June got sent home from preschool this week because of nits (that's baby lice eggs for you uninitiated) and Fred and I became psychotic. We've dealt with a lot recently, my cancer and its treatment; finding the right kindergarten for our autistic son. We've dealt pretty well and pretty calmly; we haven't let our fears take hold of us and squeeze us. We've gone on living and laughing and seizing the day.
But nits--Motherfucker! Scrubbing our four-year-old's hair with chemicals and combing through each strand with a finetooth comb and washing every single linen, pillow, pillow case, blanket, jacket, stuffed animal in hot water...ad nauseum because the treatment didn't work, she got sent home from school again and then we found them on George's scalp and then we took them and got them both haircuts as short as we could and then June decided she was a boy and we just kept washing every damn thing in the house and trying to work and using natural nit remedies like bathing the kids in vinegar.
Motherfucker. I'm sorry if this sounds facetious because I don't mean it to be at all but nits have been harder for us to deal with than cancer. And I'm just now, thinking they're gone, the nits, thinking they're gone, laughing at that. A little bit.
****
It's been a funny few weeks of post-cancerness. I've been receiving things--cards and presents--from people who weren't present for me during my cancer experience. First came a package from a mom of a boy who went to preschool with George for two years whom I had developed a close friendship with and then had stopped talking to me about a year ago because she was "going through things and couldn't deal." That was a strange, hard experience for me because if I can say one thing about myself, I'm a good friend. I'd never had someone do that to me before. I won't rehash it all except to say that it was very painful for me and I've let it go and then there comes a package from her a few weeks ago with jewelry for me and a video for the kids and a note.
And then a few days later a long heartfelt letter from a friend of a friend saying how sorry she was that she hadn't been there for me and wishing me well.
And then more jewelry, beautiful earrings and a necklace, from a congregant at the synagogue where I work who had been one of the few people who hadn't written me a note or email while I was going through surgery and treatment to say that I was in her prayers.
And then a brisket. From another congregant. Who saw my post-chemo haircut and apologized for not reading her emails from our "Acts of Caring" list and wanted to know what was going on while I was in the middle of an activity with a large group of students. When I said that I couldn't talk just then, she left the room looking flustered. I went back to my office after school and found a large brisket on my desk with a note from her.
Now this part has been comical. Because I didn't need any of these people to be with me during my cancer experience; I have people close to me, very close, who were incredibly present. So I am able sit back and watch these delayed reactions in an unattached way. And accept their gifts.
****
Monday morning George is having surgery. It's routine; ear tubes in, tonsils and adenoids out. We've been through the ear tubes before at CHOP and I am grateful that we discovered that he needs them again and also his tonsils and adenoids out. It won't be easy, the surgery and recovery for him, but he is my love and I am holding how good this will be for his health on the other side of recovery. If you pray, pray for him. Hold him in light and affirm that he will go through surgery with ease. George is my baby and this coming week will be another one that won't be easy for us.
But easier, I think, than the motherfucking nits.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
I'm deep in life after cancer now;
it feels different, I feel different. It's hard to explain...
at Yom Kippur, I really felt the difference, in a surprising, wonderful way. I lead three services in a row and can have up to 70 kids in a service. A lot of them don't want to be there and I work hard to figure out a way to make the day meaningful for them. Usually this means creating skits and characters and all sorts of shtick. But this year, I hadn't put in hours and hours making props and costumes to teach the children about being helpful instead of hurtful, about forgiveness and letting go. I just spoke to them and prayed with them. When we prayed, for example, after the Barchu, for God who creates light and darkness and all things in the world, I told the children that light and darkness means what we see outside of us in nature, but also the light and darkness we feel inside of us, that was created by God, that is holy, those moments of us feeling the darkness. The kids were so with me and maybe something resonated in some of them.
In life after cancer, I am relying less on performing or entertaining; I am trusting more that my inner sense of strength will lead me through difficult, stressful, challenging moments.
In life after cancer, I am not expecting myself to be perfect at all; I can more easily say I'm sorry when I fuck up and then I let go of my mistake without obsessing about it.
In life after cancer I am seizing two hours after school every weekday when I am with the kids, 3:30--5:30pm, and I try to be on the phone or computer only if I have to be, and I make that time to be as present as I can with them, with what's happening in that moment. We've had some awesome times playing outside in these cooler autumn afternoons,
a kind of coming back to ourselves, of grounding, after whatever has happened in the day for us. For George, that could be lots of feelings that he can't express, all of the energies of the teachers and kids that he's been with all day, his own frustrations--
and so for two hours or so, I focus on being openhearted and it's been a kind of nourishing recovery time for all of us.
