the other Christmases ever had, by anyone, and why ours is suckier." OR, I can dial it down a notch.
I can trust that everyone will indubitably feel the magic, even if I don't make 10 different kinds of cookies, get all the perfect gifts, do every service project I run across in this holiday season, etc. If I can't take the stress, I can remove some of it. I don't need to do everything...being here and happy is enough. Dancing around to some Christmas carols, taking time to relax, enjoying the moment...that's going to have to take the place of some of the extra presents and preparations this year. I hope no one misses what could have been, but I am pretty certain they won't.
I sure wish I had figured this out 20 years ago...
12/8/08
As "normal life" descends back upon me - cancer treatments are sliding into memory, and even the reconstruction is close to wrapping up - I'm surprised at how easily one can forget the great lessons that cancer teaches. It's the beautiful, inspiring holiday season, and despite the fact that most of my year has been taken up with cancer and I SHOULD KNOW BETTER, I still find room within me to get stressed.
SO, SO, SO, DUMB.
I'm trying to resolve myself to take things a little easier - who cares if the house doesn't have lights yet? Who cares if all the cards haven't been written and I can't foresee enough time to get them written? Do we need to have our tree yet? Will the world fall apart for my kids if they don't have that special "Christmas morning feeling" preceded by hours upon hours of preparations by their mother? But it's not working. I'm still yelling at my husband for not helping me write out Christmas cards, and making snarky comments like, "Are we going to have Christmas lights this year?" and "These things don't happen by magic, you know."
What a total snot. I wish I could slap myself. I guess I could enlist Nathan. The other night while we were wrestling he hauled off and slapped me so hard I made a decision that I needed to either stop wrestling, or do some sort of quickness and agility training so I can deflect the blows. (I think I'll go with the latter. I know Bill hates it when I rile the kids up and we act all demented and do dangerous things, but it is so FUN. A girl needs to get her cheap thrills somewhere, and I get mine from being terrorized by my children.)
On top of that, I want a clean house, I want to exercise daily and eat healthy things, and have time to read and to write, and to communicate with friends and family, and to teach my puppy how to not bite the kids, and to spend time with the old pets, and to learn new things and conquer new frontiers...and whatever else there is to want, I probably want that too. I'm just in that mode.
Unless I get my own little collection of elves, though, I can't see it all getting done.
12/5/08
Reflection and reply
Note to self:
Pam, if you decide to the gym, and attend two 1-hour classes in a row with people that are smaller, cuter, made-up, better dressed, with more hair, and in better shape than you, you are a glutton for punishment.
I already knew this about you, but this is taking things to a new level! I really don't think you should keep up this self-punishing behavior.
Reply to self:
OK, I'll go get some better-looking gym clothes. As soon as I can walk again.
Pam, if you decide to the gym, and attend two 1-hour classes in a row with people that are smaller, cuter, made-up, better dressed, with more hair, and in better shape than you, you are a glutton for punishment.
I already knew this about you, but this is taking things to a new level! I really don't think you should keep up this self-punishing behavior.
Reply to self:
OK, I'll go get some better-looking gym clothes. As soon as I can walk again.
12/1/08
Annoying myself
I'm annoying myself by being upset about my lack of hair, yet being totally unwilling to do anything about it. Do I, or do I not have, a fully functional (and relatively expensive) wig upstairs in my closet, just begging to be worn? Do I, or do I not have, about 15-20 hats (yes, that is extravagant, but I have received lots of gifts...plus remember how I was throwing money around when I was first diagnosed?) just waiting to be worn? Yes, I do have all of these things.
YET, I INSIST on walking around with my head of nearly-no-hair, and then being upset about it, just about all the time. I hate the way I look with this hair, or lack thereof. I don't want any of the attention about how it is growing, etc. And I could do something about it, but I am refusing! I want to just smack myself...I'm acting just like my young daughters, crying about something they could so easily fix, but wanting to just cry about it without fixing the problem.
The thing is, I feel like I should be well-adjusted enough to like these hairs on my head, no matter how short they are. Every other young breast cancer survivor I know is so cute and confident with her short hair, and I am determined to be that strong, too...but failing miserably. I am absolutely convinced that I am a huge baby about this hair, and the part of me that is convinced of that is in an epic battle of wills with the part of me that just wants to look girly again.
The huge baby is winning! ARGH.
YET, I INSIST on walking around with my head of nearly-no-hair, and then being upset about it, just about all the time. I hate the way I look with this hair, or lack thereof. I don't want any of the attention about how it is growing, etc. And I could do something about it, but I am refusing! I want to just smack myself...I'm acting just like my young daughters, crying about something they could so easily fix, but wanting to just cry about it without fixing the problem.
The thing is, I feel like I should be well-adjusted enough to like these hairs on my head, no matter how short they are. Every other young breast cancer survivor I know is so cute and confident with her short hair, and I am determined to be that strong, too...but failing miserably. I am absolutely convinced that I am a huge baby about this hair, and the part of me that is convinced of that is in an epic battle of wills with the part of me that just wants to look girly again.
The huge baby is winning! ARGH.
The attachment is perhaps a little too strong
Nathan has a VERY hard time on Mondays. It is an extremely painful thing for him to watch Bill go off to work (as if I am beating him during the day, or forcing him to do whatever manual labor a 3-year old could do).
Today, thankfully, he slept in, so we averted our normal Monday crisis. However, Bill came home at lunch, and then stayed for a bit while I went to the plastic surgeon's for my fill. Now he's gone though, and Nathan is back to his Monday grieving. Writhing around, he is yelling and crying, "I WANT DADDY! ARRGGG! I WANT DADDY!" He's added to his repetoire today, though...it's a particularly hard Monday: "I WANT DADDY! CAUSE HE'S MY FAVORITE GUY! I DON'T WANT HIM GO TO WORK! CAN'T HE JUST COME HO-OME?"
I've got plenty of time to blog about this, because he's going to be crying about it for the next 20 minutes, no kidding. Poor child. And poor me, to have to live with such a superstar as Bill. I can assuredly say that I never receive this sort of adulation/misery when I leave!
Today, thankfully, he slept in, so we averted our normal Monday crisis. However, Bill came home at lunch, and then stayed for a bit while I went to the plastic surgeon's for my fill. Now he's gone though, and Nathan is back to his Monday grieving. Writhing around, he is yelling and crying, "I WANT DADDY! ARRGGG! I WANT DADDY!" He's added to his repetoire today, though...it's a particularly hard Monday: "I WANT DADDY! CAUSE HE'S MY FAVORITE GUY! I DON'T WANT HIM GO TO WORK! CAN'T HE JUST COME HO-OME?"
I've got plenty of time to blog about this, because he's going to be crying about it for the next 20 minutes, no kidding. Poor child. And poor me, to have to live with such a superstar as Bill. I can assuredly say that I never receive this sort of adulation/misery when I leave!
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