I haven't been on here. Again. I'll explore it, I will. I promise. There's something more immediate I want to process. Isn't there always.
Whatever, so anyway...
We took portraits yesterday. We had this idea awhile back that a zombie picture shoot would be cool - it would be fun - with a healed mastectomy scar surrounded by way-too-much-left-to-prepare-for-the-reconstruction skin, we could make some *sick* looking wounds. And we had limited time - mere months - because the reconstruction surgery would take away this unique opportunity.
Well, time flies. The surgery is April 2nd, 2 weeks and 5 days away. In preparation, we started brainstorming other themes we might want to include that might take advantage of my soon-to-change-again chest. If nothing else, it would be a treat. It wasn't initially planned to explore breast cancer and its impact, in my mind, we were doing it to take advantage of a unique and soon-to-disappear physical state that now rules my daily life. The more we talked, the more I came to see, though, that the themes that really attracted me were more than simple fangirl infatuation. The themes we settled on were zombie, warrior (duh, isn't every cancer diagnosee a warrior?), and steampunk. Steampunk was my idea. I love steampunk. It fascinates me. It inspires me. It excites me. Steampunk, to me, is a literary genre born of creativity and genius and innovation... and necessity and desperation and often last recourse in the face of adversity. And it was discussing this piece - and the accompanying, self-written essays that will be read when (hopefully) this photo shoot becomes an exhibit - when all the pieces of this shoot fell together in my head. From diagnosis on June 30th, 2014 to sometime in August (before I began research on my treatment options); that was my Zombie phase. I couldn't think. I couldn't reason. I couldn't communicate. I couldn't do anything but go where I was directed and do what I was told to do. All someone had to do was make the right noise, and I would follow along in a haze. If you don't get that reference, you should try "the Walking Dead;" it's a great show.
The second phase was my Warrior phase. She's exhausted. The Warrior made all of the decisions about surgeries and treatments. The Warrior got out of bed every Friday for 12 weeks to go to the chemo suite for 5 to 6 hours. The Warrior got up every day (almost every day) and went to work. The Warrior had to make the command decision to stop lecturing in class because she couldn't get from point A to point B in her lectures coherently, much less intelligently. The Warrior counted the days until she could take off her armor and put down her sword and simply be. Like I said, she's exhausted.
The third phase, which I am now heavy in the middle of, is the Steampunk phase. This is a time of reinvention, of improvisation, of ingenuity. I don't *have* to reinvent myself; I am choosing to reconstruct post-surgery Stacy into something new. It's exciting, enticing, intoxicating. Sure, it's a bit nerve-wracking, but how many people get the opportunity to consciously orchestrate the definition of themselves? We are all doing it with every action, every decision, every stumble, and every fall, but it happens without really noticing, if you think about it. I can't *not* think about it. I COULD choose not to act, but I would have to conscious miss appointments. I would have to actively refuse treatment. I would have to look at one breast in the mirror every day and be reminded that I had opted out of reconstruction. I am doing none of those. I am going to write and speak and recover my way into a new expression of me. And because of opportunities like Listen To Your Mother - Spokane, 2015, the ongoing creation of documenting my experience on film with a brilliant former student - and now, dear friend - Mikayla Daniels, a wonderful photo shoot made real through the efforts of many special people, and other project still in their infancy, the potential exists for many people to hear my story and watch it unfold. What more could an educator want?
To not be in front of the camera, that's what. To sit in the relative safe space behind the lens and watch someone else do this. I am beginning to see what many have intimated to me in various ways - it's a bit unsettling to share so much. It's a bit unnerving. I have always chosen to leave myself exposed, knowing I could weather any resulting storms. I would like to say this is no different, but... the Warrior is *so* tired. Who am I to ask her to continue marching bravely into these storms? I think she really wants this to all be over. It's sitting behind the Warrior's eyes in the portraits, almost like she's pleading with me. Just let it be done.
"If you wish for peace, prepare for war." Thanks, Flavius. In the Warrior's defense, she may be exhausted, she may have taken a knee temporarily, but she's been repairing her armor and sharpening her weapons while in this eye of the storm. Tired doesn't mean done. Wiser? Yes. Slower? Absolutely. Experienced? For sure. Grayer? Hehehehe, yes. But done? Not by a long shot. It makes me sad to acknowledge all of that, but happy would be incomprehensible without sadness as its reflection.
No comments:
Post a Comment