One Year Out

Mom reminded me this morning that a year ago was my last day of radiation, so today’s officially my first anniversary of finishing treatment. Apparently I was more excited about chemo ending, since I did NOT have today in my own calendar. But it’ll be nice to enjoy July without radiation burns in my armpit this year.

I know I haven’t posted in a while. Honestly, with the re-opening of all the things post-Covid, I’ve been remiss in all my writing. I am struggling a lot with this initial surge of freedom, a la roaring 20’s, and the accompanying anxiety, irritability, and awkwardness that comes from being so out of practice “peopling”. I’d reduced my “in person interactions” pod during cancer and covid to such a small subset of people, and I missed so many while we had to be separated, I find I’m exhausted at the end of the day most of the time now just from doing what used to be normal things. Finding some balance again and prioritizing my alone time and writing is a dance choreography I’m still learning, especially where there are significant others and kids involved.

Then again, I’m lucky to be here to learn it. I went to a cancer survivorship lunch yesterday with SK and my sister, and one of the things the presenter (who’s 11 years post-treatment) said was the sense of urgency and complete lack of patience with unimportant bullshit never goes away. She also said something about really looking at your interpersonal relationships and how important it is to remove personalities who subtract or divide from your life, and keep those who add/multiply the good things. I think Covid might have helped a lot of people do the same, but it IS important. Everyone has a finite amount of energy/attention in a day: give yours to the people and activities that make your life better, the ones who matter, and protect it fiercely for those who deserve it most.

On that note, one of the new places I’ve been putting energy since last summer is with SK (yes, this will be your blog name for now and all time) and his kids. Recently I was helping one of the girls go through her clothes and identify what doesn’t fit anymore, and I walked out from her room to the main basement living room. There, the 10-year-old (today! Happy Bday dude!) was muttering to himself and pacing, wildly gesticulating like an angry wizard doing some sort of punishment spell. I asked what’s up.

“I’m IMAGINING,” he said in his most “duh” tone. And went back to pacing and ignoring me, muttering and flailing his hands as though I’d left the room. It was the most wonderful thing I’d seen that week.

I have a myriad of other notes for a “random shit the kids say to me” post, but today is not that day. Today, I’m working on remembering which things I need to put my time into post-cancer and which things I need to let go because they just don’t matter in the larger tapestry of things. Maybe that’s why Atropos is always depicted as an older woman: she’s learned the value of cutting threads.

Lucky for all of us, I’m not a Fate, just a weirdo. But my hair is coming back WITH A VENGEANCE, and it’s gloriously on its way to Medusa-esque behaviors.