So It Begins.

I had my first radiation treatment today. It was all over in a matter of minutes; I was finished before realising that they'd started.

It was painless,  but I'm told that with the attending "sunburning" of the skin which will occur, I may suffer further pain on top of what I'm now experiencing.

Last night I spent some time cleaning my glass collection, polishing the beautiful golds and reds and purples. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for my friends, my lover Robert, my sister: who cares for me, and is struggling with her own pain about it all, and my brother, who adores the painting I made for him, which he received yesterday, finally.

I miss my meetings so much, but am too ill to attend them. When someone comments here on my blog, it feels a little bit like a meeting, and I am truly grateful for your input, please know that, and keep talking to me!

I'm hoping that my fight over this cancer will succeed enough for me to go back to a more normal form of life, with meetings, and social encounters, and gardening. I'm feeling like I may be able to beat this one back enough to have some more life granted to me. I'm too young, and unwilling to accept dying yet. I want to live.

New Lumps

As I'd expected, the new lumps are cancerous. So it's back onto chemotherapy, and hope that the new regime shrinks these lumps, in the same way that the first six months of chemo shrank the original small tumours. I go for another CT scan to see if it's metastasized to any of my major organs, and I'll keep you posted as to the news.

On another subject, it's a stunning day today, sunny and mild and beautiful. A glorious day in which to be alive. I'm going to put in some sewing work on the new coat I'm making for myself, and pray for guidance, comfort, strength and hope.

Where there's life, there's hope. A simple truth. I am so grateful for all of my friends,  my brother and sister, and for my beloved Robert. One day last week, I was fed up and weeping, and he made a remark which made me burst into helpless laughter. What a man. And what an enormous gift he is in my life. A treasure, and the best thing that has ever happened to me, he is.

I'm feeling grateful for all of my blessings, and for the delicious sunshine.

Update

I had three biopsies in total, on 3 new lumps, and will get the results in a week or so - more waiting. Robert is feeling devastated that it wasn't an abscess - I think, in retrospect, I knew it wasn't, but was trying to be hopeful about it.

Just knowing is easier than waiting to know, I find. I'm not feeling devastated about it all, more that I'm back at the beginning of the chemo round - hoping that whatever they give me will shrink the lumps, as the first batch of lumps were shrunken. It's all completely beyond my control, but I just have to hang on to the information that it doesn't appear to be in any of my major organs, and that makes it much more workable.

Not much else to say today. Unusual for me.

Roller Coaster Ride, con't.

Just a quick note to say that I saw a doctor at Cancer Care this morning, and had an urgent ultrasound this afternoon, and am now taking two kinds of antibiotic, as the doctor thought the lumps were the result of an infection, and or possible abscesses. She mentioned that on chemo, one is vulnerable to infections that someone with a fully functioning immune system can shake off easily.

We're praying that the news from the test will be that she's correct in her diagnosis, and that my new lumps are part of the infection.

She noticed, as I had not, that a lump I'd still had at my last appointment has now disappeared, and also, I'm gaining weight, both excellent signs.

I'm trying to let go of awfulising, projecting, and worrying, and just live in the moment and be grateful for all of my blessings. I'll keep you updated. Thanks to all of you who sent your best wishes to me, it's enormously comforting to receive them.

Roller Coaster Ride.

Living with cancer has been likened to a roller coaster ride - peaks - a clean ct scan, and valleys - I've found some new lumps in the month I've been off chemo long enough to get the PICC line out of my arm, and a chemo port installed in my chest. I wanted this done because I'd developed a ferocious allergy to the adhesive on the plastic and gauze bandages they were using on the PICC line, and the itch was driving me to distraction.

But the result of no chemo for a month is the new lumps. All I can hope is that once chemo starts up again tomorrow, they will be shrunk back into nothingness. I'm feeling anxious and frightened, and have had to ask my Higher Power to take my fear and anxiety, and grant me serenity. Against my initial feelings, I've shared the news with close friends in program, and shared my fear. I have received such love, caring and support, it brings tears to my eyes to know that I am loved.

I spent all of my life before Al-Anon, wanting to be loved, but being the kind of person who was so angry and resentful that I drove people away from me. I have the support system that I do now because of the person I have become as a result of this wonderful program.

I'm off to Cancer Care to see a doctor in about 45 mins, I'll keep you updated with whatever news I get.

Friendship and Fabric

When I moved to this city at the end of my 17-year marriage, I became friends with a woman who is  a sewing enthusiast. Two days ago we went together to a fabric store she frequents, but with which I was unfamiliar.

