Clay
unsplash.com
Sometimes I think in metaphors.
Especially during my deep shower thoughts. Anyone else seem to always think more creatively in water?
In today’s metaphor, I’m thinking of myself as a piece of clay. What would you call it, a slab? Slab doesn’t sound very nice though. A mound? That’s not any better. Lump? Definitely not.
Forget the synonyms, we’ll keep exploring this metaphor. Me. Clay. Go.
Historically, I’m terrible with clay by the way. I tried a pottery class for an elective in high school, and it was not pretty. Whatever mess I created on the wheel was not the beautiful bowl I imagined would become a family heirloom to be passed down through the generations. I never got past slab, mound, lump.
Maybe hand-forming would be better for me? Hilarious. I made a box with a lid. I painted it blue. I formed tulips (my faves) for the lid, painting them red and yellow. I broke the lid somewhere in this process, so it always had a crack. I brought it home where it lived on a shelf for a while before it was probably replaced by something made by one of my siblings, probably showing actual talent.
So if I’m the mound of clay. Are we sticking with mound? Definitely not going with lump. OK, I’m the mound of clay, and breast cancer is my high-school-hands in charge of the molding. And lately, all these C’s, cancer, chemo, clay, are just plain Capital C Crazy!
High School Hands has modeled me with no hair, an open wound, insomnia, muscle fatigue, acne…I keep worrying about the day she’ll lob off an eyebrow or two. Where’s the teacher to tell her this is not A level work? Definitely C level…
High School Hands’ most recent modification? No more period. I knew part of my treatment plan would include basically putting my ovaries to sleep, but not yet. Aunt Flo has had a monthly open invite for thirty years, and this month, she stood me up. And my first feeling about it was, I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
It’s hard sometimes not to feel like things are just being taken from me. It’s hard not to feel violated in some way.
So much of life happens when you’re not ready for it.
But you’re never really ready, are you?
Especially with High School Hands in charge…
I know this all sounds pretty negative, woe is me, poor cancer lady. It’s ok to take a break in negativity, throw a little pity party, but you can’t live there. The party gets tired anyway.
So we move forward.
High School Hands won’t be in charge forever.
I know I will never be the same person I was before breast cancer. I will forever be different.
The clay model is constantly changing. While it may take me time to realize it, I have to believe the after-cancer-me (even with a crack or two) may be the best version yet.