Death and Rebirth
A week 16 update, and not meant to be a downer, but a look forward to what's to come...
No, I'm not dying. Except in the same way we all eventually are. Yes, cancer and chemo makes you think about things like this more often. But gratefully, I'm relatively healthy for my ripening 65 years.
It's a new year though, and like most people I'm thinking about my life and what I'd like to change. And trying also to guess at some of the things that will change, whether I want them to or not.
Some things, for sure, won't change.
My love for Dave, and for family and friends who have stood by me.
My sense of wonder for this amazing universe.
My desire to help people and my thankfulness for those who help me.
The joy of a well-turned word, the love of irony, even when it's slapping me in the face.
The emotion of an unexpected hug, a fuzzy blanket and hot chocolate, the movie Airplane! no matter how many times I see it.
Still, some things will change. Some of these will be for the bad. Most likely in a couple more months I'll lose all my hair. Some people who love me talk so positively about it - "We'll get you some great hats - Let's get you some wigs - It's only hair" - and on and on. I love them for trying to boost me but they maybe they don't understand what a good head of hair means for a 6'4" male-to-female transgender woman.
I already grieve the loss of this beautiful hair but I'm coping. It will, indeed, grow back. Once I start feeling better and we start going out more again even more people will stare (and some with hostile eyes when they realize I'm transgender).
While putting on my "going out tonight" outfit, I'll also apply some old-fashioned in your face Mahan obstinacy. I'll return those hostile stares with a dare: "go ahead bigot, say something."
But enough about hair. Other things will die in the coming year, and new things will be born, or re-born.
I've heard intensive chemotherapy/stem cell transplant called a "fatal dose of chemo and being reborn." I like that turn of phrase. They'll basically harvest my own stem cells, administer a dose or two of chemo that would kill me, then save my life with my own stem cells. My body, being resilient, will rebuild bone marrow and I'll live and be reborn. Multiple Myeloma patients who go through stem cell transplant call this their "Rebirth Day."
Less dramatic, some hobbies will die. They didn't hold my interest, or some new hobby will take their place. Dave has set us up with PS5 and Xbox and right now my thumb is a bit sore from last night's gaming session. You know you're old when Pacman is what you choose, but we're enjoying it!
Last year I took up watercolor and got kind of good at it, but I don't think it's what I want to do all the time, at least while I'm in chemo. More of a pastime for when I don't want to think. Art brings out the perfectionist in me and I'm not ready to let go of that apparently. Maybe in 2023 I'll learn to totally let go and see past the flaws and just enjoy what comes out of my brush. That would be great.
Some people relationships will die. If you're reading this and we talk at least now and then, and assuming you like our relationship and it won't die on your end, it isn't likely to change on mine. But some will slip away, or slip away further. In some cases it's on my end - I will realize that I thought the relationship meant more, or I don't like what it brings out in me, and it's going to either die or become less important to me.
And there will be new birth too. I will meet new friends, existing acquaintances may grow into friendships. And some of these friendships will last the rest of my life and become so very important and meaningful to me.
The cycle of death and birth will continue and I look forward to seeing where this important upcoming year takes us.
