In the Catholic Church liturgical calendar there is an acknowledgment of “ordinary Time”. This is the time between holidays and the time that is not Christmas or Easter or Good Friday or Advent.
It feels like that here in the land of love and cancer too. It’s not chemo or blood tests or attorneys. It’s not exhilaration or tragedy. This day and this week are filled with grocery shopping, golf lessons, parent’s night, and girl friends. I am picking up library books, allergy medicine, dry cleaning and avocados.
Having been in cancer land so much this year I have to stop and remind myself that this ordinary time is the real holiday, the true luxury, the blessing and the gift.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Colonoscopy
Yesterday it hit me. The nervousness I feel is because April is almost at an end and May is almost here. May has seemed far off until now. And May scares me because we both have colonoscopies in May. First John’s and then mine. I’m scared of them both. I run through scenarios: If his is bad do I go ahead with mine? If his is OK and I go for mine what if I’m not OK? If his is OK do I skip mine to give us a year of no trauma? If his is bad and then mine is bad too do we end up in hospice together? So much for one day at a time.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Golf Lesson
Yesterday I had a golf lesson with the course pro. A nice guy who hit that perfect middle between “guy’s guy” and “ladies man”. We broke down my swing into slow motion. I formed internal images of what I want and he gave me several swing exercises to practice. Exercises that give me feedback. I can hear and feel if I am doing it right. My body will learn and my head will follow.
Makes me wish for the same in new relationship skills. Bring the body and the mind will follow. Change your behavior and your thinking will align. Breakdown the new skill into baby steps and master each tiny change. One day I will simply swing and hit the ball high and far, and someday I will say, “No”, “Yes” or “Here is what will work best for me.”
Makes me wish for the same in new relationship skills. Bring the body and the mind will follow. Change your behavior and your thinking will align. Breakdown the new skill into baby steps and master each tiny change. One day I will simply swing and hit the ball high and far, and someday I will say, “No”, “Yes” or “Here is what will work best for me.”
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Awkward Sex
Oh, and then there are those moments in a relationship when something happens and sex is awkward. Something doesn’t work or you want something the other can’t do or the other one wants something you’re not sure, or you both try a new trick and it bombs.
This is the turning point, the critical moment when you know whether you are a couple or not. Do you laugh? Yes, with each other not at. Do you cry? Maybe, both of you. Do you get mad, yes that happens too and the words come fast and hopefully not too many.
I talk to myself. And I talk to him. “This is us” I say. “This is our sex life not anyone else’s; we get to make the rules.” “This is us” he says. And we hold each other.
This is the turning point, the critical moment when you know whether you are a couple or not. Do you laugh? Yes, with each other not at. Do you cry? Maybe, both of you. Do you get mad, yes that happens too and the words come fast and hopefully not too many.
I talk to myself. And I talk to him. “This is us” I say. “This is our sex life not anyone else’s; we get to make the rules.” “This is us” he says. And we hold each other.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Baseball is Back
Baseball season is here and it adds another layer to our lives. We both love the game and are able to teach each other. He knows more about now and I know more about then. I love the history and he loves the Yankees. It’s a source of humor, anger, passion and of competition. It’s a source of metaphors too—many of them sexual --which makes it even more fun. Here’s to getting to third base and charging home with a scream and a cheer!
Saturday, April 18, 2009
The All Nighter
Maybe we needed to clear the air. Maybe it’s the frustration of the legal, financial and medical all colliding like three cold fronts. Maybe it’s the dynamic of a relationship that needs a blow-out the way the earth needs a storm to clear and rebalance nature.
Last night was an all-nighter, the blow-out and the storm.
Today we woke to warm weather and partly cloudy changing to warm sun.
We are changed for good or ill. Painful things were said. Tender things were cried.
We said the unsaid and the unsayable.
We go on.
Last night was an all-nighter, the blow-out and the storm.
Today we woke to warm weather and partly cloudy changing to warm sun.
We are changed for good or ill. Painful things were said. Tender things were cried.
We said the unsaid and the unsayable.
We go on.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Girlfriends
The saving grace yesterday was girlfriends. The women with whom I can be completely honest and who I can safely show my scared heart and messy mind are treasures in my life. I talked to one friend on the phone and had dinner with another. We laughed at our fears and fantasies and helped each other to exaggerate the scenes but then also counseled each other off the ledge.
