First of all: Thank you. When I write about Annie, the cancer, the unfairness of it all, her strength, my struggle—you all show up. You show up in emails and texts and treats. So thank you for the love and support. It is a real and necessary thing and I’m grateful. But I’ll be honest, there is nothing about this last year, this wretched diagnosis—cancer at all—that is easy to take. And that’s what’s been on my mind lately . . . I now have to think differently.
(And it is think differently, by the way. Not Think Different. That’s just annoying. I’ve written about that, too.)
Anyway, this last month has propelled us into another world, another galaxy. Our normal isn’t normal anymore; our future isn’t somewhat predictable. Almost everything about the way I go about my life has a different hue, a different tone. Because we went from “Remission” in June to “Stage 4” in July. How can anyone adjust that quickly, especially with news like that? It reminds me of when I had my son Christopher via C-section and epidural. I happened to be awake (although not exactly comprehending) for the whole birth thing and afterwards, after my new infant was whisked away to be cleaned up, my doctor looked at me over the drape and asked, “Do you want your tubes tied?” Like, “well, I’m in here and there they are…whaddya think?” At the time, I thought, “Shouldn’t this have been a conversation better held when I wasn’t sliced open? And dressed?” so I declined. But for years afterwards, I often thought, “Should I have?” (Hashtag MissedOpportunities.)
So, trying to comprehend the incomprehensible is something that takes enormous energy and focus—neither of which I currently possess. I was talking to Angelo about it the other day and I was telling him that I was just happy I hadn’t blown up to 250 pounds or become a heroin junkie. I get through most days fairly well, but by nighttime I’m wiped out. I’ll have some wine, or binge on Netflix, forget I’m not eating chocolate and finally—sometimes with the help of hydroxyzine (don’t worry…it’s an antihistamine), sometimes not—finally fall asleep. Then I dream, but that’s a whole other issue.
When I wake up in the morning, it takes a second to remember my current reality. And I am plunged into this alternate universe again. In this universe none of the things that I thought I could depend on happening in my life are going to happen. I suppose there’s an argument that that no one ever knows what’s going to happen, but I think many of us have a dependence on certain things being true: People get old, parents die first, medical science can be relied upon, the 2020 election was legit, you’ll watch your children grow into adults. Learning this new way of understanding things—thinking differently—is hard and I have some resistance to it. I don’t want to think differently. I want things to be the same. I don’t want to know what I know about the disease in Annie’s body and what it’s doing to her. I want everything back the way it was. So does Annie. So do we all.
But I have to. If I am going to be there in any way, shape or form for Annie and our family, I’m going to have to—pardon my coarse way of putting it—get my shit together. I know it will be better for me, too. I have to accept this new normal, this new understanding and quit being mad about it. I have to think differently for all of us. I know all this…it’s just hard to accept.
Because of course it is.
Think Differently
On par with David Leite below (yet a full 6 months later) - I enjoy walks & when home in CT, would meet up with you just-about-ANYWHERE. Some of my fav spots: White Memorial, SteepRock, Flanders, Pratt, LONG River Walks along the Housatonic yet I'm open to meeting you on your front stoop. with love, Sara (& Dinesh)
As silly and as insignificant as it may be, the pool is always there for you. If it takes your mind off of things, even for a little bit, then it's Aperol spritzes and laps. xoxo.