Isn't it funny how we often find comfort in the unlikeliest of places?
There was a song I used to listen to before I was diagnosed by The Antlers called Kettering. Being a native New Yorker, it didn't take long for me to realize that it was referring to Memorial Sloan Kettering in NYC. And any New Yorker who is not completely oblivious will tell you that
Kettering = Cancer.
Perhaps it was my intuition, I don't know, but it was two or three months before my diagnosis when I first heard the song and loved it, despite it's dark angst. It was about a cancer patient. Little did I know that I was about to be a cancer patient myself. Oh, the days of naivety...
Fast forward to my diagnosis on April 19, 2017.
The day I stopped listening to Kettering.
The day the world stood still.
The day life as I knew it would never be the same.
The day the began to live in two worlds, the real world and the cancer world.
The day I tapped into a survival instinct deep within myself I never knew existed.
The day I entered the gates of hell, tied with pink ribbons. Lots of pink ribbons.
On that lovely note, let's fast forward even more; to April 6, 2018 - approaching the year anniversary of my diagnosis.
I was at the Cancer Center, and as usual was the youngest person there by at least 30 years. Being surrounded by old, sick people does NOTHING for one's morale, especially as they look at you with pity as you bounce your toddler on your knee.
''I don't belong here'', I thought to myself. My resentment was growing, the sight of the hard candy and smell of the rubbing alcohol bringing me back to my chemo days, the knot in my stomach growing more with each passing minute.
It was my turn to go back, having my labs done to check how I am handling the oral chemo, Xeloda. I am on it until July to help prevent a recurrence; 6 cycles. I had just finished my first.
''Are you in any pain today?'', the nurse asked, innocently.
Thoughts whirled in my mind: ''Am I in any pain? Am I in any pain? No, I am not in any pain, thank-you-very-much. I am still in my gym clothes- I was just on the treadmill and benching 30 pounds on the pull down bar! Just yesterday I booked my night at an inn in Washington after I hike goddamn Mount Rainier in September! So, no, I am not in any pain, you idiot.''
''No, ma'am, I feel great. Never better'', I replied, sweetly.
I hate feeling like a cancer patient, even though I am technically not a cancer patient anymore. I hate having my blood drawn all of the time, and every aspect my body analyzed and monitored. I hate losing autonomy over myself. I hate remembering the hell I endured, and the reminder that the walls can come crashing down all over me again.
So, I am now driving home, annoyed and irritated, listening to you tube on my phone. I had The Cure on, ''Just Like Heaven'', so logically what would come up next would be, oh, I don't know, ''Pictures of You'', or something from The Psychedelic Furs, or Depeche Mode. But for some reason, Kettering- KETTERING- of all songs starts playing. And there I am, balling like a baby.
Ugh, I was a mess. The lyrics resonated with me so much, I felt sick. It was my first time listening to it since I entered the cancer world.
''Walking in that room when you had tubes in your arms, singing morphine alarms out of tune.''
I remember feeling this way when I woke up from my mastectomy. I was terrified to even look at my own body under my hospital gown. Tubes were protruding from my arms, my breasts, my abdomen, a catheter in place. I felt helpless and scared and mutilated.
''I didn't believe them when they called you a hurricane thunderclap.''
After a particularly bad day in the chemo pod, a few hours after I vomited so violently I simultaneously pissed myself, one of the other people there, accompanying someone in the neighboring pod, got to chatting with me. When it came up that I was a teacher and had 3 small children at home, she seemed so surprised, as if I were some weak thing, incapable of commanding neither a classroom nor a household. To be fair, I could barely command my own body. I used to be able to lecture 120 students in a day, talking about anything from the English Reformation to the Scramble for Africa, with enough energy left to come home, cook dinner, bath my kids, and cuddle up with storybooks. That day, with all of the IVs attached to my chest, I could not even make it to the bathroom in time to save myself an ounce of dignity and at least vomit and piss myself in privacy.
''I suggested a smile, you didn't talk for a while, you were freezing.''
