I’m Talyaa and I have cancer.
I don’t know why I said that. Just needed to, I guess. So anyway, a bunch of things have happened since we talked last. I figure that if I get them out of the way and bring you up to today in the Deep Pit Of Everything And Nothing that is my brain, tomorrow I can start fresh.
I had the flu.
Or maybe it wasn’t the flu. It felt like the flu. Day One was a sore throat, sniffly nose, and crying. Day Two was massive fever, lying nearly comatose, and wondering if I was dying. Day Three was like Day Two only less. But now I feel more awake, more hopeful, more energetic, and more ALIVE since before the hospital at the end of July. So maybe it wasn’t the flu and maybe it was what they call a healing reaction. Cancer hates fevers. Fevers kill cancer. And I had the highest fever I’ve had in years.
I hope I never again feel as bad as I felt this week. I also hope that I do. I expect to get more fevers before I am completely healed. Fevers are the body’s way of getting in gear, taking it up a notch. And the more I can get my body on board with healing the weeds in my garden, the better.
My kids came.
Two of them did. Say hi to Serena and Eric. Serena is 12 and is going to get a kitten. Eric is 8, has Down syndrome, and is fascinated by the thought of monsters in closets. It was so good to see them. Brief. I was tired. It was not enough time. But good. Something is more complete now. And it felt really good to be more myself with them. I used to be … remote? My mother always wore a Mother Hat with me and my brother. I hated that Mother Hat. We’d be at a department store or something and she’d wear the Mother Hat. It made her spine really straight, like she had something stuck up there, and it made her weirdly jovial with strangers. So embarrassing. Why wasn’t she herself? Naturally when I became a mother I assumed I had to do the same thing. Mistake. I hate that I never really knew my mother. I hate that when we lived together my kids knew me as a woman wearing a Mother Hat. No more. Now they get to see Talyaa.
I felt hopeless.
Depths of despair. Pit of hell. Deep utter blank bleak cave of darkness. I hope I also never feel THAT again. For two days I lay on the floor and cried. I cried in the shower. I cried in my bedroom. I cried silently at night under white covers. I cried and wondered how much crying a person could do. I wanted to beat my head against a concrete wall so something would hurt more than the hurt I already felt. Maybe if blood dripped down the side of my face I would feel more alive. Not that I was 100% sure I wanted to feel alive at all, not if being alive was being in pain. Hopelessness hurts like hell.
Then I felt hope.
It happened three nights ago. Kahuna will say it’s the night I did the Striptease Jig. I have never felt so good, so alive, so … ME. Unedited. All my life I’ve thrown energy into self-editing, figuring out what was going to be accepted or encouraged or allowed in the eyes of people around me and then doing that instead of doing what pleased me. What Pleased Me probably got spanked right out of me when I was little. Now I have it back. A piece of it, anyway. I have been there and felt what it’s like to be 100% completely me, unedited. Like I was IN the world, not just an observer OF the world. My body felt fluid, trusting, supple. I have never laughed so much.
I am going back there. It’s where I intend to live. It’s where I will feel alive.
I hope you come along.