Punchy Mommy Believes in Life

How I evicted the worst uninvited overnight guest and took back my life
May 15, 2013

One last donation

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I had my blood drawn today. Seven vials to be exact. The most I’ve ever had drawn at once was 12 vials so this wasn’t so bad. Sister, our second cousin, and I all have had lymphoma. We share a set of genes that know how to line up and release a chain of events — a perfectly horrific symphony, whose sole achievement is to kill it’s most captive audience of one. What is it that we share? I want to find out what’s in me that has the chutzpah to do such an act. I’m tired of these shadows lurking around my family and so I jumped at the opportunity to participate in a study that is seeking to identify genetic factors in close relatives with lymphoma. My body is now forever tainted from cancer. So much so, that I’ll never be able to donate blood again or anything else for that matter. Today, I donated my tainted blood for the last time.

I sat there and stared at my blood in those small vials. Seven vials of vile blood, I thought. I began to feel hatred. In a way, just the sight of my blood made me sick. If my blood were a person, I would slug them in the face and drop kick them across the room. I hate that something from my own body has been so evil. I hate that it did this to me. What did I ever do to you? I cared for you, fed you, clothed you, cherished you. What more could I have done? My blood has a dirty secret and now is the time to let it go and to reveal it to the world. It’s ok, you’ll feel better when you come clean, just be honest. And so, as I held each vial, warm from the heat of my own body, and while I carefully placed a label on each one with my name and medical record, I thought, you betrayed me once, but this is your time, your time to shine. Reveal yourself. Come clean. Tell us your secret. Please, make me proud. Just help them find a cure. 

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May 8, 2013

Who am I now?

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I went out for dinner the other night with DH, his new colleagues and their spouses. They all knew about “my condition,” which was somewhat comforting when walking into a room with all new faces. At that moment, I was thankful for being spared from having to make the “big reveal.” I still haven’t figured out what my new tagline is. Before it was something like, red-headed-happy-go-lucky mommy of a two and half year old, lawyer, lover of healthy living, red wine, chocolate, and clothes. Now, I just feel flat, one dimensional. Cancer survivor. It’s hard to remember what came before that.

We had a private room at a lovely restaurant where I found myself surrounded by the spouses who were all very nice and welcoming. I can’t remember who asked or how the conversation started but we eventually wound up on cancer. Strange, I can’t ever remember a time when my casual conversations ended up on cancer. So, I told an abbreviated version of the wonderful life of cancer that we’ve been living, how I was diagnosed, how Little Man dealt with it, etc. The lights were dim and the talk was quiet and personal. Dinner was delicious. Telling my story between mouthfuls of buttery Mediterranean snapper that I dipped in artichoke heart composition en puree felt surreal. Whose story am I telling? Am I making this up? How do I know these details so intimately? It’s still so foreign to me even though this is my story. I lived it. I felt it. I dealt with it. Is this really my history? Was I over exaggerating? I wanted to be real and genuine with them, I wanted to tell the truth. But, the truth felt foreign, unbelievable, and certainly not mine. I just don’t know how you did it with a toddler? Neither did I. How did you guys get through it being so far away from family and people you know? I don’t know. I’m so glad you are ok now. I hope I am too. I don’t really know how to describe how we got through this hell.

Then, after all the cancer talk, there wasn’t much else for me to say. Everything I was before cancer didn’t seem to matter. Not that they weren’t interested or didn’t care. But, who has the energy to talk about anything after a cancer talk? Quite frankly, I don’t know what else to say. Having my personal narrative start after cancer feels jarring, like there was a hard stop that I’m still clumsily trying to finesse my way around. I don’t have a hook or angle. I’m missing my shtick. It doesn’t feel right to leave out this part of my story though. I don’t want to be defined by cancer but I don’t want it to be a secret either. I don’t want my relationships to be based on pity. She’s my friend who had cancer. I want them to based on honesty, openness. She’s my friend who had cancer. Either way, I want to be genuine and show my true self to the world. But, how will I find my way? Where do I start my narrative? 

Give ’em the old razzle dazzle
Razzle Dazzle ’em
Give ’em an act with lots of flash in it
And the reaction will be passionate
Give ’em the old hocus pocus
Bead and feather ’em
How can they see with sequins in their eyes?

 What if your hinges all are rusting?
What if, in fact, you’re just disgusting?

 Razzle dazzle ’em
And they’ll never catch wise!

 Give ’em the old Razzle Dazzle

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