The Big C

Finding out that you have cancer is a shock.  It's a smack upside the head with a two by four that you never see coming.  I've had "pre-cancer", those moles that have to be removed because they could become cancer, but that was the extent of my personal experiences with the disease.  

Sitting in my car, alone, and finding out I have cancer was a hard slap.  I decided it was time to immediately start bawling my fool head off.  I called my husband to deliver the news, sobbing uncontrollably.  Then I got smart and texted my parents and my brother instead of trying to talk to them, all the while crying hysterically and loudly in my car, in the parking lot of an elementary school.  I was just a complete hot mess, and I didn't care who knew it.

I hate crying.  It makes me look all puffy and bloodshot and not quite right in the head.

I finally calmed down enough to drive, and I followed my usual routine of picking up my son from school. Routine usually helps me calm down.  I was even able to call the surgeon, once I was at my son's school, and make an appointment to see him. Except I never really stopped crying completely, so the poor receptionist had to ask me to repeat myself several times. 

I had difficulty talking to the school secretary to let them know who I was there to pick up, and I mumbled something about getting some bad news.  The secretary was kind enough not to pry, and she gave me some tissues.

Zane, being a six year old boy, took awhile to notice that his mother was leaking.  We made it home before he finally started asking questions.  How do you explain cancer to a six year old?  I finally sobbed out that I had something growing in me that wasn't supposed to be there, and it was making me sick.

"Why don't you get someone to take it out?" That's my boy--a problem solver. I was still crying.  I made Zane and his dad keep their soccer practice appointment, while I continued to cry at home by myself.  I certainly didn't want to have to explain anything to the other soccer moms.  Not yet.

I was still bawling when my brother called to tell me that we would get through this, and I would be all right. I had a shot of Jack Daniels, reserved only for serious stuff, and that calmed me down a bit. I had had enough of bawling, but the tears kept coming.

And then my parents came over. 

My parents never come over, because my house is always too messy for my mom's OCD.  But there they were, at the door.  That wasn't the worst part.  The worst part was that my mother voluntarily hugged me.  My mother never hugs anybody. 

So of course I kept bawling. I probably bawled in my sleep, because my pillow was damp the next morning.

I thought that going to work would be the best thing for me.  Work doesn't have anything to do with cancer! I'd be fine.  I wouldn't think about cancer at all, because I'd be thinking about other people.  That's what I've done with other past traumas.  Keep moving, focus on helping others, one step at a time.

Except that I kept crying. I was typing a report, and I was crying.  I was answering an email, and I was crying. I started to worry about shorting out my laptop. I went through almost an entire box of tissues.

I called my doctor's office.  He was still on vacation, so I talked to the "have a nice day" guy.

"I want some Xanax,"  I said.  I had to repeat myself, because I was crying.  Of course.

"How about some nice antidepressants? Xanax isn't really indicated in these situations, blah, blah, blah."  He went on for several minutes about the antidepressants.  I'm sure that he's a very good doctor, but I wanted the punch him in the nose.  I gave him the benefit of the doubt, because he hasn't known me for 20 years. But really, my doctor should have at least left a note for the poor man, a note that read "JUST DO WHAT SHE SAYS AND NOBODY GETS HURT."  If a crying woman is on the phone demanding Xanax, just give it to her!

"No," I was very firm, if blubbery.  "I want Xanax.  I am not waiting the two weeks it will take for an antidepressant to start working.  I want Xanax.  I don't want more than ten, and I don't want any refills.  I just need something to get me through the next few days without the waterworks."  My tone must have finally got through to him; he said that he would take care of it. 

Not that I planned to actually take the Xanax; I just needed the idea of it being there. Still bawling.  I start to think that maybe my tears could solve the drought problem, while simultaneously starting a tissue shortage. 

I finally just randomly started thinking about the show Supernatural, and one of my favorite characters, Dean Winchester.  In an effort to distract myself I started reading quotes from the show.  That's when I found it, the quote that finally slowed the waterworks. I even remembered the episode where the quote was said.  Somehow the words about dealing with trauma got through that part of my brain that needed to hear it:

"Decide to be fine until the end of the week.  Make yourself smile because you're alive and that's your job.  Then do it again the next week.  Do it right with a smile or don't do it at all."

So that's what I'm going to do.  I don't have any answers, I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but I'm going to do it right with a smile.

And maybe one of these days I won't be crying when I do.

Smile Even If It Kills You

The prompt for this fine day:  What makes you smile?  And this prompt also fits in great with the Secret Society of Happy People's Happiness Happens month, so it's all good. 



"Make yourself smile because you’re alive and that’s your job. then do it again the next week. I call it being professional. Do it right, with a smile, or don’t do it."  --Supernatural, season 7.


That quote got my attention when I heard it.  It comes from a character named Frank, and he is speaking to Dean Winchester about handling grief.  Frank's family was murdered, and this is how he is coping.  By smiling. 

That seems a bit crazy, on first inspection.

Why should you smile when you are unhappy?  After all, something horrible has happened, such as a death in the family.  It's normal to be sad on those occasions.  Everyone expects you to be sad, to cry, and do all those little things that come with the loss of a loved one.  Nobody expects you to smile or be happy about death, unless you've murdered your relative for a big fat check. 

But what if nothing horrible has happened?  What if you are just sad because it's Tuesday? 

Hormones get mixed up sometimes, and a surge of a particular hormone may make you feel sad.  You may just be tired or feeling lonely.  Routine ennui.  And that is just fine.  You can't help your feelings, right?  We take a nap, and we feel better.

