Unfortunately, you can’t throw a bedpan around our house without hitting a sucky attitude. We (my fabulous Mom and I) are trying our hardest to be peppy and all “This little brain tumor issue is just a bump in the road! It means nothing!” and “Oh noooooo, we aren’t bitter that Dr. Death (Mom’s first oncologist from hell) completely dismissed our concerns about possible issues with her brain last fall and just ordered a CT scan to shut us up when, as we now know, you can’t see shit with a CT scan, water under the bridge!”
But we are not peppy. And we are bitter.
And the next person who tells us that we “shouldn’t” be “wasting time” feeling what we’re feeling will be disemboweled. (I’ve always wanted to use “disemboweled” in a sentence!)(seems like it should have two “L”s, but it doesn’t, I checked…)
Because fuck you! We get to feel what we feel, dammit!
And I know we shouldn’t sit around wallowing in our sucky and defeatist attitudes forever. Forever would be a waste of time. We are, however, entitled to a few days of WTF?! and THIS SUCKS! and WESTERN MEDICINE IS CRAP! and LET’S SUE EVERYONE OR AT LEAST RUIN THEIR CAREERS! and NOT FAIR!
We just are.
We’ve been fighting it for several days (first we had to just get through the nightmare that is brain surgery + paralysis+ part of brain is gone confusion + learn to use right side again for God’s sake) but I’ve come to the conclusion (in the last five minutes, literally) that we should stop fighting it, actually feel it, and get it over with. Because fighting it feels worse than actually feeling it. And beating ourselves up for having to fight it in the first place feels worse than actually feeling the things we are fighting.
And who makes up the rules for this shit anyway?
It seems like there is this unspoken (or spoken) “rule” that you’re not supposed to be pissed off when bad shit happens to you, especially cancer. Because, you know, you wouldn’t get cancer unless you did something to deserve it. Like eat food. Or go on a killing spree in a past life. Karma is a bitch, right? Ummmm, whatever, Namaste, motherfucker.
But I digress.
It is not politically correct to say “why me?” or “this isn’t fair” because, as we have all been told ad nauseum, Life Isn’t Fair. Apparently we are supposed to be all ““Ohhhhh, Life Isn’t Fair, so I shouldn’t be surprised or (gasp) upset when some horrifying shit that is completely out of my control happens to me. I must soldier on!”
Sounds like something the Republicans came up with….(“Stop whining about being born into a never-ending cycle of poverty, Life Isn’t Fair, suck it up and work your way out! What? You have no access to education or transportation or safe housing or health care? Not Our Problem.”)
Oops, I did it again.
Where was I?
Oh. I question the validity of these rules!
Generally I am kind of a “rule” person. (Is that even true? Shit. It might not be.) Anyway, this whole, “Be brave, tough it out and if you don’t think positively every single minute you’re doomed” rule or social mores (totally pulled that out of my ass, thanks Sociology 101!) goes a little too far, in my humble opinion.
(Which is usually right.)(fake smile)
It’s too much. It’s exhausting. It isn’t real. Why do we have to be brave all the time? How does that even help?
I, for one, don’t think it helps at all. From now on everyone (everyone!) has permission to feel their feelings, dammit!
Everybody scream and shake your fist at the sky: Bad Shit Sucks! Cancer Sucks! Pain Sucks! I hate it! I hate not knowing what is next! I hate being scared! I am NOT HAPPY! Fuck it!
Doesn’t that feel better? I think it does.
I also recommend crying it out. With gusto! And drama!
We have been trying really hard not to cry. Because, of course, that would suggest that we aren’t being brave. Trying not to cry when it’s perfectly appropriate to cry, i.e., you and/or your mother are in pain and fucking full of cancer and you don’t know what is next, typically results in crying when it’s less appropriate. Like over your Greek Salad at the Cafe where you are supposed to be Writing. Or while you are picking up a prescription at Walgreen’s. Or in the shower. And the crying is less satisfying because it’s shameful and hidden. Fuck that, I say! I’m going to dedicate a few hours to crying my eyes out and wailing and snorting (family trait) and sobbing into my pillow loudly and trying to talk while I’m crying hysterically. I’m going to exhaust myself crying. And then take a nap.
And I’m going to encourage Mom (and everyone else in the whole Not Fair World) to do the same.
Then we are going to eat an entire package of Sugar Cookie Dough (a/k/a Magical Food) and maybe some ice cream sandwiches. For LUNCH.
And then we will hug and decide that we are definitely going to be brave, just not right now. Maybe Monday.