“We are only as sick as our secrets” we say in AA and a grief shared in halved while a joy shared is doubled. I saw that come true yesterday moaning, whining, laughing and saying, “…there’s one more thing…” and telling all.
How lucky am I to have friends like this?
“We are only as sick as our secrets” we say in AA and a grief shared in halved while a joy shared is doubled. I saw that come true yesterday moaning, whining, laughing and saying, “…there’s one more thing…” and telling all.
How lucky am I to have friends like this?
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Intuition
How do I tell the difference between intuition and fear? A lot of fears have arisen in me around John and his life. Is it my old fear? Projection? Hearing so much about people with cancer yesterday? Knowing that he is capable of telling lies? My own thought pattern of doubt? This is a crummy place to be and I want it to be different. The truth is that I want me to be different. I want peace for myself and peace in my own heart more than I want to be with him.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Trust
Last week I had this thought:
When someone has cheated on you it’s very hard to trust again.
But it’s also true that when someone has cheated with you it’s also hard to trust again.
But today I had this thought:
(and maybe Easter was part of my shift)
I don’t have to trust him; I only have to trust God.
When someone has cheated on you it’s very hard to trust again.
But it’s also true that when someone has cheated with you it’s also hard to trust again.
But today I had this thought:
(and maybe Easter was part of my shift)
I don’t have to trust him; I only have to trust God.
Friday, April 10, 2009
We Are Easter People
I have an Easter memory from years ago. I was living in Washington, DC, and that year was a low point in my life. My older sister had recently died and both of my brothers were seriously ill; my best friend was leaving town, and on top of that I was questioning my work.
In my journal that April I wrote, “Am I depressed?” When I read those pages now I laugh and shake my head. “Depressed?” That I even had to ask. In that long year I thought I’d never laugh again, just as I thought I’d never again feel love, the joy of easy friendship, or the satisfaction of good work.
I went to church that Easter out of both habit and desperation. I had grown up in a church going family. It was what we did. And so to honor the family that I was losing I went. I chose a big downtown church for Easter services—one with hundreds in the congregation--not daring to visit a smaller church where I might have to speak to people or be embarrassed by my own tears. I wanted the paradoxical safety and anonymity of being in a crowd.
The minister that Easter Sunday said many things that I don’t remember but one sentence has stayed with me all these years. He said, “We live in a Good Friday world…” That I understood. A Good Friday world is a world full of suffering, questioning, unfairness, trouble, mistakes, hurts, losses and grief. That was certainly confirmation of my life that day. “But”, he continued, “We are Easter people.” Those words stopped me cold. I was stunned to be reminded that painful morning that there was something other than what I was feeling.
My life was not instantly transformed; his words did not change the course of my brothers’ illness; nor give me answers to my questions. But the idea of being “Easter people” gave me a pause in my grief and the teeniest hope that there really did exist something other than pain.
Today all of the things that hurt so much back then have changed. As my brothers died friends came forward to help. I began to write and publish. Months later I fell in love and moved to upstate New York where a new life began with new friends, new work and yes, of course, new problems.
What strikes me now is that this believing in “Easter” in the midst of “Good Friday” is as much about being an American as it is about being Christian. Americans are, by character, a people of reinvention. There is an extra layer of intention that we bring to “new life” that isn’t true even in other predominately Christian cultures. As Americans we are future oriented, we look forward not back, and we are, for the most part, a culture of optimistic, hopeful people.
The gift from that Easter service many years ago was the reminder that we are, by religion or culture, a people who believe in possibility. When our hearts are shattered we are sometimes shocked to discover that there is joy as well as pain inside. Out of the ashes of our mistakes, from our defeats and even our despair, we rise again in better lives.
In my journal that April I wrote, “Am I depressed?” When I read those pages now I laugh and shake my head. “Depressed?” That I even had to ask. In that long year I thought I’d never laugh again, just as I thought I’d never again feel love, the joy of easy friendship, or the satisfaction of good work.
I went to church that Easter out of both habit and desperation. I had grown up in a church going family. It was what we did. And so to honor the family that I was losing I went. I chose a big downtown church for Easter services—one with hundreds in the congregation--not daring to visit a smaller church where I might have to speak to people or be embarrassed by my own tears. I wanted the paradoxical safety and anonymity of being in a crowd.