What a treat that was - luscious high quality fabric of every type and pattern. Rich solids in deep dark shades, as well as light, crisp colors. Rayon, velvet, wool, cotton, and notions galore. I bought some royal blue melton wool to make myself a new winter coat. My present coat was made about 5 years ago, and is showing its age. I am grateful that I have the skill and ability to make clothes for myself. It permits me to make what I want to wear, instead of being restricted to what is available in stores.

I made a coat last year, but don't like it much, so I'm going to donate it, and make a new one.

I'm grateful that I've learned to let go. I spent many hours tailoring that coat, but the finished product doesn't satisfy me. I don't like the way the fabric handles, and I don't like the feel of it, it's too heavy, and not nearly as warm as it should be, with all the lining and underlining and block fusing I did.

I can easily and happily donate it, to a charity shop here in the city, and walk away hoping that it will prove to be a delight for someone who finds it there. It's okay that I spent time upon it, but it didn't turn out the way I'd wanted. That doesn't matter to me anymore. I see that, accept it, and move on.

I can do this because of Al-Anon. Life doesn't have to go my way in order for me to feel satisfied, happy or content. I have matured in my ability and willingness to go with the current, instead of always trying to fight my way upstream. I can relax and float, admiring the scenery, enjoying the gift of the wonderful loving people my Higher Power has placed in my life.

I'm working on a painting for my brother at the moment, and when I'm in my little workroom slopping paint onto the canvas ( I find my paintings are much better when I work quickly, with not too much time allowed for picky little brushstrokes) I am filled with joy. Just as I was bursting with delight at the fabric store with my friend, or when my sponsor came over for a hug before last night's meeting. What a comforting feeling that was, to get a big warm hug from someone I love, admire, and who will give my tail a yank, when I'm wandering off the path.

I was walking out to my car last night when a newcomer from the meeting approached me to ask if she could have my number for twelve-step calls. I gave it gladly. I'm grateful to have something to share, which may be of some help to a new member of our incredible program.

The sun is glorious today, and I'm feeling good. I see the oncologist on the 8th, to find out if I will be given another 12 rounds of chemo, or if they are taking a "watch, test, and wait" approach. Either way, no matter how this goes, I'll be all right. I know that now. I'm at peace.

Dealing with Relapse.

A reader posted a comment about her long-time partner relapsing, several program friends have been going through this with their adult children. My own niece, who is at present, in rehab for the first time, has plans to rejoin her drug-dealing boyfriend when she gets out - my sister is at her wits end, and has finally begun to attend Al-Anon meetings, which she is finding helpful.

A relapse can be agonising for those of us who love the alcoholic. I know when my first husband had been sober for nine months and then relapsed, I was devastated. This was before I joined Al-Anon, and I felt somehow responsible, that if I'd tried harder, done something more, said something more, it wouldn't have happened.

This is just not the case.

 We have no control. We don't cause it through our behavior or actions, we can't control it with any amount of talking or decisions, and we can't cure it by sacrificing our own happiness.

Letting go of wanting to fix the alcoholic is a process learned slowly by most of us, myself included.

I was raised with the family myth that if things aren't going the way you want them to, you just need to try harder. Increase your effort, put in longer hours, talk your way into what you want. So when I encountered alcoholism, I put all of myself into the effort of stopping the drinking, and I failed spectacularly. 20 years after the end of our marriage, and my first husband is still drinking.

All of my years of trying to make him quit had no effect. I ran into one of his children during the last year I was in my second marriage, and she told me he was still drinking, and had never quit. I was saddened to hear that. I'd let go of all of the misery of that marriage many years back, and have no hard feelings towards him.

I felt sad that he was still in the grip of the addiction. He has an uncanny skill when it comes to anything mechanical. He can take apart something he's never seen before, discover how it is supposed to work, and then fix it.  He was in high demand as a mechanic when his drinking was still somewhat under his control, when he was what I've heard AA members call a "high-functioning alcoholic."

By the time I left that marriage, his business was failing because he'd begun to drink during the day, something he hadn't done for years. He was beginning to move into the final stages of alcoholism.

I couldn't stay with active drinking. Some people can live with active drinking and manage to have a good life of their own. I was too new to Al-Anon, and the trust between my first husband and I had been shattered by an affair he engaged in shortly before I left the marriage.

When he relapsed after nine months of sobriety, I didn't realise that during those nine months, his sobriety was what an AA friend would call the "white-knuckle" variety - he was hanging onto it through sheer force of will, with no help or support from AA.

What retrospect has granted to me, is the ability to see that although during the marriage I may have believed that I had a part in his drinking or not drinking, in reality, I had as much effect upon it as the kitchen table might have.

