Tornadoes and Blinders

It’s been a while since we have posted a lot on the blog as maintenance has been a bit more calm in it's own way. However, the blog is something that we want to use not only to update friends and family but also to document how we are feeling and doing as a family. After all, I do believe that you do block a lot of trauma out of your mind over time and we want Cooper to be able to look back at what he went through and what we journeyed through as a family when he is older.

I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching and a lot of thinking lately. Thinking and being in my own head isn’t always a good thing, but I think I have had some thoughts that I believe are worth expressing related to where we are at the moment. 

I believe that cancer is a lot like a tornado, very different of course but the feelings that come with it can be one in the same. Pediatric cancer often comes out of nowhere. You never see it coming, you can never prepare yourself for it. The destruction is causes….in it’s path it wreaks havoc on your life, your relationships, your home, your family, your financials, your mental state, you name it. And after the storm, there is calm…or that’s what everyone who wasn’t in the storm with you thinks. You’re done, it’s over, time to clean up and move on, because everything is “better” now than it was before. But what does the tornado really leave behind when it’s gone? Fear. The fear of what you know can happen again. 

Maintenance is that calm after the storm, where all you are left with is the pieces to pick up and the idea of trying to push down or control your fear and not let it own you. I would like to say that I have learned to let things go because this is something I try to work on Every. Single. Day. But I’m not sure I have. Sure, lots of days feel “normal” with normal toddler and 6 year old problems. However, I have learned that I have nothing left for normal. It’s spent. The energy and patience I have has been consumed by the “abnormal” leaving all of us exhausted, drained, mentally and physically, but you keep going, you just keep swimming because there isn’t a choice really. The fear can often be a sneak attack. Sometimes we often forget for brief moments that Cooper is sick when we see him running or riding his bike, but then at night when he says his legs hurt and he is tired, those few words can send us on a downward spiral in a second. 

So in all of this, I realize what I have done to get through the idea of raising a new baby, working a full time job, while being a momcologist, I’ve worn blinders. You know, like a horse in the Kentucky Derby. Now, granted, instead of the prize racing stallion, most days I feel like the horse who has broken a few legs, has lost a horse shoe and is most likely limping toward the glue factory, but darn it, I’m focused on something...but I digress.  

I realized this the other night talking with Jason. My husband is a great therapist and thank goodness for him. I can honestly say that one thing I believe wholeheartedly that we have done right is that only one of us is allowed on the ledge at a time. We’re good at talking each other down.

Blinders help you barrel through, they help you focus on the task at hand and most days I can’t see past what has to be done right now. Blinders help the race horses from losing their crap when they get distracted. When I look at the big picture, I do just that, I lose it. I’ve also realized that even in maintenance where we aren’t getting through one more treatment and one more hour, and one more day, I don’t know how to take them off. It’s my safety net, it’s what keeps the tornadoes at bay…for a while. If horses wore their blinders 24/7, I believe they would eventually snap. Tunnel vision doesn’t get you really far, but it’s a band-aid that makes you think things are ok because within your hyper focus, everything is fine, until you take the blinders off. Blinders replace the pain and the hurt with the monotony of busy. Productivity and barreling through can sometimes make you temporarily forget what’s really going on, until you slow down and look beyond the blinders to what the tornado left in it’s path. 

Blinders help you block out noise, because the noise is something I can no longer process like I used to. It all protects me from either being hurt more or processing what we’ve already endured. Because another thing I have learned is that sometimes in really hard situations, people can’t be what you need them to be. And that's ok to some extent, but in the same regard, people also can't expect me to be what I used to be. Sometimes it is those closest to you who wield the sharpest swords. It is those you thought would reach out a hand who threw stones instead.

However, I will say that the flip side is true too. There are people who come into your life that you never suspected, that become your lifeline, who become your tribe. There are also friends and family who remain steadfast and stand by you through everything. Those are the people who stand in the rubble with you, and help you pick it up. The people who drive the miles, who have the honest conversation, who give you grace and understanding, the ones who stand with you in the mess with a casserole and tell you that it’s going to be ok because you’re not alone.  There people who tell you to just keep going because you're doing great. Sometimes that's all it takes. The people who sit in the fear with you, without trying to tell you what to do or understand your circumstance. The people who know how good you’ve become at putting on the face and that underneath it all you’re not ok, because they’ve been there and they’ve seen it. The work people who just do and pick up the slack because they know you're overloaded. The people who had no dog in this fight, but found a way to show love and support. To the people who are slowly helping me take my blinders off because they’re patient, and they know that one day I’ll get there, and they’ll be there waiting for me when I’m ready.