When I came into Al-Anon, my focus was squarely upon the alcoholic. He seemed to take up all the space in our house, and in my mind. I didn't have to be with him to be obsessing about him and his drinking. He'd disappear for days on a bender, and I'd go to work, come home, feed the dogs and myself, worry for the entire remainder of the evening, then go to bed and toss and turn wondering where he was, what he was doing, and if I was going to hear a knock on my front door, and find police officers standing there, telling me that he was seriously injured, or dead.
It was a terrible way to live, and I did it for about 8 1/2 years, until I finally listened to my GP, and went to my first Al-Anon meeting.
I went to that meeting expecting all of the people there to be squarely focussed upon the alcoholics in their lives. When I was told that Al-Anon was for me, and that I needed to find a way to live in serenity whether the alcoholic was drinking or not, I was so surprised that I just pushed that concept to the side. It seemed clearly impossible.
Over the years that I have been in Al-Anon, I have become much better at aiming and focusing upon that which gives me pleasure, satisfaction, and hope. I have become more skilled at letting go of that which does me no good, only torments me, and over which I have zero control.
It's the same with cancer. I have a choice, I either obsess about it continually, ruining whatever time I have on this earth, or I let go of it, and live my live the way I would had I never had the diagnosis. I choose to do the latter, because I've learned how, and it allows me to take from each day enough to feed my soul and mind, and not open myself to worry, anger, stressful imaginings, and resentment.
Life is what I make it, to a great extent. This is true regardless of my income or social status. I am the one who gets up in the morning and decides whether or not I'm going to enjoy the day. Al-Anon has taken the furiously angry person that I once was, and transformed her into a woman who loves to laugh, and to make others laugh. That's an amazing feat, any way you look at it.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Friday, August 22, 2014
Humour Opens Our Hearts As Nothing Else Can.
I went for my 5th chemo treatment yesterday. I had just made myself comfortable in the chair, when a woman about my age, and her friend, were led to the chairs directly across the aisle. They were discussing IV's, and how the friend could not for the life of her watch the IV being inserted. Because they seemed open and friendly, I commented that I was the same, I can't watch, or I begin to feel a strange wooziness.
We began to joke back and forth, and soon were laughing hilariously over each other's dog, family member, and doctor, stories. It was wonderful, the time flew by, while we kept ourselves vastly entertained for almost three hours, until Robert arrived to get me, and they too were finished, and going home.
I was thinking about it later, and realised that this time, chemo was fun, because these two women were funny, friendly, open, thoughtful, kind, all sorts of good things, and willing to share of themselves with me. It would have been very easy to have just been a group of two, I see that often in the chemo room - people may say hello and smile politely, but they don't want to talk, and I respect that. So I read, or lay back in the chair and think of all of the things for which I am grateful, including chemo, or maybe even doze a bit.
Robert sat with me through the entire first chemo, but I've convinced him that I don't need him to do that, and he can easily drop me off, then come for the last 15-20 minutes until I'm unhooked and can leave. He feels guilty, as if he's abandoning me. I know I have his support, I don't need him to be stuck in there for 3 hours with me, I feel better if he goes off and does whatever he needs to do in the intervening time. I take books to read, and I have always been able to entertain myself when I'm alone, so if the people in the chairs around me don't want to talk, I read, or people watch. He felt better this time, to meet these women and hear that we had been laughing for almost 3 hours together.
It was fun to enjoy chemo. I'm so grateful for all the gifts in my life.
We began to joke back and forth, and soon were laughing hilariously over each other's dog, family member, and doctor, stories. It was wonderful, the time flew by, while we kept ourselves vastly entertained for almost three hours, until Robert arrived to get me, and they too were finished, and going home.
I was thinking about it later, and realised that this time, chemo was fun, because these two women were funny, friendly, open, thoughtful, kind, all sorts of good things, and willing to share of themselves with me. It would have been very easy to have just been a group of two, I see that often in the chemo room - people may say hello and smile politely, but they don't want to talk, and I respect that. So I read, or lay back in the chair and think of all of the things for which I am grateful, including chemo, or maybe even doze a bit.
Robert sat with me through the entire first chemo, but I've convinced him that I don't need him to do that, and he can easily drop me off, then come for the last 15-20 minutes until I'm unhooked and can leave. He feels guilty, as if he's abandoning me. I know I have his support, I don't need him to be stuck in there for 3 hours with me, I feel better if he goes off and does whatever he needs to do in the intervening time. I take books to read, and I have always been able to entertain myself when I'm alone, so if the people in the chairs around me don't want to talk, I read, or people watch. He felt better this time, to meet these women and hear that we had been laughing for almost 3 hours together.