None.

I was incidental, really. That was a blow to my ego when it fist became evident to me. Now, I feel a little sadness for the young woman I was, who felt responsible, and was struggling to survive, in a situation which would bring most of us to our knees.

Accepting doesn't mean condoning. When I accept that the alcoholic is going to do what they are going to do, and I am powerless, I set myself free from the hopeless battle. When I turn towards that which I can change - myself, I set in motion a powerful force for serenity in my life. There's always room to work towards making me a better person.

Active Listening.

In one of his July emails, my brother mentioned that when his father (my adoptive father) was a small child, he thought there was a holiday by the name of "Forchuly." He was raised in the Bronx, and that's how everyone sounded to him, when they were talking about the Fourth of July.

It started me thinking about how difficult it can be to understand someone at a meeting, when they have a very soft voice, or don't enunciate well. Over the years, there has been the odd person who may as well have been speaking another language, for all I was able to understand a word of their share. At first, this annoyed me. Why didn't they speak clearly, or raise their voice a bit? Time and experience has taught me that for some people, that is all they can manage; fear, or a wobbly self-image, inhibits them.

I may not be able to hear what they say, but that doesn't mean I can't project the same acceptance and love towards them as I would to anyone else - we are equals in the rooms of Al-Anon. 

When I chose many years ago to volunteer for the local Crisis Line, I was trained in what they termed "active listening." It requires effort to learn to listen with our focus and attention solely upon the other person, and not upon what we want to say next, what we need to get for dinner, what happened at work to cause us anxiety.

I'm grateful that I did my stint on the Crisis Line before I joined Al-Anon; I think it helped me to listen more carefully than I may have been able to otherwise. When I was a newcomer, I had no concept of how to go about implementing the wisdom imparted to me, and, many times, I was in such a state of anxiety, anger, depression or frustration that I heard what was said at the meeting, then forgot it all the moment I walked out the door to go back home to the alcoholic.

But that early training in focused listening has stood me in good stead. I believe it has helped me in my sponsorship, in relating to others at meetings, and in being empathetic to those who still suffer.

Listening to newcomers takes me sharply back, to the terrified and confused woman I was when I was new.

I try to extend a warm welcome. I don't leap upon them to fill their ears with all the advantages of Al-Anon, because I was so shy and self-conscious that I found all that warmth and love a little too much to take at first, and would rush out the door after the Serenity Prayer, so as to avoid being hugged. I had no trust, and hugging relative strangers made my weird meter leap to "overload."

Listening well is an art. I think many old-timers in program are good listeners. We all need a safe place, and someone with whom we can speak, knowing that our privacy is assured, our sorrows are shared, and we can unburden ourselves in the knowledge that we won't be interrupted.

 An Al-Anon meeting is a safe place.

Hair, and Sponsors.

I've always found it fascinating, the amount of money and time that our culture devotes to telling us about how our hair can be softer, bouncier, lighter, carefree, sophisticated, playful....the list is as endless as the advertisements.

I've had hair down to my butt, and I've had hair an inch long, and now I have hair about 1/8" of an inch. It was starting to fall out just a few at a time, 10 here, another 10 or so there, so I went and had my head shaved.

My sponsor and I went wig shopping last week, and found a wig which looks very much the way my own hair does. Dark brown with a bit of grey through it. Wigs have come a long way in terms of looking natural, even when they are 100 acrylic. My sponsor and I had a great time in the wig shop, trying on Dolly Parton look-alikes, and all sorts of strange colors and styles, and laughing ourselves silly. We even got the saleslady into it after a while, she was picking out some hilarious styles for me to try and then the three of us would stagger around the shop in giggling fits, with the saleslady never getting past saying more than a gentle, "Oh dear, I think that's not you!" while my sponsor was more upfront,  at one point making me howl by saying firmly, "That's hurting my eyes, you need to take that one off."

I went wig shopping with my sponsor because I knew it would be fun with her. I'm not terribly broken up by my hair loss, I don't love it, but I'd rather laugh than cry, since it's part and parcel of the chemo I'm getting. By shaving my head early into the process, I gained a little control, and that felt good.

Wig-shopping with my sponsor was a pleasure. I feel completely safe with her, I can relax completely, say exactly what I'm thinking, and get good honest loving feedback. And lots of laughs. Just thinking about her brings a smile to my face; she's great fun, and excellent company. My first sponsor down here was wonderful while we were in that relationship, and I feel a heartfelt gratitude for all of the help and support she gave to me, and now we are friends, and talk on the phone once in a while. We've talked about what happened, she's apologised, and I hold no grudge or bad feelings about it, but it did affect my ability to trust her, and it was time for a new sponsor. So it goes.

