Once upon a time cancer was something that happened to other people. People who lived in Chernobyll, or near transformers or who smoked or who were genetically predisposed to the pathology. Then, one day, the mammogram came back with faint markings. Then, the biopsy came back positive. Now I know that one in eight people will get cancer, most of them with no genetic markers.
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When you identify as a 13-year-old boy even though biology and your license clearly state that you are in fact a middle aged woman, you take your fun where you may. Many times, this fun equates to fart and poop jokes because, well, they are funny and it is a universal experience. Another universal experience is sadness. Every single human on the planet has bouts with sadness. It can be overwhelming, diagnosed as depression or not. My experience as a teacher, mother, and person who has been thusly diagnosed and surrounded by those who are similarly diagnosed ( or should have been) has led me on a quest for coping mechanisms. Today’s coping mechanism is to tap into my identity as a neurodivergent human. After watching many reels on Instagram, I happened upon the advice to wave one’s arms and hands in an attempt to jump start the creation of serotonin. It works. It is super hard to not smile while pretending to be a tube man from the side of the road. Why am I telling you this? My youngest woke up and declared, “ I am having a depressive episode.” Not sure if this was a plea for help, attention, or just a declaration, I decided to respond with options. I suggested that it is ok to feel sad sometimes and that noticing it is good. I asked if my adult child had gotten adequate sleep, water, nutrition, exercise and sunshine. This gave the opportunity for self-reflection and regulation. There was no food on board. I made the suggestion to do the “tube man” in my office and demonstrated the moves. This brought about a smile and an action list, “ Ok, I am going to get something to eat, change for work and head out.” Mission accomplished. Next, I ran into my eldest, as this adult child had a break from his morning Intensive Out Patient Therapy session. Having knocked on my office door, entered on my invitation and sat in the chair next to my desk, answered, “ I think I am down because of the recent weather.” This led to another demonstration of the “tube man” and the recommendation for motion. This was met with a sigh,” what about my last shreds of dignity?” I went on to point out that this motion could be done in the bathroom or bedroom with shades drawn, no need for loss of dignity I fear that I have strayed from the course. As we sat resting ( some of us yawning repetitively), one adult child to either side,my youngest points a finger, putting it in my range, and I demure, knowing full well that pulling that finger would lead to a gaseous emission. The eldest to my left starts to tell me to go to bed, that it is ok and I have his permission and that I tell him to go to sleep when he is tired all of the time. I resist out of sheer rebelliousness until he threatens to pull the proffered finger of my youngest. At that point, I have had enough of being bossed around and threatened with chemical warfare. My wife wisely points out, “ that’s shitty.”. I was born to two people who identified as Jewish Americans. I went to Orthodox Jewish Yeshiva twice. Once when I was 4, and then again from third to eighth grade. While my immediate family ( my father and me) considered ourselves to be Conservative Jews, our practice did not reflect those traditions. My father kept kosher by keeping three sets of dishes. One was for milk, one was for meat, and the third was for trafe, or unkosher food. He didn't buy kosher meat or look for a kosher symbol on our food. We often had BLT's, shrimp and lobster. None of these foods are kosher.
When my 4-year-old self attended Orthodox Yeshiva Pre-school, I was challenged and loved the experience. I came home from school and announced that we should keep a kosher home, since I was going to a school where they taught that it was a mitzvah to keep kosher. Ever the rule follower, I informed my father that we should change our ways. He agreed and took me out to dinner to our local Chinese Food restaurant to celebrate. He allowed me to order my usual dish, shrimp chow mein. When it arrived, he announced that if we were going to keep kosher, I could eat the vegetables, but not the shrimp. I changed my mind on keeping kosher that minute and gobbled up my shrimp with gusto. I figured that there were other mitzvot that I could do. Luckiest woman alive that I am, I have many superheroes. They wear different costumes than those depicted in comics or by Marvel/DC. These folks have faced devastating losses and picked themselves back up, only to thrive. People who have outlived children, whether their biological offspring or another's that they have loved and deal with that loss. Every. Single. Day. Cancer survivors, too many to name, who got the diagnosis and got treatment knowing how awful it would be, but chose to live for their families and friends. Survivors of domestic abuse, physical and mental, who greet each day with a smile and know that they can do anything because they have survived hell. Survivors of rape, the kind on tv and in the movies as well as the folks who did not want to be touched, or spoken to, or treated with violence in their most vulnerable spots and just did not have a choice. Every single person who is living through this pandemic is a superhero. The uncertainty of each day, the risk involved in each task, the lack of care expressed by some, and the ferocity to protect themselves of others makes a simple trek to the grocery store or a walk around the block dangerous enough to need preparation time to walk out the door. I live with trauma. My therapist has often suggested that I call these people to me because the trauma informed seek out their own kind. How do you treat trauma? Radical acceptance? Meditation? Retraining your amygdala so that someone waving "hi" too close doesn't make you jump or drop to the deck? Drugs? EMDR? Body work? Journal writing? Throwing yourself into hobbies? Desperately needing to perform because applause is the only approval you understand? Promiscuous sex because that gives you the power? Kick boxing? Karate? Kayaking? Cleaning your house until it shines? Making sure that you are so busy you don't have time to think? Eating all of the food so that you have a literal bodysuit of armor? Losing the weight because it isn't healthy? Putting it all back on with extra when the next hit comes? Self deprecating humor so that you beat them all to the punch? Assuming that there will be a punch that you have to beat them to? Always wanting to make it all ok for everyone all of the time and being disappointed that you can't even begin to fix it for anyone else because you can't even fix yourself? You, the trauma informed, who are taking this on like a pro, you are killing it right now. Yeah, I see you. I know you see me, too. We are all just doing the best we can with what we have. We are all superheroes, now. |
AuthorI make stuff. Sometimes the stuff is pretty, sometimes not. My wife, 2 dogs, 3 kids and 3 cats keep me busy and on my toes. Archives
January 2022
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