The minister that Easter Sunday said many things that I don’t remember but one sentence has stayed with me all these years. He said, “We live in a Good Friday world…” That I understood. A Good Friday world is a world full of suffering, questioning, unfairness, trouble, mistakes, hurts, losses and grief. That was certainly confirmation of my life that day. “But”, he continued, “We are Easter people.” Those words stopped me cold. I was stunned to be reminded that painful morning that there was something other than what I was feeling.
My life was not instantly transformed; his words did not change the course of my brothers’ illness; nor give me answers to my questions. But the idea of being “Easter people” gave me a pause in my grief and the teeniest hope that there really did exist something other than pain.
Today all of the things that hurt so much back then have changed. As my brothers died friends came forward to help. I began to write and publish. Months later I fell in love and moved to upstate New York where a new life began with new friends, new work and yes, of course, new problems.
What strikes me now is that this believing in “Easter” in the midst of “Good Friday” is as much about being an American as it is about being Christian. Americans are, by character, a people of reinvention. There is an extra layer of intention that we bring to “new life” that isn’t true even in other predominately Christian cultures. As Americans we are future oriented, we look forward not back, and we are, for the most part, a culture of optimistic, hopeful people.
The gift from that Easter service many years ago was the reminder that we are, by religion or culture, a people who believe in possibility. When our hearts are shattered we are sometimes shocked to discover that there is joy as well as pain inside. Out of the ashes of our mistakes, from our defeats and even our despair, we rise again in better lives.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
His Mother Asks
Visiting John’s mother last week and while he was in the kitchen making coffee his mother turned to me and said, “Do you love him?”
We’ve been together a couple of years and I have known her for more than a year. She’s seen us together in many settings and has, I know, talked to him about me. Then this question, “Do you love him?”
It is a mother asking, “Do you love my boy?” and “Are you going to be good for him?” and “Will you take care of him?”
It was also, and I heard this, a mother saying, “Don’t hurt my boy.”
We’ve been together a couple of years and I have known her for more than a year. She’s seen us together in many settings and has, I know, talked to him about me. Then this question, “Do you love him?”
It is a mother asking, “Do you love my boy?” and “Are you going to be good for him?” and “Will you take care of him?”
It was also, and I heard this, a mother saying, “Don’t hurt my boy.”
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Thinking about Death
I kill John over and over. Even before he had cancer, and especially now that he does, I imagine his death. I am imagining him being taken away from me. I am imagining losing him. To be fair, I have always done this—imagined that people I love will die. It’s not without grounds; all of my family has died and I watched each one go, some fast, some slow. Now, having this long fought for love, there is a special cruelty in his cancer. There are real grounds for my fear. But I also know that I can lose what is here and what is now by constantly living in his dying.
On our vacation to Florida I read the book, “Beginner’s Greek” by James Collins and in it I discovered this line that I cherish as a new mantra:
“For the sake of goodness and love, man shall grant death no dominion over his thoughts.”
It is from “The Magic Mountain”, by Thomas Mann.
On our vacation to Florida I read the book, “Beginner’s Greek” by James Collins and in it I discovered this line that I cherish as a new mantra:
“For the sake of goodness and love, man shall grant death no dominion over his thoughts.”
It is from “The Magic Mountain”, by Thomas Mann.
Friday, April 3, 2009
The Past Creates Today's fear
Yesterday in therapy I talked about this fear I have of somehow being tricked in this relationship. I know my fears of abandonment and the long standing sense of defectiveness that have been part of me for so long, but as we talked I kept coming up with this word “tricked”. It didn’t quite fit until I began to talk about how my mother could change on a dime, how her addiction to Dexedrine made her into two people: the 9 to 9 “perfect mother”…and then the Medea-ish monster that slowly appeared after 9pm as the Dexedrine wore off. Medea is the right persona. Like her, my mother was so angry at my father that she would hurt her children out of her own grief and fury. What I now understand is that as a kid it felt like a trick—someone had tricked me—I had a good, super-engaged and active, manic mother part of the day and at night the monster appeared and my better mother was gone.
The lasting piece is that I have come to not just expect but to anticipate and even strategize to deal with the other. I do this with John too. Sure he says he loves me, yes he wants to marry me, yes all the words and behaviors are there, but that younger part of me knows—she is just sure that she knows—he will trick me. One day I’ll come home to an ice cold man or one day he will just not come home.