I was just incredibly lucky enough to know someone who I wanted to be my new sponsor, and she accepted. A good sponsor is a friend, a confidante, and for those of us who are long-time members of this program, a lovingly honest reality check. I can write her an email about exactly what's going through my head, and she will hear me, validate my feelings, then offer her ideas. And because I love and respect and admire her, I'm completely openminded to the way she sees it. Already, in the short time we've been sponsor-sponsee, she's been a comfort and a help in ways too many to enumerate.

A sponsor is a gift we give to ourselves in this marvellous program.

A Better Attitude.

Sorry no posts for so long, I was reeling from the news about the cancer having returned. But now, a couple of weeks further on, my mood has settled more into acceptance and gratitude for all of the love in my life: friends, family, and my wonderful Robert.

One of the women in a group I attend weekly, came up to me before the last meeting, gave me her phone number and address, told me that she had been through one aspect of the surgery I'm facing, and would happily be there for me as support and encouragement. I called her a few days later, and she was encouraging and helpful. Her surgery was due to other reasons, not cancer, but it was the same sort of thing, and she is willing to come to my place and help me when I'm newly home from hospital, and to be a support by phone at any time. I'm supposed to call her this weekend, and go over to her place for tea and some more talking.

I felt far less frightened after speaking with her; she helped me to feel that I can get through the surgery and recover, although it's life-changing and invasive. I have no choice, if I want to live for any time at all, I have to get it done.

Tomorrow I go for a CT scan in the morning, in an effort to see if the cancer has metastasized to my other organs. If it has, I will be lucky to live for another couple of years, if it has not, who knows?

My brother is flying out from New York on the 2nd, and going home on the 4th. We were estranged for many years, and haven't seen each other for almost 30 years, so I am giddily excited at the idea of having even that short space of time to visit with him.

When I live in the moment, life is good.

Acceptance, And Facing Our Own Powelessness.

Yesterday I received a comment from a reader who had found a loved one dead from a heroin overdose, and felt guilty because they'd talked themselves out of a feeling of concern that something was wrong, and the next day, found his body.

I read the comment this morning, and was reminded of Neil Young's "The Needle And The Damage Done", in which he sings, "...but every junkie's like a setting sun..."
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lf6RXn_E_7s

I came to my blog this morning meaning to write a post about "Live and Let Live." I read that comment and thought of the last young man I knew who died from a heroin overdose. He was in his early twenties, a handsome university student. When I heard that he'd been found dead with the needle still in his arm, I recall being swept by an almost overwhelming sadness at the waste of another life.

When still married to my first husband, (who as far as I know is still drinking, 20 odd years after we've been divorced,) and very new to Al-Anon, I found the idea that I was powerless over his addiction to be maddening. Again and again I would speak at meetings about wanting to change him, and would hear others sharing about the difficulty of realising and truly accepting that the alcoholic or addict makes their own life choices. We can decide to stop enabling, and we can work on our own recovery. We cannot force them into sobriety. We are utterly and completely powerless.

We cannot save them from themselves, regardless of what the recovery business would like us to believe. I know couples who have almost bankrupted themselves putting a child into one rehab centre after another, only to lose the thousands of dollars expended, when the child leaves before the end of the treatment and picks up again. We are unable to fix what is wrong with them, they must be desirous of fixing their own lives. Some will, and go on to lead happy fulfilled lives. Some won't, and will die young, of alcohol or substance abuse. That's an unfortunate reality, but until we accept our own powerlessness, we can't be set free.

Being Satisfied With Our Daily Accomplishments.

I've heard many times in meetings, and from sponsees, and once upon a time, believed myself, that what I (we) managed to get done in a day was never enough. I gave myself no wiggle room for illness, fatigue, or simple mood - every day was the same - I hounded myself mercilessly to do more, always do more. I couldn't look at what I'd accomplished and feel satisfaction.

Today I was out picking moss from the stone verge of the rooftop terrace. The crows like to come down, pick up a clump of moss, and fling it out onto the terrace, looking for worms and other insect life. We end up with a terrace covered in small clumps of moss with mud attached, distributed evenly on the walking surface.

 I figured out that if I just remove the moss, they have nothing to fling and I feel immediate gratification at the resulting clean space. Much of gardening seems to consist of various tidying and neatening jobs of this sort, and I enjoy them all. Years ago, however, I wouldn't have been able to do what I did today, which was to do half the task, then stop for the day. Or had I been able to stop before completing the job, I'd have been completely unable to take any pleasure in the work I had completed, because I would have been nattering at myself about not staying at it, until I finished.

