12 September 2011

It Takes a Village

Everyone handles their own cancer in their own way.  I know people who thought of it as a deeply personal journey and were comfortable navigating on their own,  I know people who leaned heavily only on family and very very close friends and left the rest of the world out.  I don't do mine like that.

My philosophy is that it takes a village.  So I'm damn lucky I live in one.  When someone in our midst is stricken with an eeny-meeny-miney-mo kind of illness like cancer, it feels good to do a little something for them as a token, prayer or insurance policy against but-for-the-grace-of-god-go-I.  Having not had to deal with this before, I never realized how overwhelming the prospect of total debilitation is. You can bet that when I'm feeling better down the road I'll be helping out others in a more meaningful, well informed way.  It feels pretty good that I now have this knowledge.

When I tell people I have cancer, (and let's face it, I tell everyone,) the most common response I get is "I'll pray for you" or "You'll be in my prayers." I've got Baptists and Catholics and Jews (Oh, my!) all praying for me and I figure the more the merrier. May as well cover all the bases. ;-)  I believe in the power of prayer, but in a rather Jewish, practical way.  Pray as though everything depended on G-d; Act as though everything depended on you.  So my name is on the misheberach list, but I'm also going to the best breast surgeon I found and following an aggressive course of treatment.  You know, covering all of my bases.


It's hard to ask for help, not from the I'm-too-proud point of view, but more in the vein of I-don't-fold-my-towels-like-that. It's often harder for me to analyze and describe what I want/need than it is to just do it myself. Patricia is going nuts because I won't give her any specific needs (what/where/when) so she can match volunteers to them. And being the micro-manager that I am, having people mixing my nylon/silicon/wood cooking utensils in with my metal ones is going to drive me ape shit. But I'm going to have to let it go because I sure as hell won't feel like cooking.

I find no shame in having cancer.  Even if its a 'private' body part.  So I don't feel shy about people knowing.  I have a slight twinge when I say I'm having a double mastectomy and they automatically look at my chest, but that'll stop after the surgery when people feel they have to muster the self control - "Don't look at her chest, don't look at her chest, don't look at her chest!"  And don't worry - if you do slip up and I catch you staring at the alien shape of my expanders, it's not like I'm going to post your name on page in the blog.  (Even if I do like the idea.)  Yes, they kind of look like grey-scale fried eggs.