I can hardly believe I'm even typing that number: over 300 days. 10 months. Ten months. 2 more months will be a year.
Fortunately, I haven't been writing as much here because I've been busy living my life. Again, finally, finally. I am not home-free yet: I can't start work until October; I'm still on anti-rejection meds, prednisone and tons of antibiotics, and even come one year on Sept 26 it's another 4 years until I am considered "cured" of Leukemia. But I am now taking stock of my life as it is right now-- and compared to what I was four months ago, it's hard to believe that things have changed so much. I am here.
I have started going out to public spaces (if they aren't too crowded), cafes, restaurants, friends' houses, I shop for my own groceries. I have been frequenting my favorite bakery, and though I am sort-of cheating when I order their amazing smoked salmon sandwich (it has raw things on it, which is not exactly "kosher" for me right now), it is so worth it. (don't worry mom, I've only gotten it a couple times; I think my odds are still good of not getting a bad sprout)
My taste is back to normal (though there are some things that I do not like anymore!? how strange), the body aches are diminishing (great thanks to my massage therapist, Bambi. And prednisone.) My hair is coming in, very very curly, like never before! Cue the BRILLO PAD
In other news, my theatre company: the 5th wall, put up an original production last weekend: The Quiet Room. (aaand, shameless plug for our website. For pics and more info about us: the5thwall.org) We wrote the script over a few months at the beginning of the year, auditioned and cast the show with both known and new faces, and all beautiful minds, and rehearsed hard for two months. It was an amazing experience the whole way through: the ups, the downs, the grueling heat, the extreme fears and anxieties, the unsurmountable joy… And being a part of this show was the most normal life activity for me since I was diagnosed. When I am at rehearsals, I feel alive. Completely in my element. I truly forget all this shit and just do what I do best (sometimes to the detriment of my health; which is why I love my friends even more for always pointing me to my water bottle). I feel very lucky to have found something that I am both good at and also enjoy; and can also afford to do for the time being. It is not a perfect model: there are most definitely nights when I feel so lost, like the path is blocked: creatively or physically or emotionally. But it is the striving through these crazy obstacles that make it important, make it what I love. A cliche: but it is a labor of love. Through and through. And the messy nature of theatre is one of its most beautiful qualities. It gets directly at the immediate heart of life, relationships, the self, the other, love, struggle, trauma, perseverance, love, love, LOVE-- even in its very method of creation. Abraham Heschel said in an interview a few weeks before his parting from this world: "Above all, remember that you must build your life as if it were a work of art." There are a couple of interpretations of this, but the one I find to be most meaningful is this: build your life in the same way that you build a work of art: Through the mess and confusion, continue to reach for clarity, beauty, honesty, truth.
This show and this company is life-affirming for me. It reminds me why I want to get through this...tough patch. Not for any one person, not for a single one thing or one relationship, but because there is clarity, beauty, honesty and truth. I have to live for that, for myself, and for everything that is bigger than me. This is something that I have been struggling with; in spite of how strong I felt for so many months after being diagnosed. I am learning about myself and how I deal with things and people and life struggles. Trauma does that, I think. It forces you to deal with things immediately, and then you are left thinking about yourself in relation to it in the aftermath. I have learned that I am a fire-fighter. Trauma hits, and I go into survival mode: Get it done. I make jokes to get myself through, I do whatever it takes to get through. And then, as I have seen and experienced and am now realizing: something happens when the trauma is long-term. I start to lose my footing. I start to lose my drive. I guess probably anyone would, I don't really fault myself for this. And of course, my situation is extremely concentrated: spending hours alone, often in physical and/or emotional agony over the winter is not many people's experience. However, somehow I think this can be invisible-- even in people we see every day.
I am thinking a lot about how I relate to people, the mechanisms that I use to deal with things, especially to protect myself. It would be foolish for me to believe that I don't use mechanisms; we all use them-- learned from those who came before us, or in reaction to those who came before us. No one is exempt. In a way, it allows me to be more forgiving of myself and of others, for all of the folly and helpless failings. In the words of a character from The Quiet Room: "We find ourselves here, among them all, these unsolvable puzzles of things and people, just being." Just being. Trying to protect ourselves, experimenting with life and choices and our bodies and minds and other people and experiencing the vast spectrum and gamut of human emotions all at the same time, all of the time. It's messy. It's theatre.
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
Alive
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness.
-- ee cummings