I was raised to believe that half-done was the same as not started. I had to be in Al-Anon for quite a few years, before I could give myself credit for whatever I managed to get done in one day. And it took a few more years after that, before I could even consider giving myself permission to take a day of rest. It felt like the "thin edge of the wedge" to get up in a day and decide that if I did not much of anything that day, I was still a good person, and my world wouldn't fall apart.

Challenging this kind of message instilled in early childhood can feel world-shaking to begin with, but after we've moved through the process to a state of clarity unsullied by emotions of guilt or shame, we may be astonished to realise their power over us.

Today I accept that whatever I get done is enough for today. Some days I will accomplish everyday tasks, as well as clear up a backlog of waiting chores. Other days, I'm doing well to be up, washed, and dressed. It's all okay. What matters is that I have love and respect in my life. Picking moss can be spread over two or even three (gasp!) days.

Some Days Are Better Than Others.

I was listening to an Al-Anon speaker yesterday, while I was making soup and seasoning a new wok, and have been thinking about one comment he made. He said that working the program doesn't mean that we won't feel pain or suffer during the stressful periods in our lives, it means that we have tools with which to deal with life's trials and tribulations.

Some of life's trials won't go away. We endure health problems, as I have done recently, and after the treatment, our body doesn't work in the same effortless way it used to. I've been very fortunate, but there have been changes, and I need to live with them, since I've no other choice. Some days, I can accept and let go. Occasionally, I'll have a bad night, as I did last night, with patchy sleep and physical complaints, and wake up feeling down, as I did this morning.

I'm feeling grumpy and dis-satisfied and in need of a spiritual boost. I know I'll get it when I go to the office operating committee meeting this afternoon. I'll see my sponsor and other members of my home group, women I love dearly, who make me laugh, give me hope, and life my spirits when I'm already happy. When I'm feeling a little down, as I am today, they are a lifeline to regaining my usual good mood.

Robert is out at the moment, but I know that when he returns, he will smile at me, and I will feel the comfort and blessing of his love for me, and mine for him, and my gratitude for the blessings in my life will dissipate this touch of melancholy, like wood smoke on the breeze.

In Al-Anon, I'm learning not to panic when my mood shifts occasionally. For many years, I was afraid of my feelings of pain or sorrow, because I feared that there might come a day when they wouldn't end. Now, I am aware that they are a part of me that can be acknowledged, accepted, and released.

This too, shall pass.

When LIfe, or Other People's Choices, Cause Us Pain.

One aspect of life about which I felt the most resistance, growing up, and to be honest, for many years into adulthood, is defined with utter clarity in the cry we hear from children: "It's not fair!"

Too right, life isn't fair. My most recent personal experience of this was meeting, becoming friends with,  and falling in love with Robert, only to have three blissful months with him in delight and joy before receiving a diagnosis of cancer.

It was the first time in many years that I had felt that instinctive resistance and frustrated anger about the unfairness of life - how could it be that I could meet the love of my life, this wonderful intelligent caring, witty, enjoyable, decent man, and be loved by him in return, only to have such a thing happen so soon into our relationship?  I spent about 24 hours filled with a towering fury at the unfairness of it - we were both in our mid-50's, and for each of us, this time together has been the culmination of all desires and wishes long thought unfillable.  How could this be happening? After that day spent sick with rage and resentment, I realised that I had a choice, I could either hold onto that old feeling, or I could open my heart and mind and let it go, turn it over to my Higher Power. If I didn't, I would destroy the very peace, humour and satisfaction of our relationship.

I made a conscious choice to let go of my sense of life's unfairness in this instance, because I have worked for 29 years to learn to live in peace and serenity, rather than suffer the ravages of a life lived with fear and anger as my constant companions.

There will also be times in my life when those I love may make a choice which may cause me great pain. A friend may become angry with me for whatever reason, a family member may want something from me that I'm not willing or able to give without trampling my own boundaries. I cannot change them. I can only choose  to allow myself to feel my feelings, and then make my own choice, to release them, to turn them, and my life, over to my Higher Power. I have never felt comfort arising from resentment, rage or fear - I've only repeatedly tormented myself with thoughts filled with frustration and anger.

I want peace, and I know what I must do to achieve it, I must LET IT All GO. Everything. I must accept my own powerlessness, and ask my Higher Power for comfort and serenity. With serenity, I can accept that life isn't fair, and have a good life in spite of that truth.

