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My last short fiction instructor told us not to write about cancer. "It's been done," she said. Well, the hell with that. I learned in the last three weeks that I have stage III breast cancer. Writing, painting, and assorted other arts are how I process stuff, in addition, of course, to long conversations with friends. These conversations have begun in earnest these recent days, but I realized my Facebook page in particular was in danger of becoming a medical-update site. I do not want that. My life is still going to be about more than cancer, as much as that may not seem possible right now. Also, I don't want to alienate friends who are not ready to walk this particular valley with me at this time. For example, one elderly friend who called to cheer me up this week can't even handle the "c-word," and there is no way she will be up for any truly frank discussion of what's about to happen here. So she is advised to keep in touch with me via Facebook. People who are comfortable with the c-word, honest discussion and occasional cursing are welcome to join me here.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

High school reunion--a blast


Hello! I’ve recently returned from a quick visit to Missoula, where I was part of a reunion of people who worked on the Hellgate High School newspaper, the Lance.  The occasion was the retirement of our advisor, photography and journalism teacher Wayne Seitz.  I suspect that a secondary reason this event happened now is that the friends who organized it know that a couple of us are dealing with cancer at the moment. I think this may have helped them decide that waiting for “someday” to get together was a bad idea.  So we did it now, and it was great. I can’t tell you how much fun I had.

We played pool. We went to bars. The music seems to have deteriorated to some degree over the last thirty years. Dubstep at the Stockmen’s?  Really? And why do they need wi-fi at the Oxford?  The Ox, the only place where I have ever had people fight over my head and bleed on my food?  Do the old guys playing poker in there want to update their Facebook photos between hands?

But we all had fun anyway. We went to the Missoula farmers’ market, which is always awesome, and bought huckleberries and chatted with friends and parents-of-friends who passed by. We went to the Western Montana Fair and ate ice cream and fried cheese curds and tater pigs. We looked at the 4-H livestock. Mostly, we had a few beers and talked.

It was sort of reassuring, in a selfish way, to see that I am not the only person who can’t remember a lot of stuff. It’s not just the chemo! It’s not just menopause! Some of it is plain old age. The men were forgetting stuff, too, as well as the women.  Yes, I admit I had to be reminded that I had once been copy editor of the Lance. But hey, other folks had to be reminded about conversations that other people still remember in detail, more than 30 years later, or even of entire road trips to Seattle.

During this reunion weekend, I learned a few things. No, not about something juicy that happened during a lost weekend in Seattle. Actually, I learned that I have not been great at staying in touch with people over the past 32 years. I hadn’t seen most of these folks since the day I graduated high school, in 1980. I lost track of some people I really liked. It was delightful to meet them again and see what lovely human beings they turned into. I am sorry I missed the last several decades of their lives. But it was wonderful to meet them as adults.

One friend who should have been there, Michelle, died a few years ago, and I really wish I had kept in better contact with her. I miss her. I would like to apologize to her for a thing or two. I would like to hear her laugh.

I was shocked to learn that my old journalism teacher had not known that both my brother and I turned out to be newspaper people, thanks in part, at least, to him. Our thanks to this good man were maybe 20 years late, but at least I had the chance to speak to him. Note to self:  you don’t have forever to say this stuff.

So, in short, communicating with people I care about is moving up in my list of priorities. It’s more important than many of the stupid things I waste time on all day long, such as Facebook and driving around the suburbs. I am going to have to maybe let some busywork go so that I can get to what is most important.

This is all part of a natural process cancer survivors undergo, according to a book I just read called Dancing in Limbo, by Glenna Halvorson-Boyd and Lisa K. Hunter. The book was suggested to me by my friend who was also at the reunion and who is also dealing with cancer. According to this book, cancer patients first go through a phase of physically dealing with their illness, via treatments and surgeries and so forth. During this time, patients tend to be focused on the immediate physical task at hand, and often they are upbeat while working on this big project.  But later they hit a mental wall, as they are mentally processing the whole thing.  They have to get used to the idea that they are truly mortal and indeed will die of something, whether it is cancer or something else.  They have to get used to really, really not being in control of the situation. Then they have to grieve the loss of that innocence, of the immortal feeling of youth. Also, many times, they have to grieve the loss of body parts or of generally feeling good.  Then they can gradually learn to live gracefully in their new reality, which the authors refer to as “dancing in limbo.” They say it is a process of learning to become your most “authentic” self.

I guess that is what I am doing as I am sorting out my priorities. I am trying to figure out who the “authentic” self is, because I haven’t seen her in a while. And she is older than I remembered! I am picking and choosing how to spend my time a little more carefully. I am not earning any money. That can be inconvenient. But I am spending more time with family and friends. I am painting a lot and writing more. I am slowly letting other stuff go. Haven’t been antiquing lately.  Haven’t done anything horse-related for a long time.  Haven’t done any yard work.  Or committee work. Oh, well. So it goes.

Another thing I have had reinforced lately, both from my reading and my dealings with friends,  is that everyone does mortality differently. Some people, like me, blab all sorts of intimate facts to the whole world in a cancer blog. Other people do not even wish to discuss it, much, not even with their friends.  And everyone’s time frames for dealing with this stuff are different. Some people deal with it in fits and starts.  It can be awkward and hard on a friendship when the parties are on different schedules in this area, with one person wanting to wallow in it for a while, for example, and the other person wanting it to just all go away. So, fellow cancer patients, if some well-meaning person tells you You Need to Talk About It, you can tell them, “No, actually, I don’t,” unless of course you do. Maybe they do. But maybe they need to talk to someone else…

The other thing I have noticed lately is the people around me who are dealing with cancer, even dying, so gracefully that it is hard to believe what it is they are actually doing. You are still having fun and loving your friends and sending your children off to college and going to the beach and living what life you have with chutzpah. You know who you are. For what it’s worth, you are a walking guide to how to do this, and you are greatly admired.

 

 

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