Getting On With It

For the past two weeks I have felt like a fish out of water, flip-flopping around on the sand, gasping for air, trying to get back into the water--to get on with my life--but unable to. This feeling began when I received the news that I have a very rare form of stomach cancer, and, because I do not want to have to deal with this alone. I feel desperate for someone to hold my hand through the processes and procedures I must face, to be with me daily for support and comfort, to hold me when I am scared and upset about all of this -- someone to wipe away my tears. Missing Patrick more than ever. Wondering how on earth am I to get through this without him by my side takes my breath away.

I had no one to go with me to the doctor when I got the news. Then, a few days ago, unable to face going alone to my first visit with the oncologist, I asked a stranger - a woman I'd met just over a week ago, to accompany me. Today, I went alone for lab tests in my wheelchair on the bus across town to TX Oncology, a place I have, until now, only associated with Patrick's brave battle with the cancer that took him from us just 11 months ago.

After finishing up at the lab, I spent a bit of time, sitting on the side of the road where there is no continuity of the sidewalk, waiting for the cars to pass, so I could scurry into the street (without getting killed) to pass the vacant lot and reach the safety of where the sidewalk resumes. As I sat there waiting I wondered if the drivers zooming past me, with only two feet separating me from their bumpers, ever slow down for anyone or anything. Who should be concerned about whether or not there are sidewalks? In that neighborhood everyone owns a car and the only ones using sidewalks (and buses) are the cleaning ladies coming from the condos and big houses of the well to do. I thought about how Patrick, more than once made the traffic stop, to ensure my safety when I had to ride my electric wheelchair into the street, in similar absent-sidewalk situations.

Waiting alone at the bus stop, I began to think about next week and my CT-scan. I shuddered, knowing about the radioactive isotope they put in the gunk I have to drink that will course through my body during the test, to light up any other places cancer might be lurking. Will the test show any "hot" spots? I thought about the other tests and appointments I have next week and in the coming months. I began to cry about doing "all this" - the bus, riding in the street, the tests, going to the oncology center where Patrick was treated - alone. And, I have been alone all evening, just like yesterday and the day before, and the week before that, with no one to talk to about what is on my mind.

How can this be? I have always had people in my day-to-day life: close friends, boyfriend, kids, and/or husband. I have spent more time alone in the two and a half months, since I moved out of my daughter’s apartment, than I have, collectively, in the past 35 years, since I last lived alone when I was 21 years old! For someone with my personality – it’s been said I could make friends with a fire hydrant – the solitude is very tough getting used to. For the first time in my entire life I have gone over a week without having even one conversation.

I am alone, and now I have cancer. My closest friends live far away, and the few friends and family that are in Austin lead very hectic and stressful lives that leave them with no time or energy for anything or anyone right now. The thought of becoming a burden to someone I care about makes me feel even worse than the panic I feel about going through this ordeal alone.

Sitting alone at the bus stop, I dried my tears and took out of my bag a paper on which I had scribbled two inspirational quotes, that I’d seen hanging on the walls at the oncology center, and re-read them.

“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.” (Vivian Greene) The other, written by Maya Angelou, read, “Surviving is important, but thriving is elegant.”

I realized these two aphorisms might help me cope better with being alone during this time when I am feeling fragile and vulnerable. The minute I started thinking about this I began to feel better; the cloud shrouding my heart began to lift ever so slightly.

In past times, when I have been presented with difficult times or huge challenges, instead of feeling bitter or angry, I have always told myself, “There must be something I need to learn from this ordeal about my personal inner strength,” which always proved to be a very empowering stance. I recalled Patrick telling me that embracing my “Pollyanna attitude” is one of the things he loved most about me. A trait he said inspired him in his own life.

But it is so very hard to remain strong when I feel as if I am crumbling inside. A wise person once told me many years ago that the ones who are the strongest often hurt the most profoundly. I was slowly getting used to being alone, really I was. My time was my own, I was pursuing many rewarding hobbies and interests; it wasn’t a bad thing, just a huge transition.Then, this new “challenge” came out of left field and yanked me out of the water -- took away my air.

Perhaps this is another time when I should give my voice to writing. If I have no one available with whom to share my day, maybe writing should be my outlet. Also, I definitely want time to slow way down, so I don’t miss a thing worth marveling at. Try to live more fully, not do more things in a harried, frantic way, but be in the moment – each day a new opportunity to find something to appreciate and for which to be newly grateful.

It’s been said that the lucky ones learn to “fully live” while they are young (those who don’t kill themselves doing stupid and dangerous stuff) and they make that philosophy their way of life, to carry them through all the many different stages they encounter. Over the years, I have strived to do this, with success from time to time.

Maybe, focusing NOW on “living fully” will help me through my current trials and tribulations. And, now that I think about it, this is most likely the advice I would receive from Patrick. He is still very much alive in my heart, and I guess he can still be my ROCK.

--22 October 2011