Been feeling a little depressed. Not that I don't have a pretty good excuse to be depressed, but still, being depressed is really bumming me out which is kind of the problem of being sad in general. It just makes you more sad. I have been crying a lot. At first, I thought it was because I am so sick of being uncomfortable from the mastectomy, which I am. A little bit. All the time. Then I thought I was crying because I am sick of waiting. Waiting for this process to be done (the expanders, the saline injections, the implants) and I have never been one to have a lot of patience. But really, anything and everything makes me cry. Like right now, my neighbors across the creek are having some sort of weekend evening gathering. A bunch of them, with their dogs and their guitars sitting on their deck with a fire going singing songs like Stand by Me, and Yesterday and Leaving on a Jet Plane by Carol King. And it makes me want to cry. Now normally, I would be laughing at the Kumbaya moment, snickering even. But now I am just crying. Frida however is barking. Speaking of Frida, I just cried because I caught her with one of my crazy chemo side effect helping pills, batting it around like a bug. It was all soft and wet from her drool, but it was intact. Phew!
Kumbaya moment happening right now
Here's the thing. Ever since my diagnosis, I have gotten a lot of feedback that I am so 'strong'. However, I don't think anyone knows how strong they are until they are forced to be that strong. Everyone is as strong as the strength they are using right now to deal with whatever has been dealt to them. Meaning, I am no different than anyone else. I just got cancer, that's all. Sometimes I am told I am 'amazing'. I am telling you, I am not amazing. What is really amazing is that anyone has to go through this at all. That there is this disease called breast cancer and in order to fight it you have to go through this whole rigmarole called 'treatment' where you get fluids injected in your veins that kill fast growing cells and your hair falls off and you are tired all the time and your nails die and your feet feel like they are fire and your tongue is so sensitive even talking hurts. And then, just when you're feeling better, you get your breasts cored out and plastic placed in the space they used to occupy. Now that's amazing. But me? Again, I am just like anyone else.
To be clear, I am not saying telling someone they are strong and amazing aren't wonderful things to say to people going through something rough like cancer, because they are, and in the moment, those comments made me feel great. But, I think, after awhile, it got to me because of the pressure. The pressure to be strong. To be amazing. To keep it up. To smile and make jokes while losing my hair. And I did joke. I joked I looked like 'Aunt' Fester in my fluffy pink robe. I even had a photo taken because I can have a sense of humor about my cancer.
I especially like the use of the energy efficient bulb versus the standard the original Fester is sporting below.
And when I walk around in the garden, in my floral India robe, Greg calls me the The Little Buddha and always asks what wisdom I have to offer today. Or if it's the white robe, he references Kung Fu and says something about Young Grasshopper.
I especially like how the light is shining off my bald head here. I would come to me for advice too looking like this.
Then there's the pressure to look on the bright side when it comes to my mastectomy. To concentrate on the fact that I will have perky, perfect breasts for the rest of my life when in reality, what I know is that I will forever be sort of numb and I will never feel hugs the same way again. And I am a hugger. A good one too.
There's this pressure on me to be celebrating. Celebrating that I am cancer free. And it is pretty wonderful that I am free of it--after having a tumor the size of a lemon. After having stage III triple negative breast cancer (which is kind of the worst of it). But all I can think about is this: Cancer free for now. And I also think: Why me? Why was it me that got the gene and had to go through this. And why while I was pregnant?
So for a long time now, I have been strong and amazing and I think just this last week, I decided I'd rather be crying.
Sometimes the crying feels really good, like a release, so I know it's what I need. Sometimes it feels awful and I start to feel sorry for myself and for Sadie.
So, speaking of Sadie. Sadie is amazing. Sometimes, I have to look away when she smiles because it fills me with this intense emotional feeling that is so strong, it's like falling in love times a million. It's like your heart breaking and healing at the same time.
If any of you are wondering why Sadie isn't smiling in these photos, it's because you got to work to make this kid smile. But again, when she does, it's just unbelievable.
