Nearing the End of the Couch Era
This morning I put on jeans for the first time in three weeks. This is notable because jeans have a waistband and are not appropriate for lounging on the couch, plus mine are stained and dirty, plus they are not my favorite clothes to wear but they are right for the work we do. I am not going back to work now, but I am preparing to go to Loudoun for a brief visit and meeting, and I don't want to be dressed like a couch potato.
I have been thinking for a while about what to do about this blog when I stop having so much discretionary time. I am building a habit around this daily monologue, but I know that pretty soon I will be able to go back to normal life. So, I am thinking that I will plan to cut back to a once (or twice) a week check in. I plan to write on Thursdays. Could be more, won't be less.
Naturally, I have a lot more to say. That's what happens when you start talking non-stop, you just have more and more to share. This could be a hazard. Look at our blithering President.
I do want to share one lesson learned from these last few weeks. It is actually hard to choose only one, but until you have been at the center of the vortex of care and concern and love, you don't know what that is like. If I had just got a diagnosis of kidney failure or diabetes, the response would have been much less dramatic. When people hear the word cancer they sit up and take notice. They have strong feelings and fears and they feel moved to act. Sindee said she had the same experience with her ovarian cancer. She wrote: "I have often said, (mostly to myself) - everyone should have this experience! re cancer - because I felt like there were so many gifts in it - for me, in particular, the palpable experience of love."
Of course none of us wishes cancer on anyone, but we wish that people could know how it is to feel so, so loved and connected. It saddens me to think of people who choose to keep their experience private, either because it is such a traumatic time or they are not ready to share, it is too hard. For me, the opportunity to have visits and conversations and notes and calls (with time to recharge in between) has been a gift.
This has been a time of considering my identity, and finding that most of what I am is still holding true. I still feel like a healthy person -- even if there is some evidence to the contrary. I am still a person with fat, but I will be confronting the realities of evolving that identity in the months and years to come. I still love my work but I think this may be my big chance to stop doing quite so much of it, while still staying relevant. And this business of calling myself a writer has been the most exciting part of the whole couch experience.
I am still feeling an overwhelming amount of gratitude and I have been off all pain meds for more than a week. So I think this is the new normal. I hope so. I also hope that people will continue to stay in touch, whenever. I have at least another week of couch-dom, I am open for couch appointments for another week, and then I bet I will be up and out!
I have been thinking for a while about what to do about this blog when I stop having so much discretionary time. I am building a habit around this daily monologue, but I know that pretty soon I will be able to go back to normal life. So, I am thinking that I will plan to cut back to a once (or twice) a week check in. I plan to write on Thursdays. Could be more, won't be less.
Naturally, I have a lot more to say. That's what happens when you start talking non-stop, you just have more and more to share. This could be a hazard. Look at our blithering President.
I do want to share one lesson learned from these last few weeks. It is actually hard to choose only one, but until you have been at the center of the vortex of care and concern and love, you don't know what that is like. If I had just got a diagnosis of kidney failure or diabetes, the response would have been much less dramatic. When people hear the word cancer they sit up and take notice. They have strong feelings and fears and they feel moved to act. Sindee said she had the same experience with her ovarian cancer. She wrote: "I have often said, (mostly to myself) - everyone should have this experience! re cancer - because I felt like there were so many gifts in it - for me, in particular, the palpable experience of love."
Of course none of us wishes cancer on anyone, but we wish that people could know how it is to feel so, so loved and connected. It saddens me to think of people who choose to keep their experience private, either because it is such a traumatic time or they are not ready to share, it is too hard. For me, the opportunity to have visits and conversations and notes and calls (with time to recharge in between) has been a gift.
This has been a time of considering my identity, and finding that most of what I am is still holding true. I still feel like a healthy person -- even if there is some evidence to the contrary. I am still a person with fat, but I will be confronting the realities of evolving that identity in the months and years to come. I still love my work but I think this may be my big chance to stop doing quite so much of it, while still staying relevant. And this business of calling myself a writer has been the most exciting part of the whole couch experience.
I am still feeling an overwhelming amount of gratitude and I have been off all pain meds for more than a week. So I think this is the new normal. I hope so. I also hope that people will continue to stay in touch, whenever. I have at least another week of couch-dom, I am open for couch appointments for another week, and then I bet I will be up and out!
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