A funny thing?

October 07, 2018

A funny thing?

Well here is a funny thing; when logging on to post an update, I see that my last post was somewhat succinct. And you guys know, that is one skill I do not possess. Somehow, I managed to post an opening sentence from Vancouver and then delete the rest of the ponderings and wonderings that I’d drafted. I recall that it was on the eve of flying out of Vancouver to Whitehorse. Radiation was complete and I was sad to be leaving the big smoke. I’m pretty sure it was an entry full of poignant reflections and touching witticisms, but unfortunately it is lost forever in cyberspace. I will pick up from that time of transition.
We flew home to Whitehorse and leapt back into our normal rhythms and routines. Little Ladie like a fish to water, despite having missed the first week of school. At the end of her first day back when I asked how it was, hearing French all the time after so many weeks of just English, she opened her eyes wide and gasped,
“Oh Mum, it was like,” (bringing her hands up to her face repeatedly) “English. English. English. English. English. And then,” (fingers spread wide and abruptly halting in the air) “FRENCH!” Hard to describe, but when acted out in person, an excellent rendition of what she felt at school that day.
Lox returned to his same daycare where he receives better care than he does at home. Interestingly, he had the harder time adjusting, ending each day in tantrums of tired tears. He was just spent from working hard each day and would fall apart once back home. I know that we’re his safe place and so he can truly be himself, but sometimes I wish he’d bring his societal manners into the familial fold.
I’m slowly returning to work, though my Doctor has reservations about it being too soon. Pretty much everyone around me worries that it is too soon, which somewhat tempers my push. I’m currently working three afternoons a week and that feels perfect. Enough to fill my soul but not enough to wear me out. The reserves, Comrades, are low. I feel like I’m emerging out the other side. My skin is mostly healed and I feel well. I’ve been mountain bike riding through the gorgeous golden Autumn. I sleep well. Eat well. Feel good. I feel normal. And yet, not quite back to our old normal.
That’s hard to come to terms with; the fact that this whole palaver has had permanent effects. My tendency throughout it all has leaned toward minimizing the impact so that our life is not defined by cancer. Playing down the enormity of a diagnosis. On the whole, I believe we’ve found a good balance of acknowledging the impact but not letting it stop us. We adapt but don’t modify. And yet, I wonder if I play at minimizing while relying on others to own the magnitude? So I don’t need to. I assume you will all fuss and pamper while I can adopt a hearty “chin-up, what, what,” attitude. Every now and then something crops up that stops me abruptly, and I feel a beat in which my mind whirls. Like when I find myself chatting with a colleague about my return to work and am asked if I’d been off on a maternity leave. Or when chatting with a physio about Adelaide’s x-rays and the relief that there was no problems, and the physio laughingly saying,
“Mammograms are the worst! Getting calls about those are the worst!”
It pulled me up short and I had absolutely no idea how to react. Did she know? Clearly not as she was so flippant. Flippant about something that, try as I might, I really cannot dismiss. But she had no idea, so the marks that I perceive as so obvious are not glaring for others. This means, friends, that my hair is growing back! That my eyebrows and eyelashes have staged a return that fools others into thinking that my silver cropped hair-do is deliberate.
Well how about that, eh?
For months now I’ve been singing to myself, “Give me my ha-ir back, I want my ha-ir back, you bitch. And don’t forget, to give me back my eyelashes.” (to the tune of the Ben Folds Five Song for the Dumped).
It seems it’s time to change my tune.
And ponder my hypocrisy in wanting to play down this palaver, but getting miffed when encountering people who are oblivious.
The contradictions are rife in my platform, but I don’t really care. It’s the job of my counsellor to tease those out, what what. Tally ho.