John, the kind, old volunteer at the Cancer Center said something like this to me, bless his heart. He went and retrieved a warm blanket for me when he saw me shivering as the poison pulsed through my veins, and brought me an extra knitted cap to place over my headscarf.
''You said you hated my tone, it made you feel so alone, and told me I ought to me leaving.''
I have felt very alone, sometimes by the people closest to me. Sometimes I think emotional pain is worse than physical. While I do agree that expectation is the root of all heartache, I never fully understood the concept until I battled cancer.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So there I was, beside myself. I felt lost, totally and completely lost, as if I were floating in some dismal abyss. I was trying so hard to feel strong and powerful and ready to move on with my life, and Kettering brought all the misery back.
It was a an unusual thing that happened, Kettering coming on so randomly, at such a apt time.
What happened next was unusual, too.
To the left of me a blue truck caught my attention. It did so because it was such a pretty shade of pastel blue, like a duck's egg. On the side it said, 'Puget Sound''.
''Puget Sound?'', I thought to myself. That can't be right, isn't that over 2, 600 miles away in...Washington? It may as well be from another planet; in my 10 years of driving on the Atlanta interstate I have never in my life seen a giant truck all the way from Washington. The odd car, perhaps, but never a truck.
I looked at the license plate and, sure enough, it was from Washington.
It was then that the most peculiar thing happened. I smiled. I was happy.
I felt strong and powerful and ready to move on with my life again.
I felt...comforted. By a pretty blue truck from Washington.
But perhaps it was the symbolism of the truck; that it has come from a place which I have chosen for my solo Autumnal Equinox. A place where I will be in the company of people whom I am fond of. A place where I will hike on Mount Rainier, with my only company being the mountain goats, and wildflowers, and a good book.
Perhaps the Universe wanted me, no, NEEDED me, to hear Kettering when I did, and see that truck when I saw it.
Perhaps after holding it all in I needed to lose myself again, if only for a moment.
Perhaps I needed to see where my true comforts are.
Yes, I was happy again. Very much so.
Thank you, Kettering. Thank you, pretty blue truck.
See you in September, Washington.
____________________________________________________________________________
There was a song I used to listen to before I was diagnosed by The Antlers called Kettering. Being a native New Yorker, it didn't take long for me to realize that it was referring to Memorial Sloan Kettering in NYC. And any New Yorker who is not completely oblivious will tell you that
Kettering = Cancer.
Perhaps it was my intuition, I don't know, but it was two or three months before my diagnosis when I first heard the song and loved it, despite it's dark angst. It was about a cancer patient. Little did I know that I was about to be a cancer patient myself. Oh, the days of naivety...
Fast forward to my diagnosis on April 19, 2017.
The day I stopped listening to Kettering.
The day the world stood still.
The day life as I knew it would never be the same.
The day the began to live in two worlds, the real world and the cancer world.
The day I tapped into a survival instinct deep within myself I never knew existed.
The day I entered the gates of hell, tied with pink ribbons. Lots of pink ribbons.
 |
| April 20, 2017: The day after my diagnosis. I made myself one last flower crown before I had to buzz my hair away. |
On that lovely note, let's fast forward even more; to April 6, 2018 - approaching the year anniversary of my diagnosis.
I was at the Cancer Center, and as usual was the youngest person there by at least 30 years. Being surrounded by old, sick people does NOTHING for one's morale, especially as they look at you with pity as you bounce your toddler on your knee.
''I don't belong here'', I thought to myself. My resentment was growing, the sight of the hard candy and smell of the rubbing alcohol bringing me back to my chemo days, the knot in my stomach growing more with each passing minute.
 |
| Old Lady Heaven: A basket brimming with hard candy |
It was my turn to go back, having my labs done to check how I am handling the oral chemo, Xeloda. I am on it until July to help prevent a recurrence; 6 cycles. I had just finished my first.
''Are you in any pain today?'', the nurse asked, innocently.
Thoughts whirled in my mind: ''Am I in any pain? Am I in any pain? No, I am not in any pain, thank-you-very-much. I am still in my gym clothes- I was just on the treadmill and benching 30 pounds on the pull down bar! Just yesterday I booked my night at an inn in Washington after I hike goddamn Mount Rainier in September! So, no, I am not in any pain, you idiot.''