Similarities and Differences

I heard a woman today say that before meeting her third husband, she had reached a place of satisfaction with her life, and with herself, and she wasn't looking for a relationship. She had, however, decided that were a possibility to present itself, (himself) she was at the very least, open to the idea. In the spirit of that, she decided to sit down and make a list of what she required in a man. When she finished, her list contained 70 items.

I was awestruck. Several months before meeting Robert, while out walking one day, and talking to my Higher Power as I often do on solitary walks, I had said that if I was ever to get involved with a man again, I'd like him to have integrity, be capable of loving me, be someone I could love, and be a man I could trust and respect.

This woman and I were similar, in that we each felt that were we to get involved again, we needed some fundamental character traits to exist in a potential partner before we were willing to even consider becoming friends with him. My list was considerably shorter than hers, but that may have more to do with my having been in Al-Anon for many years, and having discovered that in order for me to be happy, I need to be more focused upon who I am and what I'm doing, and less upon what someone else is doing.

I have grown to like simplicity. This doesn't make my list right and hers wrong, it just makes them different. But I like to believe that there is more similarity between the two of us than there is difference. In our middle age, we each learned that we could be happy in ourselves, that we didn't need a partner to feel complete and satisfied. Neither of us was actively looking. That's also the case for Robert - he wasn't out looking for a partner.

So many times in my life, it has been when I've finally let go and accepted that I don't have something, and decided to be content and satisfied without it, that it will appear for the taking. I don't know how this works, I just know that it does. And pretending that I'm fine without it doesn't fool the universe in the slightest, I have to have truly turned it over, and let it go completely.

When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. Some stay around for a while, some drop in and have only a few things to impart before moving on, and we may never see them again. This woman today felt like a teacher for me, and delighted me with her ability to impart her message with clarity and humour. Life is grand.

You Can't Walk in Sand Without Leaving Footprints.

I have two sisters, both older than I. One, M, is two years my senior, the other, G, is four years older. M and I get along well. Although she's never had experience with program or 12-Step of any kind, with her life experience, she's evolved into someone who can question her own responses, ponder her own behavior, and be firmly on the side of improved communication.

G reminds me very much of myself before Al-Anon. I offended very easily, I was rigid in my thinking, and I was determined to "win" any conflicts or hassles in which I became involved. My way was not only the correct way, it was the one and only way. I will occasionally cast my mind back to the younger me, and feel empathy for those who had to deal with that prickly, mutinous, sullen and immature woman.

One of Al-Anon's greatest lessons is that I cannot change another person. No amount of heckling, badgering, whining, manipulating, wheedling or pressure is going to affect a permanent change in the thinking or behavior of any other human on this planet.

I can only change myself.  My only sphere of true influence lies within my own skull. The mind of any other person is only available to me as that person chooses to share themselves. I have no way of knowing whether or not that sharing is conscious, true or honest.

I've always loved the music of Tom Petty, and in the chorus of "The Waiting" he sings:

"...The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you get one more yard
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part..."

I cannot have a relationship all my own way, no more than I could walk in sand without leaving my footprints. With my oldest sister, all I can do is do my best. When I feel the need to set a boundary, I make the effort to be as kind as is humanly possible in the way I state my need for respect. After that, I have to wait. I wait for her response, or lack of same. I let her, and her response go, as far as I'm able at that point.

These days, I'm fairly skilled at letting go of what I cannot control. If it's beyond me, I can see that with clarity, so I try not to let it eat at me. When I'm trying to let go, and can't manage it, I ask my Higher Power for help. My prayers for assistance seem to have simplified down to one sentence:

"Please help me with this."

I no longer specify how I  want to be helped, or when, or where. I just ask for the help, and then let that go, too. I've grown old enough now to have a wonderfully clarified sense of just how little I know about life and its mysteries. Suffice it that I've experienced them, I don't have a burning need to explain them anymore, not to myself, nor to anyone else.

All I have to offer is my love, my humour, and occasionally, the little bits of wisdom I've gained from this marvellous program. That and my gratitude; it overflows this earthly container on an hourly basis.

Surgical Staples Out This Morning - Facets of Gratitude.

Apart from some serious back problems as the result of an accident many years ago, I have been blessed with good health. One of the strangest aspects of the cancer diagnosis, was the fact that I'd had no symptoms, and believed myself to be in the best possible health except for my back. It was decidedly strange to find out I had a cancerous tumour growing inside me. But I had much to be grateful for - a screening test had caught the tumour at a very early stage, and it appeared not to have metastasized, according to the staging tests available.

