May is Hard
For a lot of reasons, I simply can't finish posting about France. When we left we were in Olonzac, and the most signifigant day was about to happen. Our day with Kirsti. Kirsti is one of the women I have met during my 'journey', and she is amazing! Maybe, I can write about this later.
May is hard.
It wasn't always hard. Once upon a time, it singaled Spring and the rejuvination of the world here in the Northeast. But, 12 years ago, I lost my only brother this month. And last year, my sister Margaret was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and my breast felt wrong. As I look at the calendar for the next month, I see one year anniversaries everywhere! First mammogram. Bingo! Diagnosis. First core biopsy. Bingo! Diagnosis. First meetings with three oncologists. Bingo! Treatment.
Today, after a doctor's appointment, I headed out to Mt. Holyoke. Lauren's final project for her theatre class was the presentation of a solo performance. I took her out to dinner, and then attended the performance. Since Lauren was running lights, they put her early on the program. To be honest, I didn't understand her performance and I look forward to talking through it with her when she returns home for the summer.
Somewhere around performance no. 5, a young girl used some poetry for her performance. It was about being an unhealthy young person. She went to a prom, had a heart transplant, and then she was trying on clothes for her wedding, and began talking about whether this husband-to-be would be strong enough to deal with her many medical issues. And then she was on the other side of the stage, and began asking "Why is hair loss on a man distinquished, and on a woman it is tragic." And then it moved to breast scars, and radiation, open sores, and I began to breath heavily..... and it kept going, and I was crying.... and the minute the lights went out, I was out the door. I retched in some bushes. I couldn't find my breath.
When I found my balance, I sat in a room upstairs and waited for the show to be over. Lauren called me on the phone... "Are you okay?" but we were disconnected. When we found each other, she was inconsolable. And so we stood on the lawn with Lauren sobbing in my arms. "She didn't know that this girl was going to add that poem," "it was so awful"..... and it was my job to console her.
Lauren is scared. She is scared that this disease is going to kill me. Hell, I am scared. I am scared that this disease is going to kill me. Generally, we live in total denial, but tonight it felt real, and neither one of us liked it. Even in the hands of the young, theatre is a powerful thing.
May is hard.
It wasn't always hard. Once upon a time, it singaled Spring and the rejuvination of the world here in the Northeast. But, 12 years ago, I lost my only brother this month. And last year, my sister Margaret was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and my breast felt wrong. As I look at the calendar for the next month, I see one year anniversaries everywhere! First mammogram. Bingo! Diagnosis. First core biopsy. Bingo! Diagnosis. First meetings with three oncologists. Bingo! Treatment.
Today, after a doctor's appointment, I headed out to Mt. Holyoke. Lauren's final project for her theatre class was the presentation of a solo performance. I took her out to dinner, and then attended the performance. Since Lauren was running lights, they put her early on the program. To be honest, I didn't understand her performance and I look forward to talking through it with her when she returns home for the summer.
Somewhere around performance no. 5, a young girl used some poetry for her performance. It was about being an unhealthy young person. She went to a prom, had a heart transplant, and then she was trying on clothes for her wedding, and began talking about whether this husband-to-be would be strong enough to deal with her many medical issues. And then she was on the other side of the stage, and began asking "Why is hair loss on a man distinquished, and on a woman it is tragic." And then it moved to breast scars, and radiation, open sores, and I began to breath heavily..... and it kept going, and I was crying.... and the minute the lights went out, I was out the door. I retched in some bushes. I couldn't find my breath.
When I found my balance, I sat in a room upstairs and waited for the show to be over. Lauren called me on the phone... "Are you okay?" but we were disconnected. When we found each other, she was inconsolable. And so we stood on the lawn with Lauren sobbing in my arms. "She didn't know that this girl was going to add that poem," "it was so awful"..... and it was my job to console her.
Lauren is scared. She is scared that this disease is going to kill me. Hell, I am scared. I am scared that this disease is going to kill me. Generally, we live in total denial, but tonight it felt real, and neither one of us liked it. Even in the hands of the young, theatre is a powerful thing.
posted by *susan* at
12:11 AM
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