To: The Month May
From: Pamela Jeanne
Subject: Go Easy On the Life Stuff, ‘Kay?
cc: Coming2Terms Readers
We all know that I’m just now finding my sea legs with this whole “getting on with my life all barren and beautiful” so bear with me if I get a little wobbly now and then. You’ve been warned. This blog is likely to go through some growing pains (more on that and other non-mom stuff coming soon).
Truth be told, the “I am a published author” thing hasn’t really sunk in yet. I still wake up with goofy bed hair, wonder if my next 40-something years will be as weird as the first 40-something years, and, you know, generally get on with the business of living … commute to work, grocery shop, take out the trash and do the laundry, etc., etc.
Also distracting me from the culmination of five years of editorial effort, there were the brutal reality checks that came flying at me in April. If you’ve been following my Tweets you know that I had a breast cancer scare. (Yeah, I needed that like I needed a hole in the head!) One fine day in April I showed up for my annual mammogram. Two days later on a bad cellphone connection, just ahead of Easter, I heard a voice fading in and out from the imaging center saying, “Drs. so and so don’t like what they see” — can I come back the Tuesday after Easter for an ultrasound of my mysterious mammaries. WTF?
Yeah, it felt not so great to be consumed with the big “C” while, tra la, the rest of the (Christian) world gorged on chocolate bunnies and spiral sliced hams. Monday in the office felt like a month of Mondays and Tuesday morning after 90 minutes of getting my girls slammed, scanned and prodded by three different people wearing white coats (nasty flashbacks of IVF clinics all the while dancing in my head while I prepared for the bad news), I learned that unlike IVF I flunked all the tests but passed the final.
Then, there’s this whole virus thing. Nothing like a little cancer scare and pandemic threat to grab you by the throat and remind you that life is actually quite fragile, and we humans who think we are large and in charge — not so much.
Here’s the strange thing. As an infertile, I was eerily calm about getting what looked like assuredly bad news from the imaging center, and, more recently still, I’ve been quite un-agitated contemplating the worst of the virus thing. This morning brushing my teeth I realized why I’m so whatever. Losing my breasts or losing my life just doesn’t scare me the way it once might have.
Why? I already know what it means to see my body as mangled and broken. My boobs are ornamental — always have been, always will be since the mammary glands that lie within have been and always will be dormant.
And the grim reaper thing? Not stressed in the least. Why doesn’t death scare me?
Simple. I’ve already been dead once. Worse still, I lived dead among the living with no hope, no feeling, no future.
Fortunately, after being dead I found my way back to the living. So, here in the wee hours of May with my boobs intact and my body virus free (at least that I know of), I’m happy just to be …. not stuck in the past, not fretting about the future. I just am.
(I’ve also been extraordinarily busy at work, so I apologize for the lack of visits/comments on your blogs…I hope that May brings a few moments of peace and quiet here and there so I can catch up.)