Cancer Thoughts: The Final Phase

Six weeks post-surgery, I'm still figuring out what the hell just happened.

Six weeks post-surgery, I’ve found myself grappling more with the emotional aftermath of my cancer diagnosis than the physical one. What follows is my attempt to sort it all out.

I have been without 25% of my right lung, and the cancerous squatter that lived there, for six weeks, and I can say I am 97.5% back to normal. My entire cancer experience was encapsulated into such a short time, and I am struggling with how to process it all.

I am fairly sure I haven’t adequately embraced, accepted, or internalized that I had cancer. It didn’t happen to someone else; it happened to me, and I have the scars to prove it, but it doesn’t feel as real as I think it should.

With an event this big and consequential, I assumed there would be a significant mental shift or something equally relevant and obvious. But no. Not for me.

I don’t feel that different. I don’t feel like my life has changed drastically.

Maybe that is simply how I process life, or the magnitude of the situation will hit sometime in the future without warning. I don’t know right now, and I guess that’s okay.

What I do know is that if I needed more evidence of my resilience, perseverance, and inner toughness, I surely found it with this experience. I really thought I had enough of these attributes, but life didn’t agree with my assessment. Because of that, I am now better than 100% in these areas, which will serve me well at some point in the future when another of life’s curveballs is hurled my way.

Oh, that’s such a positive spin to put on things, isn’t it?

Yes, and I think I'd like to believe that I am unaffected (which keeps my tough-girl persona intact), when in fact, I am much affected.

And there it is. My childhood trauma comes out in so many different ways, it’s sometimes difficult to recognize it unless it hits me over the head.

I am shrugging off my cancer diagnosis and subsequent major surgery as something that just happened to me, was not a big deal, and now I am past it. No problem, it’s all good here.

Why on earth would or could someone be so blasé about such a thing?

That’s how I've rolled since I can remember. The bulk of my childhood was trauma, and for me, it became a normal occurrence.

Life sucks, get used to it. —The Witch

The above message was strongly conveyed to me by The Witch (the woman who raised me). She never missed an opportunity to “teach” me that bad things ALWAYS happen and when they do, you’ve got to suck it up, move on, and by all means, never shed a tear about it. Push it all down and look tough while you do it. Got it, thanks.

She was one of the most unhappy people I have ever known, and it was her goal (though probably not one she had put on a vision board) to ensure that I, too, would feel her despair. Telling me the world was a shitty place was just one of her tactics.

And, I must say, she was right about bad shit always happening becasue it did, a lot, when I was a kid. And for the longest time, I cried hard about it, every time bad stuff came my way. The feelings of devastation, confusion, and sadness enveloped me, and I remember feeling as if the tears would never end. When this happened, the Witch always told me to “Stop crying or I will give you something to cry about,” but for many years, when I was in the “bad stuff” place, I just cried. Until one day I didn’t. The death of tears marked the Witch’s successful programming of my brain to accept all trauma, injustice, indignation, and other general nastiness that came my way. I learned to acknowledge, react without emotion, and then move on swiftly.

Being “tough” and staying positive when confronted with a difficult situation is standard operating procedure for me, and I haven’t, until now, given it much deep thought.

But maybe I should. Maybe it’s where unresolved trauma lives. Maybe, there’s healing to be found in the exploration.

Maybe. Or maybe not.

That’s always the question, isn’t it? Is all okay with me, or should I poke the bear and see if I can find out for sure? Well, the fact that I am even questioning whether my reaction and handling of my cancer experiences are “normal” or indicative of deeper issues signals that maybe I should take a deeper look. Right?

Well, I’m doing it anyway.

It’s not like me to be emotional, unmoored, or incapable of making decisions in any given situation. I am the one you want in a crisis. I am calm, focused, and ready for action. And that is exactly how I approached my cancer diagnosis.

I must confess that the ability to be tough when the world is crashing down around me has served me well many times. However, with further reflection, I can now see how this ability robs me of the experience of feeling things deeply, and more importantly, it prevents me from healing.

Well, the crisis, for now, is over, and even though I have not emotionally processed it, what’s the issue? Let's be especially honest here; I think I am perfectly content with never fully understanding the emotional impact of what has happened to me over the last three months.

Well, maybe not perfectly happy, but I am okay with avoidance in this case.

Who wants to emotionally visit these things?

• It could have been much worse had it not been caught as early as it was

• What if it had spread?

• What if my breathing had been affected negatively for the rest of my life?

• What if I had died?

Yet, as I write these things, I realize that they’re just surface questions, and the real issues are much more akin to fear, disappointment, and loss. And, of course, that must be what I am hiding from.

• My body housed cells that have the ability to end my life. They are gone now, but they could come back and bring reinforcements.

• I am entering the last third of my life, and the medical issues, after a strong lack of appearances for the majority of my adult life, are knocking at my door. My cancer was the first, and will most likely not be the last.

• I am now staring my mortality in the face, and I am not sure what to do about it. Well, there’s nothing I can do to change the fact that I will die, but I can change a few things that may either speed up or slow down the coming of that event.

Yes, this list is true, but I feel it does not expose my real fears and concerns. Let’s see if I can do better.

• Death is now a real prospect, rather than a concept that “happens to everyone eventually.”

