It's OK to be really super not OK

Whatever the cancer equivalent of nesting is, that’s what we spent yesterday doing. It had been a while since we’d really cleaned the apartment, mostly because it’s hard to remember to vacuum when you don’t have pets. I used to know it was time to vacuum because a giant dust-bunny made up of Max and/or Mara’s fur would drift by. 

So anyway, our nesting consisted of Joe putting together a new bedframe because our old one sucked and led to many nights of terrible sleeps, while I dusted and vacuumed and generally ORGANIZED, which is my favorite pastime. To be honest, part of the reason I think I felt compelled to do it was because, in about a week or so, I’m not going to be able to do it for a while, and I’d rather not spend my last “fun” weekend before surgery (next weekend) cleaning the apartment. (Fun is in quotes because I have to get a COVID test next weekend, but other than that…FUN ALL CAPS.)

One thing I did notice was that having a mission for the day, even though it was something small, helped my mental well-being a whole lot. That, or spending most of Saturday wallowing in a sea of depression helped. 

I’ve been having a hard couple of days, really. I don’t want to worry people. I never have. I will try to put a positive spin on almost anything. But this situation is throwing me. I want so badly to be positive for everyone, all the time. But this is, not surprisingly, really hard. I keep trying to remind myself that it’s impossible to be positive all the time during normal times, let alone in the midst of a scary health crisis, so it’s OK to be struggling. 

This struggle has filled a larger portion of the last few days than I’d like. But here’s the thing...I know that being positive and having a good attitude is going to be really helpful during all of this. I know this because everyone in the world keeps telling me. And, for the most part, I’m able to muster up some positivity each day.

But I also think there is a benefit to a good wallow. Seriously. If you don’t make a point to sit in a blanket nest on your couch while binging something terrible on Netflix and feeling a bit sorry for yourself every now and then, you should really try it.

I told Joe yesterday, when he found me crying on the couch, that there are all of these feelings to sort through right now, and there’s nothing to do but just wait for them to hit and work through them as we’re able. (He knows. He’s feeling it all, too.) And the thing is? I usually feel better after a feelings tornado hits and I make it through. I just wish think it would be a lot more convenient if I could schedule these mental breakdowns. 

So, yeah, Saturday, I spent most of the day wallowing and feeling sorry for myself, and that’s OK. I was sorting through some pretty dark shit, to be honest, because this is all really scary and really new. And that’s OK. I’m grieving the loss of my so-called “normal” life…the life I won’t see for a while. GUESS WHAT, that’s OK. 

The thing is, my life has changed immensely and irrevocably in the last three weeks. Less than a month ago, I didn’t even know I had cancer. I’ve gone from living my life like I always do to being diagnosed with cancer and staring down a debilitating surgery and bleak few months (if I’m lucky) of treatment and recovery in a really short span of time. So I feel like, even though I know I need to think positively, it’s pretty damn understandable that I might slip into a bad place every now and then. I’m lucky, though. I have a lot of people to pull me out.