Heart, Broken

I continue to explore this concept of disappointment. Through no fault of my own I might add. And the funny thing is that even though my present experience is not romantic in nature, the words in my title so get at the depth and complexity of the feeling.

My heart feels broken.
Fractured.
Sort of split in two.

And there are other body sensations that go along with it. It is like my skin is being rubbed with sandpaper, and the fibers of my muscles, taunt and strained, are being played staccato, one at a time. As if I have been thrown to the boards (an experience I have never had in reality, but my mind seems well able to picture it) the breath has been knock out of me. And I struggle to find where it has landed.

I feel like a bee hurling itself against the plexi-glass wall of a restaurant patio, again and again, getting angrier and angrier, buzzing annoyly to itself (and anyone who will listen), not understanding why it is unable to pass, refused entry into the big, wide world of freedom.

And where is God in all this. And why have I forsaken Her? What is the easy path that would show me that I am on God's highway to better things? Because I know that when I am given the power to carry out my Higher Power's will for me, then the process is smooth (even if hard, but never a struggle - if you see the difference I am getting at). What cues am I missing that I doggedly pursue one course of action that is showing itself to be counter to what I must assume is in my best interests. ARGH! Why can't there just be a map quest search that will show me the way, quickest route, amount of time it will take, shortcuts, historic sites along the way, not to mention convenient rest stops and great take out joints. No, not for me, I must blunder along in the old fashioned style, feeling my way along in the dark, stubbing my toes, and breaking my nails.

The only consolation... this too shall pass.

Disappointment

You know the feeling. When you have longed for something, yearned for something, and then you find out that you don’t get to have it. It is like a kick in the stomach. Doubled over. Clutching your sides. Gasping for air. Well, that is the full-blown version. And then there are smaller versions. The little thing you hoped for or wanted, and again, it doesn’t happen. Same responses, watered down.

Here is the thing I am learning about disappointment and me. I can’t be with it. I do all sorts of things to avoid the feeling. And I didn’t even know I was doing that. I just tried not to want or hope or dream. Tried not to get too excited about possibilities. Even made a point to not throw my hat in the ring for different possibilities, so as to avoid the potential pain of not getting it once I became invested. That’s a lot of work. For something you don’t even know you are avoiding. And there is a high cost. This not dreaming, and not hoping, and then playing small so that I don’t hurt, don’t get egg on my face, and don’t feel “not good enough”. Because that is some of what is behind it. The fear of the public humiliation when you go after a job, or tell your friends you are in love and think you have found “the one”, or audition for a role in a play and then… god forbid… it doesn’t pan out. And everyone knows it. And there is a kind of pity in their “I’m so sorry to hear that you didn’t get the job/man/part.” So it isn’t just disappointment that is at play here, it is often followed up by a chaser of shame and inadequacy.

And it can happen for big and small things. Lost friendships and discovering that your friends were not who you thought they were. Planning to buy a great pair of shoes once they go on sale only to find out that once they are on sale your size is sold out. Miscarriage of a long awaited, deeply wanted baby. A book being out of stock. Being turned down by a publisher. Getting a lower grade on an assignment than you expected. A cancelled movie date with a friend when you really, really needed company. Picking the wrong pedicure nail polish. A failed relationship (even, or maybe especially, when it is in it’s infancy, I think back to KA or BVW with a sort of nostalgic ache, but in truth, with a cooler head, how appropriate were those choices for me, really?). Not getting into the school of your choice. So many chances (and options) disappointment, so little time.

I have a long history of avoiding disappointments. In fact, I suspect it runs in my family, and I sort of inherited or absorbed it. There was lots of effort put into “making things better”, and when that didn’t work, minimizing how much we wanted it in the first place. Doesn’t leave the world being a very safe place to dream. And yet, not dreaming, and not getting excited about possibilities is one of the things that can lead me to a feeling of hopelessness and meaninglessness. And frankly those are much more damaging feelings for me than disappointment.

It is also worth saying that if my gas tank is low, so to speak, then I have lower resiliency and lower ability to bounce back when I get disappointing news. Funny thing is that that low resiliency comes when I have fewer things on the go, less irons in the fire, less exciting possibilities to occupy my attention and dream space. And yet each one of those exciting possibilities could then lay me low if and when it does not come to fruition. What is a person to do? And what is the ratio of possibilities to successes? I mean do I need to make sure there are always 10 fishing lines out there to get one landed fish? Or is it more like 3 to 1? And do they all have to be of equal magnitude and excitement quotient? Because who has that kind of energy? You see I have never thought about these things before, because I have never had to look at this, with my head so firmly planted in the sand about what this icky feeling really was about?