I'd taken my favourite Al-Anon daily reader, "Courage to Change" into the hospital with me,  and on the second day after surgery, I lay there and read every one of the 13 pages under the topic of "gratitude", because I was having a hard time feeling any. I was sick after surgery, with my stomach producing bile overtime, not having had any food for about 3 days by then, and the food offered as a fluid diet was, not to exaggerate, disgusting. I do not understand how hospital food can be so atrocious, but had it not been for Robert bringing me yoghurt and real chamomile tea, I'd have been subsisting on the cup of food replacement which was on each meal tray, as it was the most appetising thing available. How any dietician could consider instant pudding, sickeningly sweet and lumpy, to be food for a person who has just survived major surgery, is utterly beyond me.

The food, however, was my only complaint. The nurses were kind, funny, caring, and knowledgeable, the surgeon worked his magic, and the entire thing was covered by my medical plan.

My 26 surgical staples were removed this morning at my GP's office in a matter of ten or so minutes, then we came home, and I was taken out for lunch by a good friend who'd driven down to the city.
Examining my scar (still with the staples) the other day, I was idly musing that were it horizontal rather than vertical, I'd have a good start on the front grille of a '54 Buick.

Today, I'm feeling grateful. I had lots of program friends come to visit in the hospital while I was there, and coming home to my beloved Robert was a gift indeed. Now I have to await the pathology report to find out if the lymph nodes were clean, or if further treatment is recommended. Either way, life is good, the sun is beaming and it's a lovely mild day in December. Bless you all.

Waiting, or Living?

So much of my life was spent waiting, rather than living. As a child, I waited to be adopted, believing that when I was adopted, I would finally be happy, secure in a family of my own, loved, free of the fear and anxiety I felt being moved from pillar to post, one foster home after another. Back then, 50 years ago now, a child was moved from a foster home if it was felt that he or she was becoming too attached to the foster parent. This is an excellent way to create an adult incapable of commitment, for fear that the loved one will be snatched away, just as every person one dared to care for as a child was snatched away.

When finally adopted at the age of six, I realised very quickly that my new home was not going to be much of an improvement on the foster homes, because my adopted mother was a woman so full of rage and fear that she was unable to nurture or love a child. She used physical force to get her point across, and beat me regularly. I settled down to wait until I was sixteen, and could leave home.

 (It wasn't until I was an adult, sitting in the kitchen one day with my first husband's youngest daughter upon my lap, chatting to me about a movie she'd seen, and playing with my then waist-length hair, that it struck me how frail and delicate she was - her hands and wrists were tiny. I'd been told for many years that the beatings I suffered were my own fault, that I had caused them through my own choices. I took that information and internalised it, accepted it in some internal measuring place we all have. It wasn't until that day in my kitchen, that it struck me all at once - I had been about the size of the little girl in my arms,  and there was no way a child that age or size could have "deserved" the beatings that were administered to me. I just wasn't that "bad.")

When I left my adoptive home I quickly became involved with a raging alcoholic - my first husband. For ten years I hoped that he would change, and waited for things to improve, so I could be happy. It didn't happen, and I left that marriage no happier than I'd entered.

My second husband was a sober alcoholic, but not in recovery. His ego was the size of a mastodon, and I was miserable in that marriage, too. I had figured out very quickly, when he moved me to a town in which he'd lived before, where he felt comfortable and I knew no-one, that he didn't care how I felt, as long as he was content. I tried to work my Al-Anon program and accept my lot in life, but I had the feeling that there must be more to life, and to a relationship.

When I left that marriage a year and 3 months ago, I grieved for my little dog, whom I'd had for six years, but had to give back to the breeder. I knew I'd never be able to afford to look after her the way she deserved, since I was going to be living on a disability pension. I grieved for her, and for the death of my dear friend, who had died a few months prior to my leaving.

During that marriage, I had learned to find happiness in my friendships and my siblings, in gardening and art., but on some level, I was still waiting.

Alone, and once again living in the city I love and where I feel at home, I had begun to find a real happiness, and life was a wonderful adventure. I met Robert after almost a year, and we became first friends, and then as we realised how well matched we are, more than friends. I found myself eagerly anticipating the next time we got together, for the conversation was wide-ranging, our interests intersected in plants and gardening, and other areas of life, and we can make each other howl with laughter. I slowly, ever-so-slowly, allowed him access to the part of my character which had before then been closed away for over 50 years - my deepest feelings. I trust him completely, and it's an astounding feeling, this amazing trust. I had stopped waiting, because life had given me everything about which I'd dreamed.

