I met with the cancer counselor again last week, noting that I've moved from anxiety to curiosity about what's next, a much better place to be. I so appreciate the women who've answered my questions and shared their experience, strength and hope.
My primary home group in the Time of Zoom (I have three) was intense this past week, with members sharing from the heart about really tough stuff. I continue to be in awe of how we bear witness to each other's struggles and joys, our pain and our success. I think back to when my mother was dying, when I probably shouldn't even have been allowed to drive a car but kept showing up at work. A co-worker would ask how I was doing, and I'd tell them, as appropriately honest as I could. They'd usually say, "Sorry," and move on to the task at hand, understandably.
We don't do that in AA and Alanon. In our meetings, we witness, even when it's uncomfortable or heartbreaking, when it's joyful or when we so very much relate. I sincerely appreciate our "no crosstalk" rule. OK, we all do it on occasion, but generally speaking, our 12 Step meetings are where I can say what's going on, sometimes adding, "And don't come up to me afterwards!" I'll never forget a time, years ago, when I cried my eyes out during a share, only to have some fellow approach me after the meeting, asking, "So, how's it going?" Dude, were you even listening? And I will admit to self-screening my shares, depending on the group and my perceived level of safety. Our stories disclose in a general way... and I am emotionally bound to the groups where I feel comfortable talking about the whole of it.
What I do know is that the "waiting room" of life is scary, whether that is awaiting test results, for my mom to die, to find out whether I've been accepted to school, or will be hired for a job. Spontaneity is not my strong suit. I have plans, and even when I don't, I like to know what's coming next. A holdover from growing up with the unpredictability of alcoholism? Perhaps, or maybe just my nature.
As I heard in another group, it is those in-between times that are most sacred, the liminal space of "I don't know." Between breaths, between diagnosis and treatment, the space between my plans and reality. It so often goes back to getting still, to paying attention to my heart, to saying, "What else might be true?" instead of "This is how it must be."
In the world of cosmic "so you only thought you knew what's next," I had a procedure on a forehead basal cell carcinoma this week (there's that word again). It was scheduled way back in November, and I was told to keep the appointment because they're hard to get, not knowing at the time I'd also be recovering from breast cancer surgery. So here I am, a two-inch line of stiches on my scalp, complete with bald patch where they shaved my head, and this healing bit under my arm. All I can do is chuckle at this point. I will say that the hardest part was the instruction to limit movement so the forehead didn't bust a stich and start bleeding - no lifting over ten pounds, including purses, groceries, children and grandchildren (specifics per written instruction), no bending over at the waist, keep blood pressure down, and stay on the couch or bed as much as possible. Sigh... I will admit to breaking rank sooner than I should've, doing just a wee bit of gardening, seated, and paid for it with a headache. OK, OK, I'll do my best to do nothing.
And then, as the restrictions lessen and the healing proceeds, I have a new appreciation for the little things - picking something up off the ground, walking five miles with my Saturday training crew, sleeping on my "usual" side. These last few months have been, if not a jolt of a "wake up call," a nudge to pay attention to all that I take for granted.
Maybe it's the hint of slow-coming spring, or perhaps that I'm feeling less existential dread, but I've found recent energy to dive into a few small projects, like framing a couple of things that have sat in my To-Do shoebox for too long. I've also registered to walk the Portland Half Marathon in October - a worthy goal, and one I can train for on my own (vs a full marathon, which is a challenge even with buddies). If getting sober was a second chance to engage in life, maybe this diagnosis business is a third opportunity to ask, "what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" (Mary Oliver)
Where do you feel safe to share what's really going on? Is there anything in your life at the moment that feels like "waiting room" territory? In addition to your idea of how things should play out, what else might be true?
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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th
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