It is not lost on me that this is also what his wife did experience. The loss of her seemingly perfect husband and seemingly perfect marriage must seem like the cruelest, most senseless trick. In my struggle to free myself from my old beliefs I also pray for her as she lives thru this reality.
The lasting piece is that I have come to not just expect but to anticipate and even strategize to deal with the other. I do this with John too. Sure he says he loves me, yes he wants to marry me, yes all the words and behaviors are there, but that younger part of me knows—she is just sure that she knows—he will trick me. One day I’ll come home to an ice cold man or one day he will just not come home.
It is not lost on me that this is also what his wife did experience. The loss of her seemingly perfect husband and seemingly perfect marriage must seem like the cruelest, most senseless trick. In my struggle to free myself from my old beliefs I also pray for her as she lives thru this reality.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Chop Wood Carry Water
There is an old Zen saying:
Before enlightenment: Chop wood, carry water.
After enlightenment: Chop wood, carry water.
It applies to cancer too:
Before cancer: Chop wood, carry water, buy groceries, pay bills, make love.
After cancer: Chop wood, carry water, buy groceries, pay bills, make love.
Before and after cancer there are bills to pay and water on the sink, socks in the dryer, deadlines, aches, pains, worries, bad TV, great movies, Facebook, missed birthdays, cranky coworkers, amazing friends, too much candy, not enough water, and a poem every day.
Before enlightenment: Chop wood, carry water.
After enlightenment: Chop wood, carry water.
It applies to cancer too:
Before cancer: Chop wood, carry water, buy groceries, pay bills, make love.
After cancer: Chop wood, carry water, buy groceries, pay bills, make love.
Before and after cancer there are bills to pay and water on the sink, socks in the dryer, deadlines, aches, pains, worries, bad TV, great movies, Facebook, missed birthdays, cranky coworkers, amazing friends, too much candy, not enough water, and a poem every day.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Projection
Today a lesson in projection.
I seem to have to learn this over and over but here it is again.
Yesterday I was ambivalent; I kept a secret; I was dishonest.
Last evening I was certain that he was ambivalent; he seemed evasive and I wondered, “Is he really telling me the truth?”
That of course raddled me. I was sure he was pulling away, his commitments uncertain and feelings unclear.
Then I felt needy and insecure, could not be comforted.
So I began to pull away.
Today as I dissected it I saw that it all began with my behavior.
I took my discomfort with my own actions and I
projected it all onto him.
Then watching that movie I distressed myself further.
Note to me: I made myself miserable. Don’t do this again.
I seem to have to learn this over and over but here it is again.
Yesterday I was ambivalent; I kept a secret; I was dishonest.
Last evening I was certain that he was ambivalent; he seemed evasive and I wondered, “Is he really telling me the truth?”
That of course raddled me. I was sure he was pulling away, his commitments uncertain and feelings unclear.
Then I felt needy and insecure, could not be comforted.
So I began to pull away.
Today as I dissected it I saw that it all began with my behavior.
I took my discomfort with my own actions and I
projected it all onto him.
Then watching that movie I distressed myself further.
Note to me: I made myself miserable. Don’t do this again.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Return from Vacation
Home from vacation. Sunshine. Wearing white. Wearing pastel. Wearing sleeveless shirts and colorful rubber flip flops. Each day I texted my beach report to my pal, Leslie, a fellow mermaid. The ocean changes color daily and has different moods as well. As mer-gals we treasure this variation.
The trip was good. A visit with John’s mother and sister. Fabulous food. Feeling free to be affectionate in front of family. Waking to the sound of mourning doves and bird song. Our own birdsong at morning.
Home now to rain and cooler weather. A day alone for laundry, library, dry cleaner and drugstore. A few groceries for our own meals again.
While we were away a friend died. He had been diagnosed with lung cancer a year ago and made it this far. Two weeks ago at John’s oncology check up we ran into Tony picking up his medications from his oncologist. I introduced the two men and we laughed about cancer. Tony’s memorial is today at five.
The trip was good. A visit with John’s mother and sister. Fabulous food. Feeling free to be affectionate in front of family. Waking to the sound of mourning doves and bird song. Our own birdsong at morning.
Home now to rain and cooler weather. A day alone for laundry, library, dry cleaner and drugstore. A few groceries for our own meals again.