Some moments have been so beautiful like last Thursday afternoon when we stopped by our CSA to pick up our fruit share of Golden Delicious apples and the sky was strikingly blue with giant white clouds and the three of us held hands and ran up and down the big green hill in front of Kol Ami synagogue
and I felt overwhelmed with joy--to be alive, to be running hand and hand with my children, to be part supporting an organic farm, to celebrate Sukkot, to live in a neighborhood that we love.
I still have a shitload of things to do, projects to organize, finances to get in order, queries to send out.
Not a lot has shifted externally for me at all, even though I feel different in my own skin, now that my cancer is gone and
I imagine in the next few years, there will be profound external shifts. (Wouldn't there have to be? With all of this internal shifting happening?)
I am clarifying some really big dreams now.
The difference that I'm trying to describe, which is hard to describe, is the way I'm reaching out for my dreams. It's not my old way of getting over pumped on adrenaline and caffeine. I'm trying to go for balance, in just a day to day way, one hour at a time, more or less. Some days I feel much more balanced than others but my awareness is there, so when I become stressed or tired
I can more easily come back.
In life after cancer, I am happier. In life after cancer, I am more forgiving. In life after cancer, I am thousands of times more grateful and more present.
In life after cancer, I look different, with my GI Jane dark hair buzz cut growing in each day and my new piercings (nose and upper ear).
In life after cancer, each day opens and unfolds so imperfectly and I feel the holiness in it all.
at Yom Kippur, I really felt the difference, in a surprising, wonderful way. I lead three services in a row and can have up to 70 kids in a service. A lot of them don't want to be there and I work hard to figure out a way to make the day meaningful for them. Usually this means creating skits and characters and all sorts of shtick. But this year, I hadn't put in hours and hours making props and costumes to teach the children about being helpful instead of hurtful, about forgiveness and letting go. I just spoke to them and prayed with them. When we prayed, for example, after the Barchu, for God who creates light and darkness and all things in the world, I told the children that light and darkness means what we see outside of us in nature, but also the light and darkness we feel inside of us, that was created by God, that is holy, those moments of us feeling the darkness. The kids were so with me and maybe something resonated in some of them.
In life after cancer, I am relying less on performing or entertaining; I am trusting more that my inner sense of strength will lead me through difficult, stressful, challenging moments.
In life after cancer, I am not expecting myself to be perfect at all; I can more easily say I'm sorry when I fuck up and then I let go of my mistake without obsessing about it.
In life after cancer I am seizing two hours after school every weekday when I am with the kids, 3:30--5:30pm, and I try to be on the phone or computer only if I have to be, and I make that time to be as present as I can with them, with what's happening in that moment. We've had some awesome times playing outside in these cooler autumn afternoons,
a kind of coming back to ourselves, of grounding, after whatever has happened in the day for us. For George, that could be lots of feelings that he can't express, all of the energies of the teachers and kids that he's been with all day, his own frustrations--
and so for two hours or so, I focus on being openhearted and it's been a kind of nourishing recovery time for all of us.
Some moments have been so beautiful like last Thursday afternoon when we stopped by our CSA to pick up our fruit share of Golden Delicious apples and the sky was strikingly blue with giant white clouds and the three of us held hands and ran up and down the big green hill in front of Kol Ami synagogue
and I felt overwhelmed with joy--to be alive, to be running hand and hand with my children, to be part supporting an organic farm, to celebrate Sukkot, to live in a neighborhood that we love.
I still have a shitload of things to do, projects to organize, finances to get in order, queries to send out.
Not a lot has shifted externally for me at all, even though I feel different in my own skin, now that my cancer is gone and
I imagine in the next few years, there will be profound external shifts. (Wouldn't there have to be? With all of this internal shifting happening?)
I am clarifying some really big dreams now.
The difference that I'm trying to describe, which is hard to describe, is the way I'm reaching out for my dreams. It's not my old way of getting over pumped on adrenaline and caffeine. I'm trying to go for balance, in just a day to day way, one hour at a time, more or less. Some days I feel much more balanced than others but my awareness is there, so when I become stressed or tired
I can more easily come back.
In life after cancer, I am happier. In life after cancer, I am more forgiving. In life after cancer, I am thousands of times more grateful and more present.
In life after cancer, I look different, with my GI Jane dark hair buzz cut growing in each day and my new piercings (nose and upper ear).
In life after cancer, each day opens and unfolds so imperfectly and I feel the holiness in it all.
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