It was fun to enjoy chemo. I'm so grateful for all the gifts in my life.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Do What You Can And Let The Rest Go.
I told my GP when I was in to see him yesterday, that I felt as though I have had enough blood taken from me in the last two weeks, to fill a small dog. A Pomeranian, perhaps? We laughed together, and then had an excellent discussion on the way that serious illness can suddenly make clear to a person just what is and is not important.
Some of us are fortunate, and have had enough time in twelve-step programs, that we can already grasp to some extent, what matters and what truly does not. I find myself full of gratitude that I've had all these years in Al-Anon; I can just picture the roiling mass of anger, resentment and self-pity that I would be in this position, had I not had years learning to seek humility and serenity.
If I want peace, I need to do what I can, and let the rest go. I might be able to go out and walk in the park after treatment, but I also might only be able to come home and sleep for hours. It will be what it will be, and I have no control over it. What I do have are friends, my wonderful Robert, and a good solid program to help me get through whatever I am facing. I am content.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
What We Fear Consumes Us.
I had a day recently of obsession, around and around inside my head, unable to get past it, unable to get by it, chained to that circular route of thought. Horrible. I haven't had a day like that in a long time. The only way to break the obsession was to go for a nap. When I woke up, I was no longer obsessed. What a relief!
I find it hard to believe that I once lived my life like that, substituting one obsession for another, never being able to live at peace inside my own head. I think that may be partly why I read so much; when I was reading, I wasn't thinking about the current obsession.
And where did all that obsessing take me? To misery, time and again, but I hadn't any clue about how to break it, how to get out of it, how to avoid starting in the first place. I had to be in program for quite some time before I realised that some thoughts were just not good ones upon which to dwell - they were the opening bars to an obsession.
I was trapped inside a prison of my own thinking, with no awareness of that reality. I remember feeling very doubtful when anyone in a meeting would talk about "changing their thinking." I was so far removed from that, I couldn't even imagine it. My first attempts were more like pleading with my Higher Power to help me get off a road upon which I'd purposefully set out, hours earlier. I recall walking with my dog, and saying the first line of the Serenity Prayer repeatedly, anything to try to stop the obsessing.
There have been times when the only way I knew I'd been obsessing, was with the feeling of overwhelming relief that washed over me when I managed, somehow, to stop.
My fears consumed my life without me knowing - if anything, I would have considered my worry "prudent." It was an awful way to live, and the only way out was with Al-Anon. I learned to control, to some extent, my own thinking. I learned that some topics were forbidden if I wanted peace. I couldn't say to myself "I'll just worry for half an hour, then the rest of the evening, I'll do something else." For me, it doesn't work that way, if I allow a fear headroom, it will consume me. I may appear to be living my life, but I'm not really there. My body is, my mind is miles away, trapped on a circular treadmill.
I find it hard to believe that I once lived my life like that, substituting one obsession for another, never being able to live at peace inside my own head. I think that may be partly why I read so much; when I was reading, I wasn't thinking about the current obsession.
And where did all that obsessing take me? To misery, time and again, but I hadn't any clue about how to break it, how to get out of it, how to avoid starting in the first place. I had to be in program for quite some time before I realised that some thoughts were just not good ones upon which to dwell - they were the opening bars to an obsession.
I was trapped inside a prison of my own thinking, with no awareness of that reality. I remember feeling very doubtful when anyone in a meeting would talk about "changing their thinking." I was so far removed from that, I couldn't even imagine it. My first attempts were more like pleading with my Higher Power to help me get off a road upon which I'd purposefully set out, hours earlier. I recall walking with my dog, and saying the first line of the Serenity Prayer repeatedly, anything to try to stop the obsessing.
There have been times when the only way I knew I'd been obsessing, was with the feeling of overwhelming relief that washed over me when I managed, somehow, to stop.
My fears consumed my life without me knowing - if anything, I would have considered my worry "prudent." It was an awful way to live, and the only way out was with Al-Anon. I learned to control, to some extent, my own thinking. I learned that some topics were forbidden if I wanted peace. I couldn't say to myself "I'll just worry for half an hour, then the rest of the evening, I'll do something else." For me, it doesn't work that way, if I allow a fear headroom, it will consume me. I may appear to be living my life, but I'm not really there. My body is, my mind is miles away, trapped on a circular treadmill.
Friday, July 25, 2014
Amends
I have reached a point in my recovery, where I rarely become angry. When I do, I am able to count to ten, remain silent, or speak without heat.
