Kick some ass, Sasha!

I don't know how to begin. I just found out that a friend of mine, from another lifetime ago!, is having a brain tumor removed on Monday. So, basic plea to the world at large: COULD WE GET A DAMN BREAK? Just for a little while? The central nervous systems of me and those around me really need not be cut open. I'm fine with my own situation and I'll get through it in due time, but for real, why can't my shitshow be enough? I was kind of hoping that by taking on this immense physical challenge that by sheer mathematics (probability) alone, those around me would have a better chance of avoiding serious physical trauma for at least a little while. But, not so much. And again we revisit the basic theme of my blog: WTF?!?!!?

My case is certainly different from my friend's...but if I can offer her anything from what I've been going through, insight, solace, basic distraction, then what does it matter? Here are a few things I've learned in the past few weeks...especially for Sasha's benefit. (This may come off as sort of a "Best of..." entry, and that's cool. I've published 55 entries...if you think of each entry as a song, then it's the equivalent of 4 or 5 albums. There are plenty of record companies who'd consider this a great opportunity to put out a "Greatest Hits" album. Granted, the motivations are a little different...they want to suck more money out of the consumer without creating any actual new material beyond some shitty remixes, and I want to help a friend. Nonetheless...)

1. Some days, post-surgery, are just not good. There are little victories, and points where you might crack a smile, but it doesn't change the overall tenor. And my instinct has been to apologize for those days, or how I behave on those days, but it's not my fault, so I really shouldn't be the one apologizing! Blame the damn tumor, or the drugs that make you feel gross, or the friend/family member that doesn't take the hint...but don't blame yourself. It's a losing battle, and you already have enough to do. Just let the day be shitty, and make a plan to start the next day better, stronger and with more grace.

2. Everyone deals with situations differently, and there's no right or wrong way to get through it. People have commented on my sense of humor throughout my ordeal but again, it's not a conscious decision. I don't take my Vicodin and whip out a notebook to write down one-liners about tumors. Finding the funny aspects of my situation, and getting some of the contents of my head into words, is the only way I see through this. It's not an effort or affectation. Maybe someone else's method is through quietude and meditation, or through rage and screaming, or whatever. But I think people are hard-wired with their own coping mechanisms and there's only so much advice that will get absorbed-- you deal with things however you can, and that's it.

3. Crying helps. I've done a lot of crying, sometimes unexpectedly, sometimes intensely, sometimes just for a minute...alone, with my mom, in front of a nurse, in front of a physical therapist, in my sleep (yeah, a few nights ago I woke up crying...no idea why), with Katie, on the phone, while writing, whatever. There may be a pattern to it that I don't care to explore but one thing I do know is that I always-always-always feel better afterward. This is serious business. No one else can truly understand what you're feeling. You can't take a break from it. You can't wish it away. Your medicine helps but it doesn't change the actual situation. It's scary, confusing, painful, frustrating, isolating, humiliating, debilitating, and really fucking unfair. You need to get those emotions up and out ASAP, because all they do is make you weaker, and your tearducts are at the ready to assist. Let it flow.

4. Assemble your allies. Make it clear who you want around you when you're at your worst and be fiercely protective of your own sanctity. Or, if you can't do that, empower someone else to do so. It's wonderful when people want to show support or stop by, but it's also exhausting and sometimes uncomfortable, so find a gatekeeper. Find an advocate.

5. Be prepared for your dignity and modesty to go out the window temporarily. Just let it go. There's nothing you can do about it, so you may as well just revel in it. You'll get your underpants back on soon enough. Plus, doctors and nurses are totally immune to that which you may find embarassing...as for friends and family, the ones who will make you feel more self-conscious should just stay the hell away until you get a little autonomy back. And, there's something to be said about sharing something totally awkward and uncomfortable with a close friend-- having Katie scrub the betadyne off of my back, or having Molly literally hold my arm while we took a walk-- yes, a little uncomfortable, but it feels awesome to have people step up like that without a second thought or a sideways glance. Again, be discerning with who you allow into the inner circle.

I wouldn't wish neurosurgery on anyone, but beyond saving your life in the immediate sense, coming through to the other side has its own unexpected rewards, and I'm excited for Sasha to see what I mean. It's going to be OK. Whatever happens, just remember that it's going to be OK. You're not going through this alone, your doctors are well-qualified to do what they need to do, and you have every reason to be optimistic. Best wishes, Sasha! And everyone else reading this, keep my friend Sasha and her doctors in your thoughts/prayers on Monday-- she, too, has some tumor ass to kick.