While we were away a friend died. He had been diagnosed with lung cancer a year ago and made it this far. Two weeks ago at John’s oncology check up we ran into Tony picking up his medications from his oncologist. I introduced the two men and we laughed about cancer. Tony’s memorial is today at five.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Body and Brain
I’m reading a wonderful book called, “Proust Was A Neuroscientist” by Jonah Leher. He’s describing how artists—in different fields—anticipated and sometimes better explored what we have come to know now from neuroscience.
He writes about what Walt Whitman “discovered”—that our bodies have or are our brains—feelings generated by the body not just the brain, “the mind is embodied.” What came to be though of as Whitman’s bawdiness was in fact his discovery and delight that our body thinks and our minds feel.
Whitman’s discovery and celebration was so important because it followed years of Descartian thinking—really thinking. Descartes had divided being into two distinct substances: a holy soul and a mortal carcass. The soul or mind was reason and thinking, the body just carried that soul around. Descartes thinking led then—here’s where it gets weird—to Phrenology—studying the skull. The worship of the brain became study of the bone around it. It’s amazing now to realize how much medical attention, study, research and, yes, medical treatment was based on phrenology.
Yes, we laugh and roll our eyes. But wait. We think that study of the skull makes no sense but someday we’ll look back and have the same embarrassed look when we think about PET scans and CAT scans, “Look, they thought the physical structure of the brain was evidence and prescriptive..how odd and dumb they (we) were.”
Mind and body, brain and soul. Back and forth we go, trying to understand these beings that we are. Spiritual beings trying to live human lives. Human beings carrying around and caring for our souls.
Tomorrow I’m taking brain and body, mind and soul on vacation. I need rest for them all. And John too. Off we go to Florida, sunlight and the dearest god of respite I know: the ocean and the beach.
We’ll be back in seven days.
This story of love in the time of cancer will continue then.
He writes about what Walt Whitman “discovered”—that our bodies have or are our brains—feelings generated by the body not just the brain, “the mind is embodied.” What came to be though of as Whitman’s bawdiness was in fact his discovery and delight that our body thinks and our minds feel.
Whitman’s discovery and celebration was so important because it followed years of Descartian thinking—really thinking. Descartes had divided being into two distinct substances: a holy soul and a mortal carcass. The soul or mind was reason and thinking, the body just carried that soul around. Descartes thinking led then—here’s where it gets weird—to Phrenology—studying the skull. The worship of the brain became study of the bone around it. It’s amazing now to realize how much medical attention, study, research and, yes, medical treatment was based on phrenology.
Yes, we laugh and roll our eyes. But wait. We think that study of the skull makes no sense but someday we’ll look back and have the same embarrassed look when we think about PET scans and CAT scans, “Look, they thought the physical structure of the brain was evidence and prescriptive..how odd and dumb they (we) were.”
Mind and body, brain and soul. Back and forth we go, trying to understand these beings that we are. Spiritual beings trying to live human lives. Human beings carrying around and caring for our souls.
Tomorrow I’m taking brain and body, mind and soul on vacation. I need rest for them all. And John too. Off we go to Florida, sunlight and the dearest god of respite I know: the ocean and the beach.
We’ll be back in seven days.
This story of love in the time of cancer will continue then.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
My Colonoscopy
Two months ago at my annual physical my doctor asked again if I remembered my last colonoscopy. I’ve been stalling her for years but this time she didn’t play. “Since we’re not sure”, she said, “we’ll get you in for a screening colonoscopy now and go from there.” I left her office with the referral, and that afternoon the gastroenterology practice called to schedule the visit.
I called them back twice in January and also in February to change the date. On the last call the receptionist said, “This is for a work related problem?” And I knew that people probably change this appointment all the time and I wasn’t going to get to change it again. So I made the date.
The appointment after all wasn’t for the colonoscopy but just for the visit where they do a pretend physical (all your clothes are on) and sign you up for the big day.
I went last week and the PA who saw me was very nice. I explained that I had been to their office before—This was the scene of the crime in our love and cancer life—the very same office where I accompanied John a year ago for his routine colonoscopy which became: surgeon, CAT scan, cancer, surgery, hospital, ambulating, pain, gas, agony, chemo, hair loss, blood tests, neuropathy, scars, fatigue, fear, 5-FU, home infusion, visiting nurses, crazy schedules, waiting rooms, tears, casseroles, vitamins, walking, Babar on the couch wearing a chemo pump to match John’s, and more love and sex than either of us would have ever predicted. I swear that last part is what got him through this year and I know that is what helped me survive as well.
