Jack-in-the-Box

                Sometimes I feel like I am six again.

                I remember the jack-in-the-box.  It was fairly beaten up and abused, but the paint that remained suggested some flowing pattern of reds, blues and yellows.  Swirls and dots.  Maybe birds and flowers.  A happy box with a little crank and a sweet tune.      

“All around the mulberry bush…”

I would smile.  I would giggle.

“the monkey chased the weasel.”

I would happily sway to the calm rhythm of the lullaby.

“The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun.”

Everything would be fun.  Everything would be okay.  Everything would be alright.

“Pop! goes the weasel!”

                And in that moment when the clown would come shooting out of the latched hid, all that contentment and all that peace and all of that happiness would be brought to a quick and shuddering halt.  I would be jarred out of the sleepy and twinkling tune to find the clown’s abrasive smile bobbing up and down as my heart thudded and my palms sweat…How could that monkey forget about a popping weasel?

                Sometimes I feel like cancer is that jack-in-the-box.

                I find myself forgetting sometimes that I have cancer.  When you first get diagnosed your whole world becomes centered on the disease.  It is all you can think about.  It is all you can plan for.  You crave normalcy, but your mind will not let it happen.  My husband said it perfectly about a week after the diagnosis,

“When everyone is talking to me about it, I want them to change the subject.  But as soon as they do, I can’t figure out how they could possibly talk about anything else.”

Maybe it is the fact that we have been dealing with this for five full months now, and cancer has just become a part of accepted life.  Perhaps it is the fact that I am so preoccupied lately with over-due projects or preparing to fully re-enter the work force next month.  It could be that I have tried to put myself out in the world more and in the company of those I love.  Maybe it is because I have finally stopped fighting the side effects of the chemo and I just flow with it now…but sometimes I can forget.

Sometimes I feel like it is good to forget.

                We are such happy monkeys as we chase our weasels around the mulberry bush.  We get caught up in the fun and we allow ourselves to be lulled into the security of the sweet tunes of a life we live, but only in pieces. 

I do not pretend to know if this is good or bad.  It is easier to forget for a time.  Life is not cancer, after all.  Life is why you fight cancer.  But then you forget and things seem to slip.  You do not do everything as you should.  You forget to sit down.  You forget to take it a little slower.  You forget the things you should not be doing.  You forget to stand up.  You forget to move a little quicker.  You forget the things you should be doing.

                Sometimes I feel like it is good to remember.

                But I can only hope that there is enough balance in between the forgetting and the remembering, because I am always reminded in the end.  The lyrics have changed, but the tune is still the same.

“All around the reality bush…”

I am sitting in a room playing a game with friends and feeling so happy and content.

“The girl chased the fantasy.”

Adam and I are curled up on the couch together talking of life and love and feeling safe.

“The girl thought all could be normal”

I am running errands.  I am working.  I am laughing.  I am living.

“Pop! goes the cancer.”

                And in that moment there is fierce chest pain.  There is a nose bleed.  There is a weakened knee.  There is a phone call from a doctor.  There is exhaustion.  There is a concerned question.  There is a person staring at me.  There is a person judging me.  There is a scar.  There is a sudden sadness.  There is a sudden anger.  There is a sudden desire to fight.  There is a confused mind.  There is dizziness.  There is a hot flash.  There is any one of the thousand little things that say, “Hey.  You have cancer,” and once again I am that little girl whose heart was thudding and palms were sweating.

                But in those moments Adam and I look at each other and we say, “Finding the new normal.”  And when Adam is not by my side I chant it in my head, “Finding the new normal.  Finding the new normal.  Finding the new normal.”  And I remember, and I forget.  And I remember, and I forget.

                Sometimes I feel like life is never knowing if one is better than the other and hoping for both.