The “New Normal”: It’s Not Just for Cancer People Any More | Apr 23 2022

Saturday April 23, 2022

This post will probably fall under the category of, You Mean You’re Just Figuring This Out? Stay with me as I untangle this collection of connected-in-ways-I-don’t-yet-understand thoughts.

A year or so ago, Dr. Oncology scolded me for doing too much, too soon, after chemo and radiation. She said that as my body responded to treatment, I would need to develop a new normal. “New normal” is a phrase that is repeated like a mantra around some of the online cancer campfires I visit. There, “new normal” seems to encompass mostly bad stuff: shrinking physical capabilities, less and less activity, a sense of resignation over a smaller and smaller life.

I don’t know if Dr. Oncology would define it like that– probably not– but back when she first said it, I was damned if I was going to buy in to the idea that my life would become smaller. I would develop my cardiovascular strength (hello stationary bike and Peloton obsession.) I would do strength training (hello Peloton app.) My Peloton cancer group is relentlessly positive about any attempts to do this– it’s the only place that is.

In other places in CancerLand, people do all kinds of things to make a new normal– and keep cancer away: vitamin C infusions, herbs, gross-me-out smoothie concoctions, etc.  One of those things is meditation. You cannot go anywhere in the “official” parts of CancerLand– major cancer centers, cancer organizations like the National Cancer Institute — without hearing its praises being sung.  Even CancerShrink is on board. I can tell because he occasionally checks in about where meditation is in my life.

Now, I’ve had a long on-again, off-again relationship with meditation. I’ve taken a class, read about it, gathered with others to do it. For a long while in my late twenties, I was actively meditating. Marriage and a kid gave way to a daily routines that didn’t leave space for meditation. Since then, I’ve sporadically tried to reengage, but I forget, or dive headlong into the day and don’t come up for air. OK, here’s another true thing: when I hear people swoon over how great something is for you, how everyone should do it, I think gag me and head, posthaste, in the opposite direction.

Recently, something happened. Just before my gamma knife procedure, I realized I was different. I knew that I’d been hollowed out over the course of the past months. What I hadn’t realized is that, when I wasn’t looking, a deep, unchanging quiet was pooling in the new space. I was curious about it. A while ago, I told CancerShrink that I had begun to meditate again. (OK, it was sporadic, but it was something.)

I do not want to let go of this new sense, I told CancerShrink. I had to speak slowly to find words; there are no good ones for expressing this. I continued, I think the key is dwelling in this space no matter what the circumstances. Surely this will be an almost-impossible task in the face of cancer and this terrible world.  I stopped mid-sentence as pieces of a new understanding dropped into place.

I can’t believe I am going to say this, I said. His face was quizzical. I paused.  I’m going to need to meditate, I finally said. Not only that, I will have to practice, I said. He said nothing. His gaze was steady.  I paused for a long time. Oh shut up, I finally said. And we laughed.

Even though the cancer has completely changed my life,  I am not my cancer either. The cancer has damaged one of my lungs; it is stiff and clumsy when I am trying to breathe deeply, or fast. Will I be able to do that ride to Multnomah falls, so much of which is VERY uphill? I was so sure when I set that as a goal. Now? I don’t know. My being on the TKI means I’m considered immunocompromised again, so going into schools is off the table for now, as is church. “You won’t be eating in restaurants, that’s for sure,” said Dr. Lungs the last time I saw him.

And yet, here I am. I exist in a quietness outside of disease, profession, job, external circumstances. In a life with ever-changing parameters– in other words, a life like everyone’s– I have stumbled onto a new normal.

My new normal is me.

And no matter what happens around me, this is a new normal that can only deepen with time.

Who knew?

Thanks for reading. I hope you stumble onto something new today, too.

Images

• Sparkler: Myriams-Fotos
• Shrinking square: iconfinder.com
• Get me out of here by Andrei Metelyev
• Lily pad:  googram
• Lake: Lara Gonzalo