And what brought on this new discovery/exploration/curiosity, you ask? Two things. Just this last weekend when I was leading a workshop in NYC a participant arrived 4 hours late for the workshop (she thought Friday was a half day, not a full day). As a result of her lateness she had missed some key components of the workshop and we had to tell her that she couldn’t complete the workshop this weekend. Which also means she can’t take the next 3 in the series here in the city with her new coaching friends (unless she pulled some fancy footwork and went to another city and took this one workshop there and then came back to NYC for the rest). She was beyond disappointed, she was devastated. And in the most human and endearing way, she wept immediately and openly about her loss (I suspect that that sudden and honest display had a lot to do with her getting surprised by the news, being sidelined seems to intensify the feeling, or perhaps we can’t cover the disappointment over, so as to appear together and sensible, like we might with a relationship breakup that spans over a few months or years). So with that as a backdrop I got the news today that a documentary that I had hoped to be featured in, called DREAM, for which the director and talent scout were totally excited about using me, are not permitted to because I am not American. So heart breaking. And so ridiculous. And so annoying. But there is nothing to be done. So I pick myself up and dust myself off and carry on. And get to learn about this thing call disappointment, which I have been merrily ignoring, up until now.

So what am I learning? And what are different ways to be with disappointment now that I am aware of it? Well, since it seems to be a version of grief, I guess the only way out is through. But without judging the grief. Without calling it self-pity. And just letting it take it’s own sweet time. Now if I need a quicker fix (although, as already established, that is dangerous territory for me) and if my resiliency is low then throwing some more irons in the fire, some more lines in the water could be a good idea. Getting out there and getting active, and getting more dreams in motion is bound to move my energy and maybe even the world, in the right direction (hell, at this stage, I will take any direction, and course correct once I have some momentum). Another angle to look from? If every icky feeling is here to tell us something, what is this one telling me? I guess that I am very much alive and that I have never (and never will) stopped dreaming, stopped wanting, and stopped being willing to pursuing my passions with all my heart. So here’s to dreams, mine and others, and even the documentary. May yours come true, or if not may you at least enjoy the process of chasing them.

Six Years and Counting!!!

Yay for Miracles and Magic.
Yay for being ALIVE.
Yay for science and medicine.
Yay for family and good friends who see you through hard times.
Yay for celebrating the good stuff.
Yay for love being bigger, stronger and bolder than fear and disease.
Yay for loving health care providers.
Yay for the power of prayer, in whatever form.
Yay for being witnessed in the process of life, however that looks on any given day or year.
Yay for choosing health.
Yay for the courage to fight.
Yay for doing things a different way. One's own way.
Yay for trusting our own hearts.
Yay for listening to the still small voice.
Yay for life.
Yay for being ALIVE.
Yay for Miracles and Magic.

May your day, and year, and life be blessed.

Sigh of Relief

Straight to the point… the gal who did my ultrasound (a very sweet woman, by the way) said that while she felt something there it seemed to her just normal ropy breast tissue, and the fact that it has “developed” since my last period did not mean it was bad, or cancer, etc, etc. And she did the ultrasound, and it showed nothing abnormal. She encouraged me to make a map of my breasts, documenting size, shape and texture of these various lumps and bumps as they show themselves, and then in each month of self breast exams I can compare and contrast, and just watch for any dramatic increases.

So here is the thing, for all that they reassured me, that fear, that ghost of the past, it just keeps haunting me. It feels like, “I am fine, for now.” But behind every door, there can be that spooky feeling. And I know that the fear has nothing to do with fact, because really I am fine, and with each passing year… finer. But fear is so slippery. And pervasive. And heavy.

But for today, just for today, everything is right in the world (well in my world anyway). And that is all I need to know. And really, isn’t that all any of us can ever know on any day?

Here is hoping that your day is filled with joy and wonder and blessed peace.