We had 3 months of bliss uninterrupted, then I was diagnosed with cancer. I began once again to wait, but the waiting was of a very different kind this time around, because I have a partner who waits with me, for the tests to take place, and soon, for the results of the tests. I'll know on Oct 10th exactly what it is that I am facing, whether surgery is an option, or if the prognosis is grim. This time, I have only been waiting for short periods of time before I've pushed that thinking right out of my head, and gone back to dealing with the glorious delight of daily life in a relationship with a man I'm crazy in love with, who loves me. Somehow, even facing the most frightening possibility of my life, I am waking up full of joy and delight, turning to catch sight of my beloved's sleepy face on the pillow beside me, and greeting him with a bursting affection.

I'm waiting for the results of the tests, but I am also living in a way unknown to me before now, and this I wouldn't give up for a clean bill of health. I'll take it all, good and not-so-great, because all of it makes up my life, and life is good.

Embracing Powerlessness As A Signpost To Freedom.

So much of my past struggle, and for those I sponsor, and friends in program, arises from my, and their, inability to accept our powerlessness. We fight it tooth and nail, for various reasons, not least of which is wanting life, people, or things to be the way we desire them to be.

When I finally surrendered, I believe it was more from exhaustion with the fight, than any real understanding that the fight itself was an exercise in futility. I don't suggest that my sponsees require that understanding as a prerequisite to accepting powerlessness; quite the contrary, it can be a relief to let it all go before we ever reach a place of knowing why we are doing the letting go, or what we may possibly gain through doing so.

All I need is to believe that there is something, anything, which is a power greater than myself - this may be the group, Good Orderly Direction, nature, whatever works for me. As long as I can grasp that I am not the be-all and end-all, I have everything I need to begin the process of letting go.

I had to be shown step by step what "letting go" meant, because I hadn't a  clue, and as someone who spent a lot of time in anxiety and fear, the prospect of letting go, detaching, removing myself emotionally from whatever was possessing my mind at the time, sounded near to impossible.

To start, I needed a willingness to change my thinking. That meant I had to accept that my thinking was not the best and clearest that it could be with regard to whatever the topic was, and that the solution to my overwhelming fear and distress could come through letting go, and letting the Higher Power take it. My illusion of control was not doing me any good, it kept me mired in a mindset which was foggy and unclear, and the mindset made me unhappy and fearful.

As I think so do I feel,

as I feel so do I act,

as I act, so do the consequences of my actions, make my life one way or another.

My thinking affects the way my life works, or doesn't.
I couldn't see that reality for the longest time, I was convinced that my life was more affected by the choices of another person, namely the alcoholic, than by anything I did or thought. I felt victimised, trapped, angry, resentful, frustrated, and hopeless.

How could admitting powerlessness help me with any of that?

It helped me by opening up great stretches of my time previously spent obsessing. When I let go of a struggle I cannot hope to win, I turn instead to the business of living my life with hope, peace, and freedom. I make time in which to do the things I love, to be of service, to offer to another person who is fighting their own inner demons, the experience strength and hope so freely and lovingly given to me when I was new in Al-Anon.

May you have an excellent Sunday.

Getting My Own Way.

From "One Day At A Time In Al-Anon" page 155:

"A program of self-recognition and self-change "reads easy and does hard."

I spoke with a sponsee yesterday, and she mentioned how difficult it is to work our program, because of the challenge of being honest with ourselves. Honesty with self is a necessity and a prerequisite, if we are to get anywhere in this journey to wholeness and serenity, but the very human difficulty in seeing ourselves with any level of perceptibility means that we will invariably reach a point of being stuck, and unable to progress.

When that point is reached, I've learned not to tell myself stories about what I'm doing, but instead realise that I've gone as far as I can with objective clarity, and when I can't get any further, ask for input from my sponsor and other program friends. I need to choose people who won't reassure me with people-pleasing, but will instead be direct and if necessary, blunt, in their take on my situation.

I don't offend easily anymore, and when I ask for help, I'm willing to hear whatever that person has to say. I don't have to agree, and I don't have to like it. But respect and experience has taught me to listen and give the words the weight they deserve. I've asked for them, this person has taken the time and effort to give me their take on it; I need to sit quietly and listen, and perhaps I'll need to sit in the feelings stirred up by their reply, if the issue is a particularly thorny one.

I've learned over the years to recognise a certain type of irritated feeling which will rise in my chest as a desire to defend, argue, or debate. Nowadays, when I feel that particular feeling, I know to pay close attention to what is being said to me, because I've learned that I only ever get that feeling when I'm hearing the truth about myself. The truth resonates with a power that something which doesn't apply can't reach. So I know to "sit down, shut up, and pay attention." Don't sit with a smile on my face, while arguing internally, don't ignore what's being said in favour of my own take, don't let this chance to learn pass by unremarked.

Other people are a conduit for our Higher Power, respect them!