Since this last operation, I find myself more short-tempered with all the appointments, visits, chemo treatments, dressing changes for my PICC line (a catheter inserted in my upper right arm and left in for the entire duration of the chemo, six months) trips to get bloodwork, and waiting waiting waiting to be able to do all of the above.
On Tuesday I had to go see a chemo oncologist for my regular bi-weekly checkup, to make sure I was healthy enough for the next treatment. I was sent from pillar to post to try to get the dressing change, because I kept being told by ward and clinic clerks "Oh, we don't do those here, go there, and they'll do it for you." I went back and forth several times before suggesting that one clinic clerk come with me to tell the other, that someone over there was supposed to do my dressing change. I then waited for another hour and a half, so by the time I was called, I was feeling quite annoyed. I'd forgotten to bring a book to read, so was reduced to either Economist magazine, or home decorating.
When I did get in to see the doctor, I was short with her, and said that I didn't appreciate being kept waiting for an hour and a half. She gave me several reasons, and we talked about it a bit, but I was annoyed, and stayed annoyed throughout the 10-minute visit.
At home that night, I felt that I owed this doctor an amend. So, knowing that the chances of me being able to catch her long enough to make an amend face-to-face were slim to none, I wrote her a two page apology.
This morning she called me at home to thank me for my apology, and we talked for a bit. I'd explained what is going on for me, how I'm struggling with the limitations imposed upon me by the second surgery, and waver between acceptance and anger. She revealed that her daughter had undergone the exact surgery, and asked if she could refer me to another specialty doctor who might be able to help. I agreed, apologised again, and we parted on good terms.
I felt the enormous relief that comes to me after I've made an amend that I know I need to make, and I also found my eyes welling up with tears. Had I not been willing to make the amend, we would most likely not have ever spoken about the limitations, we'd just have discussed the cancer. God puts these people into our path, and it's our choice to either turn away, or turn towards them.
Since this last operation, I find myself more short-tempered with all the appointments, visits, chemo treatments, dressing changes for my PICC line (a catheter inserted in my upper right arm and left in for the entire duration of the chemo, six months) trips to get bloodwork, and waiting waiting waiting to be able to do all of the above.
On Tuesday I had to go see a chemo oncologist for my regular bi-weekly checkup, to make sure I was healthy enough for the next treatment. I was sent from pillar to post to try to get the dressing change, because I kept being told by ward and clinic clerks "Oh, we don't do those here, go there, and they'll do it for you." I went back and forth several times before suggesting that one clinic clerk come with me to tell the other, that someone over there was supposed to do my dressing change. I then waited for another hour and a half, so by the time I was called, I was feeling quite annoyed. I'd forgotten to bring a book to read, so was reduced to either Economist magazine, or home decorating.
When I did get in to see the doctor, I was short with her, and said that I didn't appreciate being kept waiting for an hour and a half. She gave me several reasons, and we talked about it a bit, but I was annoyed, and stayed annoyed throughout the 10-minute visit.
At home that night, I felt that I owed this doctor an amend. So, knowing that the chances of me being able to catch her long enough to make an amend face-to-face were slim to none, I wrote her a two page apology.
This morning she called me at home to thank me for my apology, and we talked for a bit. I'd explained what is going on for me, how I'm struggling with the limitations imposed upon me by the second surgery, and waver between acceptance and anger. She revealed that her daughter had undergone the exact surgery, and asked if she could refer me to another specialty doctor who might be able to help. I agreed, apologised again, and we parted on good terms.
I felt the enormous relief that comes to me after I've made an amend that I know I need to make, and I also found my eyes welling up with tears. Had I not been willing to make the amend, we would most likely not have ever spoken about the limitations, we'd just have discussed the cancer. God puts these people into our path, and it's our choice to either turn away, or turn towards them.
Friday, July 11, 2014
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.
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.
Friday, July 4, 2014
Control and Perfectionism.
I was writing to my sponsor last night, and mentioned that I can still be powered by those two engines of insanity - control and perfectionism.
I can detach enough from myself and my emotions at this stage, to be able to watch the way having cancer, and being pulled into the whirlpool of treatment, affects my desire to control, and awakens the old demon of perfectionism.
For now, much of my time is not my own, through hours spent getting chemotherapy infusions, going for blood tests, appointments with doctors, nurses, dressing changes for the PICC line - the list seems endless, but then when I have a couple of days with no appointments, I feel a gleeful freedom.
After so many years in Al-Anon, I've become rather skilled at letting go - this has been of huge importance to me since the diagnosis. I've learned to live in the moment, and to take pleasure from these moments as they happen, not allowing the spectre of what may lie ahead to poison my joy in today.
