Sitting on a Plane

I think I just watched the saddest movie I’ve ever seen while heading to NY for my  one and a half year check-up and biopsy. First, I watched Le Week-End, and I loved it. Any movie with Jeff Goldblum and Paris, to me, is simply irresistible.  Plus, being that it was shot in Paris, (spoiler alert) of course, it’s about Love.  Old love. It’s the type of love that is so deep that there’s just no chance to wriggle out of it anymore, even if you still might wish you could. There were a few good laughs to be had as well.  Highly recommended, by the way.

I promised myself when the movie was done, I’d do some work on the computer.  But then I was helpless in front of that screen with that “in-flight” display of options.  I couldn’t resist.  It’s rare that I’m on a plane by myself, so of course I want to watch the movies that most likely no one will watch with me at home. If there isn’t a super-hero in it, or a Russian spy, I’m usually out-voted. So in my lack of discipline, I perused the British Airways offerings and chose a Chinese film called The Stolen Years. The description said it was about a young woman who wakes up from an accident with amnesia and cannot remember or figure out why she’s divorced.  Sounds pretty interesting, I thought.  She can only remember the deep love she had for her husband five years earlier, before they separated. She finds him again and begs him to explain and help her remember her life. Well, guess who cried her eyes out for two hours, in the privacy of a packed 747?  Me.  First, I used up all the nice napkins and then all my tissues. I tried as best I could to dampen my whimperings so as not to freak out the guy sitting next to me. 

This happened to me once before, over 20 years ago, when Andy and I were flying to London on Virgin. It was the first time I was on a flight with an unending stream of movies to personally choose from.  We stayed up all night.  I was going to meet Andy’s parents for the first time.  I watched three movies that flight, ending on Into the West, with Ellen Barkin.  Such a sad film.  Of course, the mother dies and leaves behind a loving husband and two boys.  I was so spent when I finally met my future in laws. Who knows that they thought? 

Now, of course, all these movies I mention are about love.  Love Love Love. It’s hands down my favorite thing.  I thrive on it. I exist on it.  I could never do without it.  I know I’m obsessed with it and I’m lucky because I have the luxury to be.  I’m not the bread-winner at home. I don’t have an ass-kicking or kick-ass job. On any given day I can go to the park with my kids and my dog.  I can lay in the swing in our front garden and look up at the early blooming magnolia it’s hanging from. I can just dissolve into the love of it all. 

The other day I took an exercise class and got so much of my energy from thinking about my stem-cell donor Monique and the loving life-saving bag of grace she gave me.  I feel so thankful to her. She gave me not only my life back, but, a year and a half later, I can slowly feel my body coming back. She gave me my body back.  And I just love it. I love my body.  I love breathing, bounding up the stairs, I love hugging and cuddling and just generally having the energy to do stuff!

I feel so much forgiveness toward my body now and I totally see how forgiveness can be so freeing.  When you hold a grudge, no one cares but you.  You’re the only one feeling those feelings.  Why, when something bad happens, do we perpetuate it within ourselves? Why is it so hard to forgive?  It must be something in evolution. Like, “damn, I’m not going near that saber tooth tiger again, He was a real ass to me…”.

The only thing I have a really hard time forgiving is cancer.  I wish I could, because it makes me so angry. And who needs that?  In some ways, maybe I can forgive cancer, for me, only because of what I’ve learned from it.  It’s helped me grow, and I hope, be a better person, mother, wife and friend.  I take very little for granted now. (At least the things I am aware of).  But, I’m so mad at cancer for all the people who have to deal with it and then do not have the time to learn from it, or recover from it. 

I’ve been asked more than once what I think causes cancer. I used to have theories. I no longer have theories.  I really think it’s just crap luck.  A lot of the time I think it’s hard for people to hear that, because what can you then do to avoid it?  Not much.  I’m a huge advocate of taking good care of oneself.  But it’s not really to prevent cancer. It’s more so that you can enjoy your life.  So you can enjoy your kids, and  have a twinkle in your eye and a spring in your step. It’s so that your nagging backache doesn’t distract you from the little things.  I would hate to miss the almost thankful wink my seven year old gave me when I caught him in a lie, or the surprising fierceness my gentle, thirteen year old shows on a muddy, freezing, rainy, rugby field. 

I was reminded this week of the pain of cancer.  That feeling when I first find out.  I was at the endocrinologist because my cholesterol is out of control.  Most likely it’s because of an anti-rejection drug I take called Tacrilimus.  Most likely it will subside when I go off the drug (whenever that will be…).  In preparation for this appointment they did a Well Woman blood panel on me.  All my blood work looks lovely, beautiful, fantastic, (thanks again Monique).  So we got into discussing the little stuff: Vitamin D, Calcium, a slightly sluggish thyroid.  Then, at the very bottom on the last page there was an elevated reading for something called CA-15.3.  Of course I wanted to know what that was, so I asked.  All of a sudden the doctor turns a greenish-grey and takes his glasses off.  I thought, as all those numbers and explanations of things were swirling around in my head, that he was exasperated with me because I asked about something we’d already covered.  But then I looked at it again, and I was pretty sure we hadn’t discussed it yet.  I looked back up at him and I could see he was searching for words.  He said, “ I don’t want you to get worried or upset.  I have no idea why they even did this test, because it doesn’t tell us anything, but it’s a marker for cancer”.  And I had that feeling again.  It’s like my blood runs out and then I get this bad tingle and feel like I’m going pale and then my head falls forward and hits the desk I’m sitting at.  He gets out his phone and googles the marker and quotes how it’s, “Indefinitive.  A rarely used marker for breast cancer” and blah blah blah.  And he says, “Please don’t worry, please don’t let it ruin your day”, etc.  So I had two choices right there.  Freak out or not freak out?  Listen to the doctor or not listen to the doctor?  I decided to listen to the doctor.  Which worked, only on and off, through out the day and night.

I wasn’t going to tell anyone.  Not even Andy. But then I had to, because I couldn’t lie. And I couldn’t fake not being scared. I had to once more burden my husband with talking me down. And again, I felt angry at cancer and for all the people who have to get told shit news and then be talked down. And I felt bad for all the people who have to do the talking down and for that empty feeling they all must feel.  And then, once again, Andy sweetly said that, “You should forget about it if you can. It’s nothing.”   I know he loves me.  Old Love. A lot of love.  And that’s the reassuring thing people say when they love each other.   Whether they’re in Paris for the week-end, or not.