Two Sides to Every Coin

I have been working today on creating notecards for my art shop/business/endeavor. You might check out some cool additions - there is a button to my website on the right. Anyway, as I worked today, I received some emails regarding this blog and its potential benefit for other survivors and their families. I was thrilled to get the feedback, and as I have mentioned in previous blogs, one of my main purposes in writing the blog is so that others might be able to relate to my situation. And yet it is scary putting yourself out there. What if others are offended or what if they think it's all a bunch of crap? It seems to every benefit in life there is a cost - a flip side to the coin. I know, I know. This is a basic fact of life, but lately it keeps slapping me in the face.

Some examples in my life: I survived cancer, but I am left with serious heart and lung issues; I am addressing my issues, but it will mean exposing pain for awhile; I have the luxury and opportunity to stay at home and address my issues, and yet I miss my work, and I miss my money. I have an annoying ex-husband, but without him I would not have my beautiful son. My parents raised me to do all my sister did, to not be "disabled," and yet I felt the need then to always be strong. I hate having a handicap logo on my car, but I love having a close place to park, especially on rainy days. 

What it boils down to, I have come to discover, is choice. Our lives are about choices, and that is hard for me to admit sometimes. On the other side of each choice are the "what ifs." And sometimes we don't even realize we are making a choice. We claim someone or something "made" us do it. We use the excuse "I just couldn't help myself." Is that true? Can we really not help ourselves? Or is there always an alternative to our present situations?

A commercial came on TV today for the movie My Sister's Keeper. The movie is based on a novel by Jodi Picoult. The story is based around the premise of a family whose youngest daughter was born to provide their child with cancer any bone marrow or any other transplant needs. The younger sister decides she does not want to do that and sues her parents for rights to her body. It is a riveting story. Picoult is one of my favorite authors, and I loved that she wrote about this subject in such a fascinating way. Now several years later, they are making a major motion picture based on the book. (As an aside, they made a big deal on Oprah about the young actress who plays the child with cancer and how she shaved her head for the part. "Oh big fucking whoop!" I yelled at the TV. I really need to stop using the f word and especially talking to myself and the TV). Anyway, today a commercial aired for the movie. When I looked up and saw the images - the bald girl, the family, the IVs, I grabbed the remote and was going to change the channel, but I couldn't. It was one of those moments where you don't want to watch, but you CAN'T HELP YOURSELF. It made me feel anxious and sad. I used to wonder how survivors could feel this way. I used to gobble up anything related to childhood cancer, and now I find myself nervous about seeing it around me, talking about it. I am on the other side of the coin. I will probably see the movie - I won't be able to help myself....or perhaps I should more honestly say I will choose to see the movie because I am curious about, if nothing else, its comparison to my own experience and how it might make me feel. 

I will end on a more light hearted note that illustrates a bit of how I have been feeling the past few days. These are pictures of my adorable, adorable, adorable nephew, Will. You can't tell I love him, can you? I took the pictures on a hot summer day at the ballpark.

He is the little boy sitting in the dirt pile. The little boy walking away has been called by his mom not to play in the dirt. I holler at Will, "Hey Will, you better get over here. You're mom is going to be upset if you get all dirty." He CHOOSES to ignore me (although I doubt he realized it was a choice) : ).

Here he is post-dirt pile. I am laughing hysterically - because he is so stinking cute - as I take this picture but also warning him that his mom is probably going to be pretty upset.

His answer to my warning: go back to the dirt pile before his mom looks over from the stands and ends this fun. When I yell at him again - I was really trying to help him make a good decision here - he only stops for a moment to look back at me as if to say, "Can you blame me, Auntie?" And I really can't. It does seem like fun. At this point, I start to think maybe I'm the one who is going to be in trouble here.

And finally....we are caught.

Here he is after receiving a mild butt chewing (and me receiving a bit of the evil eye), pondering whether or not having all that fun in the dirt pile was really worth it. After all, every joy seems to come with some expense.

We say our good byes, and I kiss his dirty face and hug his sweaty, sticky little body. As he is walking away, I yell, "William, turn around and let me see that beautiful dirty face!"

The expense in this case, well, it was definitely worth it. It was worth it. It was worth it. It was worth it. This perhaps will become my new mantra as I attempt to do, say, feel, and become something that seems difficult and unfamiliar. IT IS WORTH IT!