Limbo isn’t really my game

I am struggling with the limbo-like qualities of this space.

My last (for real this time) surgery was in June, so my body appears outwardly “normal”. My hair has grown back to the point where it appears that I chose my haircut. I am working full-time, traveling again, and training for a half-marathon.

If you just met me, you don’t know that I had cancer.

Like, last year.  Last year I had cancer.  And because it changed me in fundamental ways that even I don’t understand yet, when I meet someone new, I am struggling with how to tell them who I am, without telling them that I had cancer.

“I didn’t play soccer for a couple years cause I had to do some stuff.”  That’s how it came out last night. Some stuff.  Like I was doing laundry and cleaning my house for two years.  If you’ve been to my house, you know that’s not true.

Frequently, when complimented on my haircut or when discussing going blonde to blue to red, I say, “Thank you – I had to shave my head last year, so I’ve been doing some fun things while it grows out.”

And, really, how is that better?  What does that leave them thinking?  That I had an uncurable case of lice?  That my white supremacy brotherhood required it?  That I’m a 38 year old who got gum stuck in her hair?

When I do decide to mention it, its usually, “I’m a patient at the James” or “I had breast cancer last year” or “I’m a recent cancer survivor.”  And, I always follow it up with “But, I’m fine.”  I can’t get that last part out fast enough.

You know, just so the person knows that I refuse to let this thing define me and also that I’m not going to drop dead in front of them.  At least probably not today.

I’m not really fine.  I’m still digging out of the hole, trying to regain my strength and energy.  I am regularly taking on too much in order to prove that cancer can’t catch me.  I am running as fast as I can away from this monster.  (Figuratively.  Literally, I am still a slower runner than most people on crutches.  This guy gets even odds against me in a 5K.)

I know I’m not the only one to face this.  The landmark events in our lives leave us all changed.  We can embrace the change or exhaust ourselves fighting it.

I heard recently that we are our most anxious when we desire to be right, liked or understood.  I think it is the last one, the desire for people to understand me – to understand why sometimes I struggle to get up from a chair or need to sleep for two days – which conflicts with my desire to just move on from this with dignity and creates this weird tension in my head: “Tell them?  Don’t tell them?”

I’m sure it will get easier. It would probably already be easier if I didn’t have a big Irish mouth.  As a general rule, I’m pretty chatty, and so I frequently find myself in random conversations with the cashier at the grocery store or the lady at the bus stop.  But, really, probably its okay if the list of people who really know me stops short of Jordan from Giant Eagle.

I don’t want to seem like I’m talking about it all the time.  I don’t want to talk about it all the time.  I just want a new friend to know.  Because somehow, knowing that is how you know me.  Now.

#tovictory