Goodbye 40

This is the last day of my 40th year. This is the last day of the year that changed so much about my life. It's funny in a way. A thought that 40 would just be this panic about all the things I'd not accomplished yet. I thought it would be a year where I felt like a lame ass failure. Hah! I didn't even have TIME to do that.

In January, I almost died from blood loss.  My uterus began to flush out absolutely everything it could. I was bedridden for days and ended up in the ER. Eventually, my doctor put me on birth control to deal with the bleeding. This began my climb back into strength. Nothing weakens you like losing your blood.

A few months later, I found out I had uterine cancer. It sucks that this happened, but I'm very, very lucky that I found out when I did. It was early. It could be handled by removal. It could be dealt with. Still, as the reality of it sank in, a deep, primal fear began to dominate my life. I basically had to function on auto pilot. Life became a series of steps. All I could do was think about what happened next and just try to survive it.

I did survive. I survived the removal of my lipoma, which left a scar down almost all of the upper part of my arm. I survived staples and a drainage tube and spitting stitches. I remember the day the staples were removed. We came home and I slept so hard, resting more deeply than I had in weeks. I knew I didn't have to deal with doctors for a couple of weeks. It was bliss.

People rallied around me and took care of me. My friends and family supported me in so many ways. Even if this year has been scary, it's also been one where I have felt a great deal of thankfulness. I am loved. I have no doubt about that.

Though there were moments when I felt more alone than I ever have. There is no time when one feels so profoundly alone as when one is waiting for surgery. Even if someone is sitting with you, you still feel like they are miles away. You feel like all the lights are on you and as much as you want to escape, you can't.

I also experienced the most intense pain I have ever felt. As I have mentioned before, the muscles on my right side were damaged during my hysterectomy. The ride home from Tulsa was rough and by the time I made it to the house, my life was just pain. That night was one of the worst of my life. I honestly didn't know if I could make it. I really thought the pain alone was enough to just kill me.

I survived though. I survived and didn't end up addicted to my pain meds. I didn't have weird complications (that I know of) and I didn't end up unable to leave my bed. I survived, despite the odds, despite my fear, and despite the pain. I survived and I am damned glad I did.

I would be lying to say I am the same though. I am not. As I have mentioned before, my creativity feels unreachable sometimes. My emotions are still unpredictable. I am often sad. I'm sad so much that I usually don't even say anything about it. Sad is somewhat of my natural state now. Sad is better than hopeless though. The days when I feel hopeless are hard. Hopelessness is even more difficult to battle through than the physical pain.

The fear has also stayed with me. The moment they tell you that you have cancer, whatever foundation of security you had is gone. You stress about every cough. You worry about each fever. You obsess over any unusual bowel movement. A lot of people like to say they beat cancer. I don't feel I beat anything. I survived something and probably just by the skin of my teeth.

I walk now, farther than I have in years. I do other physical activity on a far more consistent basis than I ever have. I may not eat as well as I know I should, but it's something I'm thinking about with a more healthy and practical mindset. I can make changes without being resentful about them. This body that is scaring the hell out of me is probably more healthy than its been in quite a while.

I leave 40 with an awareness of how complex it is to be human. I feel stronger than ever before, but am more terrified. I am grateful for what I have been given, but horrified at what happened to me. I love that I lived, but often struggle with why I should continue. I am liminal. No longer a Maiden, never a Mother, not quite yet a Crone. My Croning years come early, which means I should make the most out of them. I hope I can.

I also hope 41 is damned boring, lacks drama, and passes without notice.