The different view that comes from distance
I’ve recently come back from a month’s extended holiday - the ‘big trip’ that I promised myself when I was half-way through chemotherapy. It was in part something to keep me focused on when ‘it’ was all over, in line with sage advice from people who had been where I was. But it was fuelled by the knowledge that some much-needed perspective would probably only likely come from being on the other side of the world; the other side of my world. It’s a bit like the whole ‘death puts life into perspective’ thing - everything ‘big’ suddenly feels so small when looking down from the window of a plane. And once we moved above the clouds, I found myself breathing in the awe of possibilities and wonder, and breathing out the uncertainty, grief and anxiety and that been creeping in lately.
You see, I’m fast approaching Return-to-work Day after this holiday, and I’ve been almost suffocating myself with self-doubt. After 12 months of sick leave, it’s time to dust off the work pants and heels and brain cells. Only problem is the work pants don’t fit anymore (compliments of my own excess baggage from the chemo/carb-festing/steroids/etc); the heels hurt my feet (continued joint pain/inflammation from the chemo and medication), and the brain cells seem intent on pursuing a part-time comedy career rather than one that requires analysis, memory, and quick thinking (the ongoing joys of chemo brain that hijacks my choice of words/thoughts and sprinkles embarrassment from random brain fades). Then there’s the sudden hot flushes/sweat-festing (also from the medication). And the short back and sides haircut where I once had long locks (the post-chemo do). All of which has led to my ongoing growing fear that I don’t look and sound and think like me anymore, so how can I possibly go back to work and do my job the way I used to? The way others were used to? The weight of expectation had been feeling as heavy as the jet plane I was in.
As the plane rode through the turbulence and the bumps and jolts gave way to calm above the clouds, I came to accept that I won’t be doing much at all in the same way that I used to. But wasn’t that the entire point of this trip; this much-needed perspective; this whole 12 months of re-examining my life and priorities? I may be feeling anxious about my ability to chair a meeting without forgetting my name and what I was doing there, but so-the-hell-what !? I had just run through the finishing line of cancer treatment. My life and world view had changed. The BIG things that felt so onerous and insurmountable before were now feeling ridiculously pea-sized. So what if I’m wearing flats and elastic-waist-banded pants, and sporting a military crew cut, and break out in a sweat in the middle of a meeting, or forget what I was saying mid-sentence. Those things will be as big or as small as I choose to make them. This time, it’s me flying the plane so it’s my call about how long I experience the turbulence and how quickly I bring myself up into the calm.