A friend is coming to take me for lunch today; we haven't seen each other since before I was diagnosed, so she may be expecting me to look ill. I have had to laugh at how many of my friends who haven't seen me for a while exclaim in surprise "You look so good!" Cancer is a loaded word, and with it come many assumptions.
My sponsor and I are going wig-shopping tomorrow - I'm really looking forward to this, she has a wicked sense of humour, and her many years in Al-Anon allow her to see the silliness that surrounds us in daily life. I know that I can be truly myself with her, whether that be me on a day when I'm working my program and managing to balance quite nicely, or on my not-so-program days. Tears or laughter, she accepts them all, and that is a great gift.
I'm grateful for this wonderful program, for allowing me to be having a conversation with Robert, and know to stop and laughingly "out" myself as a control freak, telling him to do whatever he's doing however he pleases, and I will be quiet now. When I'm in HALT, (hungry, angry, lonely, tired) my desire to control can begin to overcome me. I can focus on it, or let it go - my life works well, or I stumble, depending upon which I choose.
Perfectionism is another character defect I have had in abundance. I see that it was inculcated in childhood, when a higher mark was always better, and nothing was ever enough. I was never enough.
That feeling stuck with me through most of my early years in Al-Anon. Anxiety can cause it to start up in my head again, that feeling of having to do everything and anything perfectly, so that no possible criticism can be levelled against me. Fortunately, again, I've had sufficient experience in Al-Anon that I know not to allow that feeling to override my common sense. I can feel it, validate it, then set it aside, and do what I need to do to look after myself.
Twice since my diagnosis, I have asked to see another doctor, first the surgeon, and then the medical oncologist. I didn't feel comfortable or confident with the first doctors I saw, so got up my nerve to ask for a second opinion. I'm learning that I need to be willing to advocate for myself. Cancer Care here has a wealth of information and help available, but in order to access it, I have to admit that I need some extra assistance, that I'm not perfect, and I can't manage all on my own. What a relief that is.
I can detach enough from myself and my emotions at this stage, to be able to watch the way having cancer, and being pulled into the whirlpool of treatment, affects my desire to control, and awakens the old demon of perfectionism.
For now, much of my time is not my own, through hours spent getting chemotherapy infusions, going for blood tests, appointments with doctors, nurses, dressing changes for the PICC line - the list seems endless, but then when I have a couple of days with no appointments, I feel a gleeful freedom.
After so many years in Al-Anon, I've become rather skilled at letting go - this has been of huge importance to me since the diagnosis. I've learned to live in the moment, and to take pleasure from these moments as they happen, not allowing the spectre of what may lie ahead to poison my joy in today.
A friend is coming to take me for lunch today; we haven't seen each other since before I was diagnosed, so she may be expecting me to look ill. I have had to laugh at how many of my friends who haven't seen me for a while exclaim in surprise "You look so good!" Cancer is a loaded word, and with it come many assumptions.
My sponsor and I are going wig-shopping tomorrow - I'm really looking forward to this, she has a wicked sense of humour, and her many years in Al-Anon allow her to see the silliness that surrounds us in daily life. I know that I can be truly myself with her, whether that be me on a day when I'm working my program and managing to balance quite nicely, or on my not-so-program days. Tears or laughter, she accepts them all, and that is a great gift.
I'm grateful for this wonderful program, for allowing me to be having a conversation with Robert, and know to stop and laughingly "out" myself as a control freak, telling him to do whatever he's doing however he pleases, and I will be quiet now. When I'm in HALT, (hungry, angry, lonely, tired) my desire to control can begin to overcome me. I can focus on it, or let it go - my life works well, or I stumble, depending upon which I choose.
Perfectionism is another character defect I have had in abundance. I see that it was inculcated in childhood, when a higher mark was always better, and nothing was ever enough. I was never enough.
That feeling stuck with me through most of my early years in Al-Anon. Anxiety can cause it to start up in my head again, that feeling of having to do everything and anything perfectly, so that no possible criticism can be levelled against me. Fortunately, again, I've had sufficient experience in Al-Anon that I know not to allow that feeling to override my common sense. I can feel it, validate it, then set it aside, and do what I need to do to look after myself.
Twice since my diagnosis, I have asked to see another doctor, first the surgeon, and then the medical oncologist. I didn't feel comfortable or confident with the first doctors I saw, so got up my nerve to ask for a second opinion. I'm learning that I need to be willing to advocate for myself. Cancer Care here has a wealth of information and help available, but in order to access it, I have to admit that I need some extra assistance, that I'm not perfect, and I can't manage all on my own. What a relief that is.
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