Keep Moving
I fired our housecleaners about 3 weeks ago. One Sunday, I became obsessed with cleaning the house because the amount of cleaning that the service had overlooked became unbearable to me. So, I donned some blue industrial cleaning gloves (I am a bit germ phobic) and got to work. I spent about three hours scrubbing every nook and cranny of my home. By the time I finished, I was furious with the cleaners who had been paid a significant amount of money to do just this thing. Instead, they showed up every week and vacuumed the floors and did a very inadequate job of scrubbing the wood floors. In fact, on numerous occasions, I had to have them come back and re-do the floors as their were still the marks of muddy paws evident. Anyway, after that Sunday, I could no longer tolerate spending my money on nothing, so I fired the cleaners. Unfortunately, this meant that even that surface cleaning went away leaving the entire onus of housecleaning on me. Again, not a huge deal, but my very important job keeps me late many days and, when I am not at the college, I like to be in my studio. This weekend, it all fell apart. Both Milissa and I knew we had to clean (her folks are coming to Boston this week), but we were both absolutely wiped out from the work week and I had just returned from the SPE Conference in Miami.
On Friday as I was driving home from work, I realized that I needed to find a new housecleaner. Mis and I recently finished MAPP training at The Home and a couple that was in the training with us gave me the name of their cleaners and highly recommended them. So, as I was driving, I was scrolling through my mobile phone directory trying to locate the name and number of this cleaning service. Of course, I could not remember the name and so I had to go through every one of my contacts.
I came to the name, "Mary P," and my heart skipped a beat and I felt tears come to my eyes. Mary was one of my favorite people in the support group that I attended at the Wellness Community. She died at the end of last year on Thursday, December 16, 2006. Her death was an incredible shock to me as the last time I had seen her, she looked great. She was such an incredible, empathic, energetic, positive presence and to know that she is no longer in the world is painful and sad. She was enormously generous to me when I first joined the group. Mary continued to be a friend long after I left the group, although I will admit that it was difficult for me to see people from the group after I left as it left me riddled with guilt and anxiety. Now I have guilt about not making more of an effort to see her in the last year. I will never have another opportunity to talk with her. I kept putting off the invitation to have dinner with her again and now it will never happen. I could not bring myself to delete her contact information on my mobile phone. Somehow this seemed wrong, like I would be deleting her. For a moment, I even considered calling the number. I do not know why -- maybe I hoped she might answer, but, no, I think I just hate feeling such a huge sense of loss. The number stays and so does her email address right along with the others from the group who have gone: K.C., Susan, Florence, Jim.
I hate cancer. I hate what it took from me and what it continues to take from me. I have not emerged triumphant, but instead am anxious, uncomfortable, superstitious and downright terrified. It never stops, but I do successfully avoid it sometimes. I remember right after I finished treatment, I kept feeling like I wanted me back -- I wanted to be myself again. Slowly, I began to realize that the me that existed prior to the diagnosis was gone forever. One short telephone call that ripped apart my comfortable existence and I can never go back to the way it was before I received that telephone call from my physician: "You have cancer."
Milissa's father is coming to Boston to see a specialist at MGH. He has prostate cancer. It has been very difficult for me to think about this -- my diagnosis anniversary is coming up (good old April Fool's Day) and I always get anxious around this time anyway. Now, Jim has cancer and he is scared and that makes me so sad. He has been incredibly supportive of me -- through my treatment and beyond, my filmmaking projects and artmaking in general. He has been wonderful to me. I do not want him to have cancer. I do not want anyone to have cancer.
There is a Lance Armstrong commercial for LiveStrong where Lance is looking directly into the camera and saying, "Remember me, Cancer?" He goes on to speak in a very defiant way to cancer and every time I see this commercial, my anxiety skyrockets. I think to myself, "No, Lance, don't do it -- don't tempt cancer to come back and kick your ass." Crazy, I know. But I have some weird superstitious feelings about tempting fate and I think Lance should be quiet and hope that Cancer forgets about him. He should not confront Cancer like that on national television. He is asking for trouble.
I found a housecleaner who did a wonderful job on Sunday. I went to Target while she was cleaning, mostly to mitigate my unbearable anxiety, but with the excuse that we needed various items for the house. Mis had to remind me that her folks were not coming to town to investigate the house or assess our cleaning abilities, decorating abilities or anything else; they are coming to see a specialist and have us there for support. I was a bit off and had a powerful drive to acquire furniture, towels, sheets, throw rugs and other items for the house to make it more like the kind of house my mother keeps. Thankfully, Milissa is rational when I am not, which is a bit ironic as she has more reason to feel anxious about this than I. Or, maybe not.
I hate cancer. I hate it so damn much.