Sometimes, however,  unhappiness becomes a habit.  We get used to feeling sad, and we start to enjoy that feeling.  We get a bit of attention.  Our loved ones start trying their best to make us feel better.  Our sadness gets us presents.  We like that.  In the efforts people take to 'cheer us up', there is reinforcement and validation.  At least at first.  After awhile, when we've become accustomed to our sadness, we end up alone. 

Nobody likes to be around someone who is sad all the time, no matter the reason, and that is just the plain truth.  Unhappiness can be a learned behavior, a habit.  Break the habit of sadness and choose to be happy by following the advice given in the quote above. 

Even if you're unhappy, smile. 

Smiling, even when you don't feel like it.  Eventually that smile will become a habit, and it will become a truth. When you smile, you can't really feel unhappy, and actions speak louder than words here.  If you keep smiling, eventually you will feel happy, too. 

Five Things

This was my second choice for Mamakat's writer's workshop, and I can't think of anything worse than letting something go to waste when it has already been written, so here it is.


5 things you don't know about me:

I am okay with the occasional chick-flick. Even if I cry a bit.

I secretly see myself as a size 10. No matter how many cookies I eat.

I will do anything to get out of taking out the trash. And vacuuming.

If you see me eating more chocolate than normal, run. Especially run if you've eaten the last piece of chocolate.

My second and third toes are longer than my big toe. Seriously. They're almost prehensile.


5 things I am pretty knowledgeable about:

Disabilities
British history, particularly the monarchs before Henry VIII.
Bartending
Emergency management
Migraines

5 things you know nothing about:

Physics
Surgery
Breeding elephants
Fly fishing
Calculus


5 things I believe:

Love makes you do the wacky, and that's okay.
There is nothing more beautiful than the smile of a happy child, and anyone who deliberately harms a child is evil.
Karma, or the Threefold Law, Do Unto Others, etc., is real.
There is a God, Infinite Spirit, etc.
People who think that they know what is best for everyone else, usually don't. They need to be slapped repeatedly until they wake up.

It Pays To Look Up Once In Awhile

In case you can't see it, the way the clouds are shaped, I can see the outline of a dove in the sky of this picture.

I took it with my cell phone. I didn't think that it would come out, because this was close to sunset, but it did.

I think that sometimes we are so focused on what is in front of us, on putting one foot in front of the other, that we miss some of the beauty that pops up every now and then.

So my wish for everyone today is that you have the time, even if it is just a minute, look up and see at least one beautiful thing today, be it a cloud, a flower, or the smile of your children.

Are We There Yet?

Getting ready to go anywhere is a major ordeal, mostly because I am just plain disorganized. Also, I am easily distracted by shiny objects. So I am usually rushing around, trying to get myself ready, Zane ready, all the little things that Zane will have to have ready, and get out the door not too late for whatever it is we are supposed to be punctual.

I am not a morning person. This is actually the understatement of the century. Grass is more sentient than I am before ten in the morning. I usually don't even speak until I've had at least two cups of coffee. Yet somehow I ended up being responsible for getting the entire household up and ready for the day.

I try. I really, really try. Those books on organization make it all sound so easy. I lay clothes out the night before. I get the coffeemaker ready the night before. I put Zane's clothes out, get my lunch ready, gather up my work-related items, etc., all the night before, so I don't have to worry about them in the morning. I do this in the mistaken belief that this will make us all magically become better people who are actually on time.

What usually ends up happening:

I get up ten minutes after I am supposed to because I don't hear the alarm which is right next to my head. I go to wake up Larry so he can get into the shower. He swats at me, and mumbles something incoherent, which I wrongly interpret as "I am awake, my love. I will get out of this bed post haste." I go downstairs and make coffee, make Larry a cup and go back upstairs to find him still asleep. I try again, punching him in his hip and pulling the covers off of him. Larry again mumbles, and I hear his mumble as "I am so very sorry that I did not immediately get out of bed the last time you were up here, darling. I will endeavor to obey your every wish from this moment forward." I go back downstairs.

About halfway through my second cup I realize that Larry is still not awake and go back up stairs. This time I whisper-yell his name, trying not to wake up Zane. Larry shoots straight up in bed and acts like he's having a major coronary, then gets mad at me for "scaring" him. I stand over him until he actually gets out of bed.

I get my lunch from the fridge, put it by the door. I pour Zane a glass of apple juice, pour a cup of coffee into a travel mug for Larry. I eat a quick breakfast of whatever is handy, and inevitably the second I sit down, Larry comes down the stairs and starts yelling at me to hurry up or we are going to be late.

I run around frantically trying to get ready. I rush downstairs. Zane is ready to go, Larry is ready to go, I am ready to go. We open the door to leave and--Zena runs out the door. We have to go and get her. We corral under a car and finally succeed in snaring her. We pick her up, put her in the house and--

"Want apple juice," my son says. *sigh* I unlock the door, Zena explodes from inside the house to the Great Outdoors. I go in the house to get more juice. I bring it out to my son, who is now strapped into his seat.

"Oh, I forgot I'm supposed to bring a movie for after the test," my husband says. "I'll be right back." He goes in, says but can't find it. I know exactly where "it" is; on the shelf in the laundry room. I tell Larry this. Larry goes back in, and comes back out again to tell me that he still couldn't find what was needed. I usually end up going back in the house to get the item, which is exactly where I said it was. By the time we finally get to where we are going, it's time to go home!