This time last year, a few days after my 32nd birthday I went to have a mammogram done because they found a curious lump in my right breast. After the technician assured me it was probably nothing a handsome young doctor entered my exam room and explained he’d like to do a biopsy on the lump because it appeared to be in a milk duct (most breast cancers start here). I think I was too stunned to really ask questions, I just nodded, took my referral paper and made my appointment at the desk. I proceed to the parking lot and immediately crumpled when I reached my car safely. Jesus Christ. What if I have cancer? I’m only 32 years old. I don’t even have kids yet. What am I going to tell my friends and family? This could kill me. This very thing that holds part of my identity, my breast, could kill me.
After the biopsy was done a few weeks later, the tumor in my breast was found to be benign but the doctor suggested I have it removed anyway. I met with a surgeon shortly after to discuss removing my lump, which my sister affectionately named Pamela. I sat topless with my arms raised above my head as my surgeon and her two interns examined my right breast. While feeling like I was some kind of living sculpture on display for museum guests, I nervously joked if she could add a tube sock or some tissue paper in while she was in there removing Pamela it would make my bikini top fit better next summer. My surgeon simply smiled and said I was perfect the way I was. Despite her reassurance, I love my body but I was rather angry with it at that moment. This was the first time in my entire life, I felt like it was possible that I could and would die someday. Joking about tube socks and breast implants were my way of dealing with this underlying thought that I might die- how very strange that we don’t realize our own mortality until we are sitting in the hot seat being questioned about everything from our diet to our genetic history. The paperwork sent over from the hospital was 20 pages of forms and questions- 20 pages of questions about personal information that I, myself, didn’t even have answers to. You are left calling your parents asking them about weird diseases, cysts, and other conditions.
My 32nd year started off recognizing my own mortality made me put some things in perspective. I have been burnt out and over my job for a long time. I started proceedings this year to go back to school and obtain an education degree. I think I would have been a terrible teacher at 24, but at 34, I think this is the right place for me to be. I’m enjoying school and find it engaging intellectually in ways I have missed.
This also marks the year I started using wrinkle cream consistently. Mortality staring you literally in the face will make you consider your own vanity like it or not.
This has been a year of personal growth, in more than one way. I stopped writing publicly sometime in May. I lost a best friend to an alcohol dependency and my own codependency. I have found this event to be life changing and extremely painful for both people. It has probably been one of my more defining moments and has shaken me to my core. Through Al Anon, therapy and self introspection I’ve found myself on the other side of this loss. While my friend is not dead but I have chosen to abstain from the relationship. Detaching myself from her, from her disease, and recognizing my own disease has been an incredibly heartbreaking experience. I lost weight and subsequently lost my hair due to stress from grief. Not only did it transform my heart, but the experience in some ways transformed my physical being. I still struggle at this time with feelings of self esteem due to my hair loss.
I miss my friend. I think of her often. I recognize so much of myself in her own faults and disease, such a strange parallel that often isn’t discussed in Al Anon literature. I am at the end of the day, just as flawed as the alcoholic in my life. I work on ‘a day at at time’ philosophy these days. I’m working hard at disregarding my judgement of others and recognizing that each day I’m working towards a more enlightened existence.
I’ve recently made a huge decision to move in with my boyfriend. This hasn’t been exactly the easiest transition in my life as I’m sure it isn’t for him either. Despite all my self work, how much time I’ve spent rebuilding my sense of self and self worth. All it has taken is this move to semi-commitment with another person to shatter bits of myself I thought I had fortified. It is interesting to me that the right person, even with all their reassurances, kind words, and understanding, can’t help you maintain what it is you thought you had a grasp on. Somehow this makes the self work harder, maybe it’s because there is this other person involved, literally scrutinizing all of your naked and raw bits. Vulnerability hasn’t always been one of my strong suits. It is so damn hard to let people see how scared and frightened you are. While I understand that vulnerability strengthen bonds between others and it increases safety within relationships- it does not make the fact that letting your complete curtain down any easier. Transparency isn’t always the best mode of self preservation. But at some point this isn’t about the self, is it? It’s about those around you.
Looking forward, it excites me of the possibilities to come. There are times in my life I’m so insanely happy it hurts. And then I have this pang of regret and remorse, because the one person I wish I could call, I can’t. No one ever talks about what to do if you remove yourself from this friendship before they get sober. I’m just sitting over here waiting for the day when she is here drinking lemonade and talking about wedding dresses….and how I promise I won’t make her wear an ugly bride’s maid dress. And how someday soon, I’d share the same position on whether she should spend the extra money to have her legs and a full Brazilian wax the week before her own wedding. I miss her independence, her free spirit, her laughter and wicked sense of humor. I miss her taste in music and how she would make me completely envious of her perfect eye makeup. I miss, most of all, being able to tell her about my day and hearing about hers.
Notice I said before she gets sober? I think it’s because I used to give myself the two options, she dies or she gets sober. At the end of it all I still choose to be in her corner. I believe she will be sitting here drinking lemonade.
My mother says she can’t understand the friendship. I think for those of us lucky enough to be involved with addicts, the friendship is more because of how much we’ve grown and learned about ourselves because of it. I think choosing to love an addict has made me more humble, forgiving, and full of hope.
As for my other friendships, I realizing just how important female friendships are. I’m recognizing each day, how much I miss having a best friend, and how exciting it will be when I make a new one. It’s a little like dating. As my partner has said, it’s not about replacing her, this is about moving on and growing. I think just like any break-up, it’ll be awhile before I’m completely over this loss. Sociologists state you need 3 things to develop friendship, proximity, repeated planned/unplanned interactions, and the ability to confide in each other. I can handle the first two at the moment, I’m working on trusting others enough to confide in them.
Trust is something I’m setting a goal for in my 33rd year. My romantic relationship has suffered as of late because of my unwillingness to let go and embrace someone’s intentions. Not everyone on this planet is here to break your heart. I’m also going to make it a goal to set aside more time for myself. I started this thing a few months ago that I’ve lost sight of, Mental Health Mornings. I basically turn the phone off, the computer off, and read, write and enjoy some moments of creative introspective bliss. It’s also an excuse to eat french toast during the week and a good cup of coffee.
KEYS TO THE IGNITION 