So when the Gastro-PA asked me if I had a doctor that I preferred I said, “Doctor Samuels”, the man who did John’s colonoscopy. I decided to not be superstitious, and I am comforted in a small way when I recall how he managed his facial expressions as he met us in the curtained room and began with a small smile and the words, “”Well, we have a problem.”
So my colonoscopy is scheduled for May. I was able to buy them off that much time. But it is time. If my routine visit becomes something resembling John’s I don’t know what I’ll do. Having seen colon cancer and its treatment up close I can’t say I’d go through it. Save the lectures and the platitudes. Let’s just hope I don’t have to argue with you in May.
I called them back twice in January and also in February to change the date. On the last call the receptionist said, “This is for a work related problem?” And I knew that people probably change this appointment all the time and I wasn’t going to get to change it again. So I made the date.
The appointment after all wasn’t for the colonoscopy but just for the visit where they do a pretend physical (all your clothes are on) and sign you up for the big day.
I went last week and the PA who saw me was very nice. I explained that I had been to their office before—This was the scene of the crime in our love and cancer life—the very same office where I accompanied John a year ago for his routine colonoscopy which became: surgeon, CAT scan, cancer, surgery, hospital, ambulating, pain, gas, agony, chemo, hair loss, blood tests, neuropathy, scars, fatigue, fear, 5-FU, home infusion, visiting nurses, crazy schedules, waiting rooms, tears, casseroles, vitamins, walking, Babar on the couch wearing a chemo pump to match John’s, and more love and sex than either of us would have ever predicted. I swear that last part is what got him through this year and I know that is what helped me survive as well.
So when the Gastro-PA asked me if I had a doctor that I preferred I said, “Doctor Samuels”, the man who did John’s colonoscopy. I decided to not be superstitious, and I am comforted in a small way when I recall how he managed his facial expressions as he met us in the curtained room and began with a small smile and the words, “”Well, we have a problem.”
So my colonoscopy is scheduled for May. I was able to buy them off that much time. But it is time. If my routine visit becomes something resembling John’s I don’t know what I’ll do. Having seen colon cancer and its treatment up close I can’t say I’d go through it. Save the lectures and the platitudes. Let’s just hope I don’t have to argue with you in May.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
My New York City Day
I spent yesterday in New York City. The beautiful train ride, an orgy of magazine reading, a quiet well-behaved seat mate, all made the start of my day good. I splurged on a taxi to SoHo, visited the Varda Store—a shrine to timeless Italian design (one pair for summer); Kate’s Paperie—a sensual and textural wonder of paper (two packages of envelopes) and then another taxi to The Frick—one of the most elegant and wonderful small museums. The fountain room is so soothing, and I always do this kind of double take looking at some of the pieces on display: “Oh my God, that’s a real El Greco.”
In that small brownstone are works of art that are ubiquitous as images in Art History 101 so I have to remind myself that even though I have “seen” it a million times that this—this one at the Frick—is the Real Thing.
The downsides to this day? The worst is running the perfume gauntlet at Saks. The terror of the aggressive perfume sample ladies and their counterparts at cosmetic counters. It is fearful even to make eye contact with anyone of the first floor at Saks. A mere acknowledgement can result is being dragged to the counter and being re-made—even while you are sputtering, “Oh, no thanks, just shopping.”
The other is the “bourgeois-garde” of the folks who work in museums. In their desperate feeling attempt to declare their avant-garde status they all look the same: same black plastic eye-glasses, same eye brow shaping (male and female), same MOMA watch, same black clothes now—because “Color is Back” (says Barneys)—worn ironically. I want to whisper, “You look the same; you have lost the unique aesthetic you are attempting to convince us that you have.” These days someone who works in a museum and wears a pastel twin set and real pearls will be the iconoclast.
The other challenge of my city day was to remind myself that I can have a life—and an aesthetic—with or without John. It feels important these days to find ways to remember that. To reclaim a self and a separateness. Just in case we stay together and just in case we come apart.
In that small brownstone are works of art that are ubiquitous as images in Art History 101 so I have to remind myself that even though I have “seen” it a million times that this—this one at the Frick—is the Real Thing.
