The Gift

What you say can and will be used against you. Make no mistake about that. A couple of perfect examples that come to mind involve this very blog. A couple posts ago I mentioned that I was having some concerns about someone being an irresponsible parent. Someone I know assumed the post was about them. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. It doesn’t matter. Example two is last edition, I talked about some of my OCDness. A friend of mine has now used the word neurotic at least three or four times since then when talking about me; something they didn’t do previous to my post. But you know what, that’s okay too. As a writer, I know that there are consequences to anything I publish. Whether it’s hurt feelings, or pissing someone off, or exposing myself for the world to see; it can make you vulnerable. That’s the risk. It’s also the main reason I have yet to write the book I’ve always wanted to. But it’s coming. As a matter of fact, I have already started it. And my new year’s resolution is to finish it in 2016. And if anything I have said in my blog has perhaps offended your senses, or you think “wow, that girl has issues” then you really should read the book. I haven’t even scratched the surface yet. The truth shall set you free. It also may alienate certain folks who would rather you didn’t speak it so freely. But that is what a good writer does. Or at least the authors I’m interested in reading, and therefore is my goal to do the same. Consequences be damned.

Each moment we have is so brief. Every second of our lives spent, is another second of our past. Gone, forever. These collections of moments are what we call memories. And while you’ve heard a million times in a million ways, you still don’t understand. We forget that every single moment counts. Not because you may get hit by a bus on the way home and never get to tell your wife you're sorry for the argument you had before work, but because that minute you spent arguing is now a recorded moment of your past, a time past that you will never ever have again. And those precious minutes now influence your recollection of the past and the feelings associated with it, whether it’s guilt or pain or joy.

I was really looking forward to the TV movie “Coat of Many Colors”. I missed it the first time, and had plans to watch it Christmas night on the rebroadcast. However, a couple of friends I know wanted to get together and drink and be merry. I knew I couldn’t do both. As much as I wanted to watch my show, I couldn’t pass up the chance to spend time with my friends. The show was the story of Dolly Parton’s life or at least a portion of it, but this time now, this is my life. And I want to make my moments count. I would rather fill it with memories of laughter shared among those I love, than countless hours spent watching someone’s else life on screen.

So remember that the next time your best friend calls and you don’t pick up the phone because you’re in the middle of cooking dinner. Remember it when your husband comes home from work, stressed about a hectic day, and you are tempted to tune him out. Or when you’re driving home from the grocery store, on the same road you drive everyday, no longer mindful of the trees. Or when you just can’t bear to swallow your pride and say you are sorry. I think if I could leave you one thing, one thought, this would be it. But you probably won’t listen anyway. I mentioned in one of my earlier blog posts about reading an article regarding Melissa Etheridge and Sheryl Crow and their respective battles with cancer and how they referred to cancer as a “gift”. I know now what that gift is. The price for that knowledge and the wisdom gained is rather steep, and comes at an incredibly painful price, but I think in the end it’s worth it. It’s value is immeasurable.

A day late and a dollar short

I worry a lot. I will overthink every situation that comes my way. As an example, if I think I have said something that may have offended one of my good friends, I will stress about it for hours, days, even weeks maybe. Then, the next time I talk to my friend, I will bring it up, only to find out they have no idea what I’m talking about. Part of my “life after cancer” is to learn how not to worry quite so much, since I’m convinced that over worrying may have led to this whole situation to begin with. My dad doesn’t worry about many things at all. My mother usually worries double for him. I obviously inherited it from her side of the family.

I’ve decided it must be a control thing. I worry about the things I cannot control. I can be somewhat of a perfectionist, and no, it’s not a good thing all the time. It serves its purpose when it comes to certain tasks. But it carries over into other aspects of my life where it has no real purpose, and becomes more of a hindrance than an attribute. My friends are aware of my neuroticisms. They love me anyway. It’s not that I’m bossy, it’s more like, I know what needs to be done, and how, and I know it will be done right. In fact, I’m reciting the serenity prayer right now, in an effort to let it all go. Because, guess what... I’m again worrying about something that is beyond my control and I know it. At least I can now recognize the signs. They say acknowledgement is the first step to recovery.
I’m working on it. Sometimes it sneaks up on me though, and I find myself fretting over something I can’t really do much about, like earlier today. Part of my conscious effort is to try to imagine the worse case scenario and how it might play out. It seems to be helping. So far, no worlds have exploded regardless of the outcome. But old habits die hard.