I know I will get through this. As this whole experience is coming to an end ( and I have to remind myself it will end and life will go back to normal), I am feeling it now more than ever. And not feeling very strong and certainly not amazing.
Love,
Rosalie
8 comments:
I promise not to use the words amazing or strong here... but I will say that you are a very special person who is sharing a very intimate part of your life here for everyone to read about. Your thoughts, feelings, and heart are clearly visible and oh-so touching. I admire you from afar, and I wish you only good thoughts as you go through this difficult process.
Yeah, you're not really all that strong or even the slightest bit amazing (I'm being a little cheeky, but stay with me here). You're just one average woman who got cancer and that's why we all keep saying those words to you. It could have been me, it could have been anyone. And that's why I keep saying it, anyway. Because you aren't a superhero fighting the BRC1 gene with a pink cape and kick ass boots. You're human and fighting it anyway, with humor and fear and, yes, at times strength and at other times weakness. You're perfectly human in your battle.
What is amazing and strong is who you are with or without cancer. You're funny and smart and wise and silly. I think because you do have cancer people just realize it a bit more and we have the opportunity to tell you without it being a total non sequitor. After all, if the non-cancer you laughs at people singing Carol King on their decks on a summer evening imagine what the non-cancer you would do if I suddenly told you how awesome you are? Puhleeze.
In the meantime, until your hair grows back and you get boobs I am going to keep telling you that you're strong or amazing. Even if you're curled in a fetal position in bed, depressed. Even if you're tossing back those diamond-encrusted ears laughing. I am still going to hug you even if you cannot feel me doing it.
“Some people think it's holding on that makes one strong- sometimes it's letting go.”
well, you laughed through your tears when i said i was proud of you -- but i think you know why. it's not all good times & blogging. it generally sucks.
i'm so sorry you have to go through this. i'm here & i love you,
sbr
ps: you're articulate & fantastic
:)
:)
Someone just recently told me that sometimes you just need to let yourself feel crappy - cry for a week, be depressed, its all part of the process and we tend to forget that. We are only human, and I think sometimes we try to hard to cover up how bad we feel so that others feel ok and after awhile you just can't keep doing that and that is ok! I think that everyone just loves you and thanks their G-d, whomever, everyday that you are going to be ok and that you are in our lives. love ya!
traci
Sorry to go completely off topic, but those earrings are AMAZING. Nice work, husband.
And Sadie is still adorable.
I say, run with it. Maybe go goth for a few weeks. Black eyeliner, black nail polish, black clothes, scowl...seems like it would be kind of fun to embrace the dark side temporarily.
(PS: I still think you're amazing)
Rosalie:
You don't know me, but I am following your story. I have had my own share of traumatic life events, and I know exactly what you mean. It can be very hard and confusing to hear "You're so strong" and "I don't know how you do it, I don't think I could" and so forth. The pressure is immense, and it can make you feel so isolated, can't it? We just handle what we're given. We aren't superheroes, we aren't different than anyone else, we're just going through a raw deal that anyone might be hit with at any moment. We're just doing what we need to do to get through it, step by step. it doesn't make us any more or less special.
Grief is totally OK. And IMO time doesn't make it all go away - rather, with time, the hard events become woven into our story. They change us forever, and that's just a fact.
Just ride it out and let yourself be low, if that's where you're at. Sometimes it's a way of resting from that enormous effort of being upbeat -- reminding yourself and others that you're human, afterall.
I've been lurking for a while and never felt like it was appropriate for me to comment, but your post made me think of two relevant perspectives that I thought I'd share.
My 8 year old niece endured two years of treatment for multiple spinal tumors. People repeatedly told her she was strong and amazing all the time. She said she didn't know why people said that she was just doing what she had to do -- she had no choice. Even at 8 she was so wise.
Even her mother -- my sister. People would tell her all the time how strong she was -- how brave. She would always tell me that she hated when people would say that because she would rather be weak and a coward and have a healthy child than be strong and brave and have a sick one.
I guess I share this with you so you know you're not alone. Many people have similar thoughts and the crying is a cathartic release.
Wishing you nothing but much love, happiness and health.
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