I went to a Drag Queen fundraiser for the cancer society last night. That’s right, even Drag Queens get cancer!
At the end of the talent show the host, a cancer survivor, (also a Frenchmen and a Drag Queen) said his very dramatic thank you’s and shared his story. It was a very surreal moment. This emancipated man in a bad red wig with hideous make-up, red heels, camouflage pants and a t-shirt that said “I (heart) Solder Boyz” across his fake boobs was sashaying up and down the isle waving his hands and carrying on about the severity of cancer. It reminded me a lot of the end scene in the Rocky Horror Picture Show where Dr. Frankenfurter sings “I’m going home” boa and all. And all I kept thinking was this guy/girl represents cancer!!!
Well yes he/she does! Cancer doesn’t care what colour your skin is, whether it’s God, Buddha or Vishnu, the size of your jeans, or who you fuck… no one is immune to cancer! The faster we all get that through our head (including me) the faster we’ll find a cure.
My Aunt sent me an email 2 weeks before Easter saying “let me take you away” and so off we went! Although that restless ‘I’ve got to get away’ feeling had died down from the ‘Id chew my own foot off its leash if I only had somewhere to go’ feeling I had in February; I still welcomed the escape.
Planning to fly standby we hoped we could make it to Spain so I spent a bit of time looking up things to do and see. Then very last minute we discovered that our options had narrowed to London or Puerto Rico… in April you go to PR, not rainy LDN.
At the airport we arrived last minute travelling carry on, breezed through security, got upgraded to executive class and once we were high in the sky I realized I didn’t know a thing about Puerto Rico except that most Puerto Ricans live in New York.
My Aunt had thought to bring a guide book which I quickly outlined way too many things for us to do within a couple of days, but we gave it our best shot. Every day was a busy day of walking, trekking and hiking around PR… which for me often turned into trudging. There were so many times when I should have stopped, slowed down and taken a break but I pushed on (usually up hill) and arrived everywhere a sweaty breathless mess; but I arrived.
I’ve just been so desperate to “do”. “Do” anything! I’m a “doer”, and I’ve been “doin” nothing for soooo long I really just wanted to be as active as possible, but my physical limits were apparent even as I trudged on past them. But I would do it all again and more as I had a great time and got to see (and “do”) so many things that will carry with me into the coming months of chemo boredom.
I have been thinking a lot about life and death lately… mine that is. I don’t have the same intuitive certainty that “I will make it through this” that I had when I was first diagnosed and facing 8 months of chemo. That’s not to say I feel that I will not make it through, I just simply don’t know this time the way knew last time. I have nothing deep down guiding me.
I do however feel that whatever happens is not entirely up to me anymore. Which is a hard thing to lump! I’ve never been a real “que sera sera” kinda gal; more like a make your own destiny, manage your own shit kinda chick. But if this all had been up to me I would have beat cancer after the first round, so perhaps it’s not all up to me?
So I’m prepping for both outcomes. Which is a really odd thing to be doing! It’s like I live in a choose your own adventure book where I’m starting out along one story and then with a flip of the page ill have to very different endings. Go to pg#46 for life or pg#89 for death. Except up until this point I was reading the book, now someone’s reading the book to me and choosing an ending. Surreal.
On the one hand I’m doing things to prepare my body for more chemo like exercising, eating well and taking a boatload of vitamins while making plans for the future during and after the chemo/BMT. At the same time I’m thinking a lot about what I want to happen if I die and what I can do now to make that better for my friends and family. And I’m not talking about writing out a Will or stupid shit like that, because I mean really ill be dead what do I care about ‘stuff’. I’m talking about what to say to whom and how with the assumption that it’s the last things that will ever be said between us.
I haven’t got very far because I fall apart when I try to think about it. Planning to live is easier than planning to die that’s for sure. But they feel equally as important right now, like no matter what; it’s something I have to do. It’s not that I’m afraid of death the way I think others are afraid of it, it’s more that I’m afraid of what happens to everyone else after I die. The things that bother me about my death are; I wish I could have done more, I’m afraid it will hurt, I’m afraid of the effect it will have on my family and I’m afraid it will happen too fast to say goodbye. Like death, they’re all things I can’t control.
So no matter what it’s I book I feel I have to write, so to speak, but I hope I’m not setting up the plot for a bad ending.
