Starting Over Again At 58-Adventure Or Dread
Tom and I are stretched out watching something fluffy on Netflix. There’s a handful of M&Ms on my tummy or, as I’ve taken to calling it, my snack shelf. (Fun fact. When you have no boobs, your tummy’s profile is unsheltered from any bustline, so you get the lovely Buddha Belly look. Or Pooh Bear. Personally, I like just referring to it as my snack shelf.)
Tom reaches a hand toward me for a nuzzle. Or is he reaching toward my snack shelf stash? “Eyes up here!” I say, swatting his hand.
And we laugh. A lot.
Laughter is part of my healing plan. When you’re dealing with patchy hair growth, a snack shelf and a chest that looks like a Randy McNally atlas, laughter is good.
Overall, the dust is settling. The aches from Letrozole, not so much. (Letrozole is an estrogen blocker to cut off the fuel for any cancer cells that might float around my body.)
I’m still getting used to my new boobless figure. And thankfully, the medical bills seem to be coming to the end. (Well, until I have more follow-up appointments that is.)
It is also time for me to process the divorce. I was married for nearly 33 years, so this is no small thing. The cancer diagnosis came right on the heels of the finalization, so that agony had to be boxed up and set aside for a later time.
I feel like one of those black and white photos of people emerging from their homes after their city has been bombed. Their eyes are haunting, the smoldering devastation is everywhere.
How do they even start sifting through the rubble and ruin? How do they move forward despite the fear and despair? And let’s not forget the need for food and shelter.
Yeah, I tend to look deeply at these types of photos and wonder about such things.
I am trying to use this imagery to help me through this new stage in life. Dramatic? Yeah, probably. But so is having your body bits amputated and your system poisoned. So maybe a little drama is warranted. (I am grateful I didn’t have to do radiation!)
Suffering is part of the human condition. But so is resilience and victory over adversity.
And then there is the messy middle between the Suffering/Victorious continuum.
Here is the liminal place where there are more questions than answers. And let’s sprinkle in a little anxiety and depression. It offers an invitation into the dark places, especially when I am fatigued.
I am a mixture of paralyzed self-critic and spunky can-do (sometimes annoyingly so in the spunky department.)
I can absolutely work myself up to DEFCON 4 when I try to take in the big picture. Or pressure myself to figure out everything RIGHT.NOW. This is about the time I have reached for the merlot. Not the best coping strategy.
What to do? How do I silence the sense of despair at the enormity of it all? How do I reframe things so I am excited and moving forward with joy?
I will start with a broom and find a corner to sweep. Shrink my world to focus on one small thing. Repeat. And then repeat again. And again.
Action is the most effective tool in dealing with despair and shell shock. Sometimes that action may look like doing nothing if there is a need for rest and renewal. The difference is the driving motivation.
I can look at this new stage of my life has starting over at 58 (sigh) versus I GET to start over at 58. Look at the adventure I am embarking on!
My kids are grown, I have a wonderful new partner who adores me-snack shelf and all, and most importantly: I don’t have to wear bras anymore.
Just kidding. The best part is that I am alive.
Cue to the brilliant poet, Mary Oliver, “Here you are, alive. Would you like to make a comment?”
Why, yes, Mary, I would.
It is a gift to be alive today.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see Tom heading for the M&Ms.
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