I cry more these days than I recall ever having done in my past adult life. I laugh a lot harder when I laugh though too, I think. I embrace them both. Hell, just yesterday, I started crying in my doctor’s office while talking about my pain. Not like snotty nose, boo-hooing, but more like as-I’m-talking-tears-start-coming-and-I-can’t-seem-to-stop-them kind of way, with no apparent reason. And just a minute ago I busted out laughing rather loudly while sitting in the hospital waiting room and didn’t care. I’m just more emotional these days, and it doesn’t take much to set me off one way or the other. I can cry and laugh within the same thirty minute time frame, and often do. And just because I’m crying (or laughing) doesn’t mean I’m sad (or happy). But more like, I seem to feel every emotion I go through in a day’s time more deeply, and I don’t consider that a negative. I guess it’s all a part of Jennifer’s home therapy. Because a portion of that therapy is embracing who I am. The core of me. The good, the bad and the slightly neurotic. And being more aware of each moment as it’s happening. It’s never too late to change the parts of you that need improving. It’s also never too late to accept who you are fundamentally and embrace those quirks that make you so damn, well, you. 

Suck It Up, Buttercup

The Lord works in mysterious ways. The universe has a twisted sense of humor. Life has a funny way of working out. Pick whichever one you like. But I’m telling ya, it’s true.

Yesterday was a fairly shitty day. I woke up with a slight hangover from too much celebrating the night before. It was my friend’s birthday, and my motto has always been, go big or go home. Hangover aside, I was just downright depressed and have no real reason why. I take medication for this so you would think that wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe it was that shot of Fireball. Whatever the reason, I woke up feeling sad and blue, and more than a little aggravated. The object of my aggravation was a friend of mine and his um, how shall I say, baby momma drama? And of course, not one to just let things go, I had to have a discussion about it. And guess what, this discussion did absolutely nothing to make me feel better. Instead I felt even worse.

I go the grocery store, still agitated from my conversation. As I’m walking down the aisle, I feel tears threatening to spill. And who the hell wants to start crying while picking out cereal? That’s just awkward. So I suck it up like a big girl (a big, sad, almost crying in the store, girl), get my purchases and drive home. As I’m driving it occurs to me that my frustration goes beyond whether or not the mother of my friend’s child is fit to take care of a small person. And what I’m about to say is probably going to sound horrible, but here it is anyway. I was upset that she was allowed by nature to have a child, and is perhaps one of the most irresponsible people I know, and yet God saw it fitting to make sure I will never have a child of my own. There I said it. I was angry at life’s unfairness. Now I realize that I was once married and had reproductive capabilities for many years. However, in my defense, I was in my mid-twenties when I got married and raising future adults was not high on my agenda. I was pursuing more career oriented goals. By the time the notion of having kids even registered on my radar, my marriage was already on a downward spiral. Having seen firsthand what having children can do to an already unstable marriage, I opted out. I still think it was the right decision. However, this didn’t make it any more comforting when the doctors told me I needed to have a hysterectomy in addition to my colon resection. The radiation had fried my ovaries, there was a better than average chance the cancer had already spread to my female organs, and if it hadn’t yet, it surely would and I would only be prolonging the inevitable and another risky surgery down the road, combined with the fact that it was a threat to my very life by not having them removed, I mean, what damn choice was there... Exactly. There wasn’t one. And having your choice to reproduce taken from you will wreak all kinds of emotional havoc.

And it wasn’t just for my sake I was upset. I thought about my parents and how they would forever be denied a grandchild to love and spoil. So that was my emotional crisis yesterday. But, as fate would have it, a three year old child spent the night with me last night. And she got sick - as in vomiting on my bed and on herself sick. And not just once, but multiple times throughout the night. Which, of course, meant I got no sleep either. If she was up, I was up. And maybe this was my reminder that having children is not always sunshine and rainbows. And maybe for reasons unknown to me right now, there is a perfectly good explanation, to be revealed much later, as to why I am childless. I like to think so.

Oh, and remember last week when I volunteered at the Help Center and questioned whether or not I was doing anything worthwhile? Well, that question was answered today too. One of the volunteers had to leave early and we got crazy busy shortly after they left. At one point, I was running around so feverishly I was starting to sweat. And a small thought came to me. Had I not been there, there would only have been one person back there working in that area, and that poor person would be completely swamped. And whether or not I made a direct impact on any one person’s life, somebody had to be there to bag up clothes, so it might as well be me. So there. A lot can change in one week, most especially your perspective. So remember that the next time you’re having your own emotional crisis. Nothing lasts forever. (Even Cold November Rain) Until then, suck it up, and keep on doing your thing.