One Down, One to Go

Well, well, guess who I had the privilege of crushing my boobs today, Donna, the same gal as did my fine wire last year. And it seems I made an impression (as did she). Because she also remembered me. And that has to say something, considering how many people go through that place in a year. Not that I am not normally memorable. Just that I think she remembers me for different reasons that most folks. So we had a little stare down, sort of circled each other, and then got down to business.

And here is what doesn’t work for me with her. I get triggered by her tone and volume of voice and her breathing patterns. You see they just ooze contempt and annoyance. Like “why can’t you read my mind and know that you are suppose to put your arm here and your shoulder here?” The answer would be … BECAUSE I AM NOT PSYCHIC. I tried to send that to her telepathically, but I don’t think she got it. She just kept sighing. What has non-compassionate people go into the caring profession? Or did she used to be nice and now is just burnt out because her job is so boring and mundane (and why is she mad at me, since I do my very best to add a bit of spice to her life, I mean really)?

And, as she does every year, she complained about my dense breast tissue (hello, that is some of what made me a candidate for breast cancer). Well, complained about the dense breast tissue in my right breast. Because now, years out from my left breast having received radiation, not only is the tissue not dense anymore, each year it just keeps shrinking, I am surprised they do and can do mammograms on it anymore. I guess that is just one of those side effects that they don’t mention at the time. You can have it removed outright, or you can radiate it and have it shrink away to nothing over a decade or so. Naturally that is more dramatic than it is accurate, but today, licence to be dramatic is mine!

The unofficial results? Things look the same as last year (which is a good thing). But because of my dense breast tissue I should follow this up with a bilateral ultrasound. Well, duh!? Haven’t I said that all along, the dang lump itself wasn’t discernable with a mammogram when it was 3 cm and cancerous. But here is the crazy thing; our medical system does not pay for that. Didn’t anyone learn how to spell PREVENTATIVE medicine in government? They’d rather wait for me to be in serious trouble than pay $200 and nip it in the bud early. Crazy I say. But since I have this handy/unfortunate little lump right now I get a two for one. Too bad it is only for the left (un-dense) breast. Maybe I will go back to my doctor and she what see can swing (since she learned how to spell in medical school).

Want some good news? My friend Jayn has volunteered to be my rock, my gal, my guardian. So as it turns out I won’t have to go unaccompanied to the ultrasound. Thanks Jayn, you’re a star!

Countdown

I don’t know why I keep assuming, wanting, hoping that this time the mammogram/ultrasound/needle/breast exam won’t freak me out. Because it does, every time. So better to assume that, and then get the support I need.

Today is the double winner day. Mammogram at 1pm. Ultrasound at 3:20pm (why do they get that specific with the time, especially knowing that they will be running behind, and so it is meaningless?). Ugh. And, silly me, I didn’t ask anyone to come with me, to hold my hand, and dry my tears, to calm my fears (irrational as they are, there they are). And now I sit at my desk, fully intending to work hard and instead waves of adrenalin soak my muscle tissue, saturating them with fear, past and present. Flirting with a panic attack, my brain goes vacant and foggy, and everything, absolutely everything, seems too big, too hard, too much for my little self to handle. Funny, because I am really not that little. I border on over-competent most of the time. But not today. Just scared. And wee.

This place I am in reminds me of the workshop I attended this weekend, the third in a series of five Organizational Systems and Relationship Coaching workshops through CTI. We did a lot of work about our Secret Selves, and specifically our Triggered Selves. Our triggered selves come out to play when we are faced with situations that remind us of some pain, or fear, or trauma that at some deep level we don’t trust our adult selves to handle well. We know it is present when we are paralyzed or have excessive or inappropriate emotions to stimuli and/or situations. Sound anything like my last paragraph? Fortunately in this workshop we learned tools for how to work with our triggered selves. To support and champion and take care of them, so that they will let our adult selves back into the driver’s seat.

So what do I need to do right now? I need my triggered self, who is fighting with the ghost of the memory of being diagnosed (as well as the memory of being mistreated by medical bullies), to know that I am on it. That everything will be ok, even if I do get a new diagnosis. Probably even more important to set this wee, triggered person at ease, is the commitment, my commitment to myself, that I will not be bullied by the attending medical staff. I will stand up for myself in the face of any inappropriate behaviours. And I will not back down if any bullshit comes my way. I will demand to be treated well, and I will walk out if that does not happen. Don’t mess with me when I am protecting wee people, because there is nothing that will be left standing, if it is standing in my way.