Day 394: back to work, in every sense.

I wanted to wait until I had done the thing before I wrote about it. I needed to make sure I could get through it, with my new and different body and my new and different life. And I am here to tell you, well, I did it.

I am back to work.

I have started a new job (with limited hours starting off, thankfully) at A&J King, an artisan bakery in Salem. (ALL OF THE STICKY BUNS). It was a big thing to be back to work—way bigger than I anticipated actually. I didn’t feel the weight of the first day until one of my old regulars from Atomic came in and I suddenly found myself crying. Well, crying in the way that my body lets me cry now, which is exactly ZERO tears whatsoever (where are the eye drops when I need them? “Oh, I’m crying---hold on...” *puts in drops*. This scene will definitely make an appearance in my one-woman cancer comedy) I had to sort of cower in the employee corner for a second after he left. It was so good to see him--a familiar face that went along with my life before cancer.

It’s been a rough couple weeks, and a good couple weeks I guess. Good in that I am so glad to have structure in my life that does not involve the hospital. Good that I am meeting new people, which is really good for me as a human. Good that I am working at the bakery I have been wanting to work at for a while now. It’s been rough with the limitations of my body. This brain had been programmed with 25 years of experience with the old Bekah. This brain has my old body encoded: the whens, whats, hows and how longs of doing things, simple and complicated tasks, getting sick and being sick. How much weight I could lift, how long I could go, the strain I could survive. Then, cancer. Then, chemo. Then, chemo. Then, chemo. On top of that, a year of sitting around in an apartment or hospital room, watching my body whither away, muscles gone. My stamina is severely diminished. This is all very hard to take. Multiple times a day I have to remind myself of the things that I can not do. Don’t lift that box, you won’t be able to. Don’t make that much food, you won’t be able to eat all of it. Wear a million layers because you are ALWAYS COLD. Or, I’ll walk to work (a casual 10 minutes) and be completely winded and need to sit down with my new inhaler. One set of stairs still does me in. I have been told (finally to my great comfort) that lots of these things are very normal for a cancer patient, especially one in my situation. Okay. I keep trying to remind myself (and enlisting others to help me do so) that I am not done. That my body is still healing, it's not done yet. All of my bones and muscles (especially spine, shoulder and hips) are still recovering from being completely ravaged by a near-fatal treatment. The neurotoxicity from that treatment has now caused several newly developed peripheral neuropathy problems. With all the crap after the fact, and being in 'good standing' with my blood counts and liver/kidney numbers (which of course I am very pleased about)---it’s easy to feel like this is how it will be for the rest of my life. The new normal. Cancer is gone, so this is what's left. I mean, the thing is, we don’t know for sure. I may be a sickly freezing weakling for the rest of my life.

It’s been a challenge starting a new job with these limitations. At AJ King, some of the staff don’t take breaks. This is something that cannot be an option for me. My body aches, my bones hurt, and my knee swells and stiffs up because I am not used to being on my feet anymore. I have to take breaks. I don’t feel bad about it, but it’s not in my nature to be ‘the one taking breaks’. Or saying “can you pick this up for me” I AM A STRONG WOMAN GOD DAMNIT I don’t need your help! ...Except now I do. I don’t get mad at anyone who offers to help me; that isn’t it. It’s just that my body is a foreigner and there are lots of things I am not used to and that I don’t like.

I want to be able to do what I used to do. Rely on my body the way that I did. But the fact is, my body tried to kill itself. That is a really weird thing. And I am trying to come to terms.

A friend said it well: there is mourning of the person you were. There is mourning of the life that is gone. There’s no getting around that. And I’m trying to strive past it—or, gather the good things that I have still or have now, and walk triumphantly through this dark period. But so often it seems it will not be. I struggle with the feeling that the world has opened its’ jaws and swallowed so much of my soul. It’s macabre. I wish I didn’t feel this way. I mean, even now I can say that I don’t always feel this way. But when I am alone, or frustrated over my body’s ineptitude, or feeling nostalgic for life without fucking cancer (sorry for being so vulgar, but it is appropriate. If anything is attached to ‘fuck’, it’s ‘cancer’), I feel like I am suddenly made aware of the stone and tether tied around my waist that we are all forced to carry. That there is an overwhelming waiting darkness, and every attempt to light a match eventually goes out.

This doesn’t make me feel like lighting matches isn’t worth it. Because I think there is beauty. I still have that left. But there is such a fear in me that no matter what, the match burns out. Death wins. Space is dark. Truth is dark. I am a little person.

I feel a mourning of the person I was, body and soul. I used to feel differently about the world, about my existence and about these things. I remember a time when I believed that there was enough love, enough energy in a balance and that yes, the universe was cruel, but that the human experience was beautiful. It feels like something really crucial has shifted. Maybe this is just depression. A natural occurrence after a traumatic event. I don’t want to be like this forever. I want to believe there is a balance and that there is enough love—that I don’t need to guard myself and close up. I want to be free. I am trying to document when I can—what I feel. Because the only way I can see this making any sense is if someone else understands what I am saying. I was happier believing in balance and love as the central crux of existence and being. I would go back if I could. And that doesn’t even resonate with Rilke. “Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.” I would go back if I could.

I’m trying to remember and act on Rilke’s next line: Just keep going. But when things go dark, it’s hard to feel the purpose of moving anywhere: when darkness over there is pretty much the same as the darkness over here. I don’t know. I’m cleaning myself out right now with this. I’m entertaining them all. I’m trying to get it out and maybe some sense will float to the top.

I must seem morbid. I do not always feel like this—I’ve mentioned this before when I was first starting to have a hard time: there are glimpses. I have laughed a lot over this past week. Cried a bunch too. Last night my theatre company did a collaborative show with some friends from Cape Ann Improv. It was a smash. I love things. I love people. It’s just these hours alone, and the nostalgic autumn...

another beautiful poem, by saint Rumi. please read it.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever come.

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

--------------------------------

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going.
No feeling is final.


back to work. in every sense.