Juxtaposition

I realize that for me it's really difficult to be sad, mad, upset for a long time. Yet I feel these things. So I try to balance it with laughter, appreciation, and happiness. It's impossible to not fall into moments of frustration and uncertainty, so what I try to do is to fall openly into happy moments and forget the bad stuff. Even if it's for just a moment.

I felt the need to try and go out. I need music and friendship and it gets me past the other, more frightening stuff. I had tickets to a Yacht Rock show. I had them before I was diagnosed with this insidiousness, so instead of letting them go to waste, I found a way to make it. This meant going in a wheelchair. To be honest, this was incredibly difficult for me mentally. I knew there was no way I could physically make it through the 4-5 hours that the show would be. I just don't have the strength for that yet.  Going to a public event while being in a wheelchair was horrifying to me. This is completely illogical. That's what a wheelchair is for. But you can't always control your feelings and logic is sometimes elusive. I have always been strong, independent, and have done things my way. This meant temporarily losing a bit of these aspects of my personality. Very important aspects. Now there would be eyes on me. It felt like people would see that there was something wrong with me. Maybe I would be pitied, maybe people would look at me and whisper about me in my chair. It's ridiculous to think these things. I know this, but it didn't change that I was. So here I was, stuck in the middle of a battle with my pride and self consciousness, and my need for live music. It wasn't a choice. This was a need. So I went. As I got into the car, every fiber of my being was fighting with me to leave the chair behind, to try to blend in. But my beautiful friends were there to catch me in my moment of weakness. They wouldn't let me leave without it. They made sure it was all going to be ok.

Once we got there I felt my stomach twist into knots and my muscles tense. I got out of the car and into my chair. As one of my friends went to sort out the tickets, I sat in the chair with the other by my side. It was then that the crocodile tears began to stream down my face. The frustration of having lost control of my life to this cancer had manifested itself into this situation as a wheelchair. And I was helpless but to surrender. It's been 2 1/2 months since I've been able to work or have any semblance of normality. Every day, every moment, every bit of energy I have is spent fighting this monster. And as much as I have the strength and determination to do so, my moments of sorrow, brittleness, and vulnerable anger still eek their way through. My friend stood by my side and consoled me as I hid my tears behind sunglasses. They stopped within minutes as I took control of my emotions. I had to be very conscious of controlling this threatening break of a dam. Fortunately, I was able to.

Just then, my friend came out with a smile on his face. "They were expecting you! They upgraded us to VIP and gave us hats! They also told us to stay behind after the show to meet everyone."  I guess my email asking about handicap access and explaining my situation had given them cause for kindness. I was floored and humbled by their generosity. It's amazing how kind people really are. It's one of the extraordinary blessings I've been able to witness while on this journey.

We then flew down the wheelchair ramp and into the crowd. It wasn't long before I forgot about everything that was stressing me earlier. More of my friends joined us. We laughed and we danced. In the end I was glad for the wheelchair as I had to sit in it intermittently and for the last hour or so. I had the most incredible time!

It's really wonderful to have friends and music. I believe that these two things can make the world beautiful. At least my world. Finding balance right now is difficult. I'm constantly working towards adjusting to my new normal. On one hand I have the determination and drive to conquer it all, on the other there's a frightened girl wanting it all to just go away. There is a fragility and strength that coexist within a life. There is a constant ebb and flow between the two. And it is sublime. This is what reminds us of the delicateness of being human. This is what reminds me of the beauty in this world worth living for.

"There is nothing worth more than laughter. It is strength to laugh and to abandon oneself, to be light. Tragedy is the most ridiculous thing."  - Frida Kahlo

What does it mean to fight?

I've been thinking about what it means. I had this idea in my head that fighting means to get into an argument or to throw some punches.  It always seemed to be about violence or anger.  For the first time in my life I realize how outdated those thoughts are. Fighting is about using all of your mental and bodily efforts to achieve a goal. No matter the cost. It means waking up and appreciating the beauty in this world in spite of the exhaustion. It means loving despite this hateful thing trying to take over my body. It means believing, though the odds are against you, that each day is worth greeting. It also means knowing when to rest for the next battle. Sometimes that's the hardest thing to understand. I am, at times, surprised by what the fight is when it hits. Early on, it was desperation, fear, pain, nausea, and sorrow. I was filled up with thoughts of, " how could this really be me?" I had such anxiety with the thought that my body was failing me as my mind was making so many plans. It was so discordant. But I fight. Because life is  beautiful.

Fighting means having faith that it'll all be worth it in the end.

It means laughing in spite of the odds and enjoying each good, pure moment for the sake of it.

It means eating when everything tastes repulsive because that's where you get strength.

It means being a pincushion and pushing through it all with a smile on your face because it's the goal that's important, not the experience you need to endure.

It means that the life that's being threatened isn't something you're willing to give up.

It's knowing that chemo, the same thing that is breaking your heart, will save your life... and embracing it.

And I think about what it means to win. Winning doesn't mean you get to walk out of a ring with a prize belt. It means you get to live a little bit longer. And if I can have a few moments of health, then I have won. If I can inspire one person to believe in this incredible life, then I have beaten this. Winning is not some physical trophy, it's appreciation for what's real. Basking in the enchanting magic that is our existence.

If I can love a bit longer and smile a bit bigger, then it means that laughter is still prevalent in my life and that feeling is incredible! Especially when I get to share it. Then I have won.

My friends and I dressed up as superheroes for my most recent chemo. I wanted to do something nice for everyone, so we gave cookies to the nurses and  white roses to the patients. I walked up to an older blind man and held a rose out to him.
"I'm giving this to you. " I said as I placed it in his hand.
He said, "what is it?"
I said, "a white rose."
"Why?" He asked, with confusion on his face.
"Because we're all here doing this together. We might as well have a little fun." I said with a grin.
He thanked me as he accepted his rose and then he smiled. His smile was the most radiant that I've ever seen. And for just a moment, we weren't a bunch of people with cancer getting treated in a room.  We were people celebrating the simple beauty of this life. And in that moment we all won.

I still love this magnificent existence of mine. Through the agony, through the hard times. Through everything I'm going through.  Every bit of suffering, every bit of pain is worth even 5 minutes of this incredible thing called life.  And I could stand going through everything that I must for just those few moments and for the love that I hold within me and see around me. It's so worth it.