The downsides to this day? The worst is running the perfume gauntlet at Saks. The terror of the aggressive perfume sample ladies and their counterparts at cosmetic counters. It is fearful even to make eye contact with anyone of the first floor at Saks. A mere acknowledgement can result is being dragged to the counter and being re-made—even while you are sputtering, “Oh, no thanks, just shopping.”
The other is the “bourgeois-garde” of the folks who work in museums. In their desperate feeling attempt to declare their avant-garde status they all look the same: same black plastic eye-glasses, same eye brow shaping (male and female), same MOMA watch, same black clothes now—because “Color is Back” (says Barneys)—worn ironically. I want to whisper, “You look the same; you have lost the unique aesthetic you are attempting to convince us that you have.” These days someone who works in a museum and wears a pastel twin set and real pearls will be the iconoclast.
The other challenge of my city day was to remind myself that I can have a life—and an aesthetic—with or without John. It feels important these days to find ways to remember that. To reclaim a self and a separateness. Just in case we stay together and just in case we come apart.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Imus Cancer Sex
Radio personality Don Imus is diagnosed with prostate cancer. In the newspaper story covering Imus announcement it says, “He noted that doctors seemed reluctant to talk about one of his biggest worries: What the treatment will mean for his sex life.”
No they are not talking about cancer’s impact on one’s sex life because it is taboo. It is a crazy factor across the board in Cancerland that there is no frank discussion about sex and sexuality. Yes there are the euphemistic pamphlets, lots of mentions of intimacy and the dreaded “cuddling” and even advice to “talk to your partner.” But if your doctor and medical team will not talk frankly to you about sex what the heck will that conversation with your partner include? “Was that cuddle good for you?”
In many ways Cancerland is stuck in the 1950’s. I remember the similar pamphlets called “You’re a Young Lady Now” and “Growing Up and Liking It.” One was pink and one was lavender. They were ostensibly about menstruation and sexuality but no body parts were ever shown or discussed. The closest they came was a line drawing of flowery fallopian tubes that looked like exotic plants with tendrils. But they never showed you where these were in the body or God forbid show any relationship to the vagina or the outside world.
Fifty years later when you get colon or breast or prostate cancer you are given more flaccid, pastel booklets advising talking, intimacy and cuddling. Even the feistiest advocates want to talk about empowerment and baldness but never orgasms or fellatio.
The implication is that once you enter Cancerland you won’t care about or like sex anymore. But that’s so backward. When you have cancer life becomes even more precious and sex is nature’s way of screaming at the top of her lungs, “I want to live.”
This is why I started this blog. Someone has to talk about love and sex in the time of cancer. Step up folks and look your doctor in the eye, give the pamphlet back and ask the patient advocate to stop blushing and fumbling. The next time you are at chemo say very loudly, “Is anyone here having sex?”
No they are not talking about cancer’s impact on one’s sex life because it is taboo. It is a crazy factor across the board in Cancerland that there is no frank discussion about sex and sexuality. Yes there are the euphemistic pamphlets, lots of mentions of intimacy and the dreaded “cuddling” and even advice to “talk to your partner.” But if your doctor and medical team will not talk frankly to you about sex what the heck will that conversation with your partner include? “Was that cuddle good for you?”
In many ways Cancerland is stuck in the 1950’s. I remember the similar pamphlets called “You’re a Young Lady Now” and “Growing Up and Liking It.” One was pink and one was lavender. They were ostensibly about menstruation and sexuality but no body parts were ever shown or discussed. The closest they came was a line drawing of flowery fallopian tubes that looked like exotic plants with tendrils. But they never showed you where these were in the body or God forbid show any relationship to the vagina or the outside world.
Fifty years later when you get colon or breast or prostate cancer you are given more flaccid, pastel booklets advising talking, intimacy and cuddling. Even the feistiest advocates want to talk about empowerment and baldness but never orgasms or fellatio.
The implication is that once you enter Cancerland you won’t care about or like sex anymore. But that’s so backward. When you have cancer life becomes even more precious and sex is nature’s way of screaming at the top of her lungs, “I want to live.”
This is why I started this blog. Someone has to talk about love and sex in the time of cancer. Step up folks and look your doctor in the eye, give the pamphlet back and ask the patient advocate to stop blushing and fumbling. The next time you are at chemo say very loudly, “Is anyone here having sex?”
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