• I may spend much of the last third of my life battling illness instead of living. Or, I may not. The not knowing is maddening, but to be expected.

Still, no. I need to delve deeper, and it’s interesting to me how challenging it is to uncover my truth.

• Having cancer, or high blood pressure, or any similar illness means I am broken in some way. It means I have failed in some way. It means the Witch was right about life and about me.

• Although I am a very positive person, I acknowledge that there are fewer days in front of me than behind me, and that makes me sad. The cancer cemented this truth, and now I am not sure how to plan for the future when I don’t know how much future I have left. Yes, I know that has always been the case through my life, (I could never know how much time was left at any given time and was just fine,) but now, it seems more real. I don’t want my life to be defined by what illness or conditions I am experiencing.

• Contrary to what I wrote at the beginning of this article, I think, truly, I have changed since hearing “you have cancer,” but I resist admitting that to myself. My cancer experience has reminded me that life can be short and I should spend it wisely, with purpose, and happiness. I feel this more strongly now and worry that I cannot make the necessary changes to “life the fuck out of life,” as much as I want to.

• And, of course, when something this huge happens to you, taking stock of where you have been, and what you may have accomplished, failed at, missed, and completely fucked up, is to be expected. It’s been an enlightening assessment for me.

Oh, I went much deeper and with more truth than I expected. I could probably go down a few more levels, but I think it’s a good start.

At this stage in life, I should have it all figured out and ready for whatever comes ahead. But instead, I feel like I completely missed the boat and now am treading water as I search for solid ground. Is there enough time left to redeem myself?

Well, that just came out, and I think it's closer to the truth, the exact truth, or at least the truth I will allow myself to reveal at this time. Oh, and so judgy of me, right?

I am mad at myself. For having cancer. For not being more “successful.” For not being more prepared for my future.

So, that means I must have deserved the cancer, the pain from the surgery and recovery, and regular CT scans and waiting for results for possibly the rest of my life.

It was my punishment for failing, yet again.

The Witch is strong in me, still. 🙁

I must, I need, I want to forgive myself. I did nothing wrong. I was just living.

No, I was just surviving. And that is exactly how the Witch wanted me to live, forever. She was such a good teacher, or I a good student, because I have fulfilled her prophecy so many times over, even without her in my life for the last 30 years. Self-sabotage keeps me down, on her level, where she wallows in the depths of her misery. I have unwittingly been down there with her for far too long.

Yet, if I am looking at my life objectively, in many ways, I have been thriving for many years now. But, even so, my mind still has past traumas on constant replay, making me feel like I am not making much progress, and keeping me forever stuck between surviving and thriving.

And that is the thing about childhood trauma that I have come to learn: it doesn’t solely live in your thoughts or emotions, but rather, trauma lives in your body. And until that trauma is fully expressed, understood, and mourned, it will keep coming back, an annoying reminder that there is still work to do. That, for me, is the definition of a trigger.

I may be able to process the trauma intellectually, “oh, that’s why I do that,” and emotionally by feeling and working through the feelings associated with the trauma, but what I am not sure how to do is to process the trauma that lives in my body. I do know my body wants to feel safe, and when I am triggered, or “in my trauma,” my body does not feel it is safe at all. It needs reassurance or proof that the danger has passed.

My first instinct is to feel as if I don’t know how to do this, but if I look at what I do for Bodi (our sweet rescue puppy) when he is scared, I have a roadmap. When Bodi came home with us from the shelter, he was scared of everything: people, garage doors opening, cars, the couch, dogs, stairs, and leaves blowing in the wind, among other things. With every new experience, we assured him that he was safe and that we would make sure nothing happened to him. We soothed and reassured him.

And that’s what I need to do for myself. However, let’s be clear: I'm not entirely sure I can pull it off. It feels so hokey!

I will try, though. I promise.

I have fought this “self-punishment” battle numerous times in my life. Each time, I feel as if I gain some ground in the fight, but an outright win seems so very far away. Now, armed with the working theory that my body needs to feel safe, I will begin to step away from the living much of every day in the past and surviving, and instead walk into the warm sunlight of the present, where life is thriving. I think the best place to start this journey is on the canvas.

Prompts? Really?

Historically, I am not one for prompts (writing or painting), but lately, I have found myself drawn to them. Or at the very least, experimenting with them. So, I am going to give myself some prompts to choose from for the next time I am in front of a blank canvas or a blinking cursor.

Painting prompts, for me, need to be about feelings, not thoughts; otherwise, I will not be able to connect with my emotional self or my unconscious self.

• What does self-punishment feel like emotionally and physically?

• Where do you feel shame in your body, and what does it feel like?

• Where does the detachment you feel when dealing with a crisis live in your body?

• How would it feel if that “control” aspect were not accessible?

Writing prompts, on the other hand, are more about thoughts with feeling mixed in for good measure.

• How has a lifetime of self-punishment deprived you of joy?

• “I have done nothing right in life” is one assessment you have completed many times with yourself. How does this feel in your body? Is it true?

• What would it feel like if you did not blame or shame yourself?

• Is it possible to see yourself as a person worthy of anything and everything?

Oh, it’s going to be an intense painting and writing session!

Thanks for being a part of my journey.