''No, ma'am, I feel great. Never better'', I replied, sweetly.
I hate feeling like a cancer patient, even though I am technically not a cancer patient anymore. I hate having my blood drawn all of the time, and every aspect my body analyzed and monitored. I hate losing autonomy over myself. I hate remembering the hell I endured, and the reminder that the walls can come crashing down all over me again.
So, I am now driving home, annoyed and irritated, listening to you tube on my phone. I had The Cure on, ''Just Like Heaven'', so logically what would come up next would be, oh, I don't know, ''Pictures of You'', or something from The Psychedelic Furs, or Depeche Mode. But for some reason, Kettering- KETTERING- of all songs starts playing. And there I am, balling like a baby.
Ugh, I was a mess. The lyrics resonated with me so much, I felt sick. It was my first time listening to it since I entered the cancer world.
''Walking in that room when you had tubes in your arms, singing morphine alarms out of tune.''
I remember feeling this way when I woke up from my mastectomy. I was terrified to even look at my own body under my hospital gown. Tubes were protruding from my arms, my breasts, my abdomen, a catheter in place. I felt helpless and scared and mutilated.
''I didn't believe them when they called you a hurricane thunderclap.''
After a particularly bad day in the chemo pod, a few hours after I vomited so violently I simultaneously pissed myself, one of the other people there, accompanying someone in the neighboring pod, got to chatting with me. When it came up that I was a teacher and had 3 small children at home, she seemed so surprised, as if I were some weak thing, incapable of commanding neither a classroom nor a household. To be fair, I could barely command my own body. I used to be able to lecture 120 students in a day, talking about anything from the English Reformation to the Scramble for Africa, with enough energy left to come home, cook dinner, bath my kids, and cuddle up with storybooks. That day, with all of the IVs attached to my chest, I could not even make it to the bathroom in time to save myself an ounce of dignity and at least vomit and piss myself in privacy.
''I suggested a smile, you didn't talk for a while, you were freezing.''
John, the kind, old volunteer at the Cancer Center said something like this to me, bless his heart. He went and retrieved a warm blanket for me when he saw me shivering as the poison pulsed through my veins, and brought me an extra knitted cap to place over my headscarf.
''You said you hated my tone, it made you feel so alone, and told me I ought to me leaving.''
I have felt very alone, sometimes by the people closest to me. Sometimes I think emotional pain is worse than physical. While I do agree that expectation is the root of all heartache, I never fully understood the concept until I battled cancer.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So there I was, beside myself. I felt lost, totally and completely lost, as if I were floating in some dismal abyss. I was trying so hard to feel strong and powerful and ready to move on with my life, and Kettering brought all the misery back.
It was a an unusual thing that happened, Kettering coming on so randomly, at such a apt time.
What happened next was unusual, too.
To the left of me a blue truck caught my attention. It did so because it was such a pretty shade of pastel blue, like a duck's egg. On the side it said, 'Puget Sound''.
''Puget Sound?'', I thought to myself. That can't be right, isn't that over 2, 600 miles away in...Washington? It may as well be from another planet; in my 10 years of driving on the Atlanta interstate I have never in my life seen a giant truck all the way from Washington. The odd car, perhaps, but never a truck.
I looked at the license plate and, sure enough, it was from Washington.
It was then that the most peculiar thing happened. I smiled. I was happy.
I felt strong and powerful and ready to move on with my life again.
I felt...comforted. By a pretty blue truck from Washington.
Perhaps the Universe wanted me, no, NEEDED me, to hear Kettering when I did, and see that truck when I saw it.
Perhaps after holding it all in I needed to lose myself again, if only for a moment.
Perhaps I needed to see where my true comforts are.
Yes, I was happy again. Very much so.
Thank you, Kettering. Thank you, pretty blue truck.
See you in September, Washington.
  |
| ONE YEAR LATER: Hiking in the Chattahoochee National Forest in Jasper, Georgia |
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