The New Abnormal

Those diagnosed with any form of cancer immediately are thrust into a world known as “the new normal.”

It is anything but normal.

“The new abnormal” would be a better name.

Normal will never happen again for me. My reality of attempting some form of normal for the last seven years doesn’t mean life is normal for me. It means I’ve learned how to exist in crazy. Maybe I should refer to present-day life as my old crazy because I’ve existed this way for so long. The new normal phrase has always rubbed me the wrong way because normal was ripped away and replaced with nothing of the sort.

Is calling what I do the new normal supposed to somehow make me feel normal? It doesn’t. Instead, it makes me feel like I can’t even do the new normal normally. Is it meant to make me or others feel better? It doesn’t make me feel better. I’m not sure if it makes others feel better. It potentially minimalizes what I do in the eyes of others. It invalidates my struggles in what really is abnormal because of the language that this is the norm.

The new abnormal is a topsy-turvy world of back and forth. It’s a world of opposites. I have felt wonderful and miserable.

I’ve gained and lost weight even though my level of exercise has remained about the same.

I’ve had my share of down days plagued with fatigue and others with more steroid induced energy than I know what to do with.

I’ve had no appetite and other times where I’ve eaten everything in sight.

Diarrhea. Constipation. One word sentences here are fine.

The medical world is a potpourri of repeating abnormalities. There are more one word or near one word sentences coming.

Labs. Office visits. Treatments. Side effects. Repeat.

Scans. Anxiety. Regrouping. Repeat.

I call insurance companies and billing departments far more often than is necessary. I rarely did when my life was supposedly normal.

I’ve gotten to feel at home with nausea. Ondansetron works well for me when it hits.

I’ve gotten to feel at home with many other drugs and supplements. I know what works for me and what doesn’t. I know my body well. I think I have finally broken through and convinced my team NOT to give me one particular drug used during MRIs that causes a worsening reaction. Every office visit begins with a review of my long list of medications.

How is any of that normal whether it’s the new routine or not?

In between all of this complete abnormalness are all the attempts to squeeze in any normal moments that are possible. ME time. I exercise and plan activities I enjoy that will keep me moving. Time with family and friends fill in normal moments. Football season has started. Go Badgers! Special occasions are sprinkled into my schedule when possible. There still is meaningful work that matters to me. Whereas my schedule had always been fairly rigid, I love the flexibility I now have. Being able to focus on purposeful work has been one part of my new abnormal that feels pretty close to my old normal.

The only constants are change and the need to live in the moment. Cancer has taught me lessons in change repeatedly. I am more present. It’s why I like #NotTodayCancer so well because I can be pretty definite about certain things as I go through my day.

The new normal is not the right term for how I live. Life is abnormal. Calling my life permanently abnormal is the best fit.

What even is normal?

Alabama Alligators and Being Normal

February 4th is known as World Cancer Day and just happened to coincide with the first day of a trip I took to Point Clear, Alabama. I was headed to the Grand Hotel Golf Resort and Spa to celebrate my retirement. It was a perfect time to get away from winter, from people, and from cancer as much as it’s possible to get away from it when it travels with me. The resort had everything I needed on site in an idyllic setting.

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Grand Hotel Resort and Spa  (All photos taken by me unless otherwise noted.)

Point Clear is far down south in Alabama and across the bay from Mobile. The resort was built back in 1847 for wealthy families. It was also used as a base hospital during the Civil War for Confederate soldiers. Point Clear’s location on Mobile Bay made it a valuable port. There have been a couple fires and subsequent renovations to expand and retain its old southern charm.

The shuttle ride in from the airport consisted of a lot of discussion concerning if there were alligators on the resort property and how safe I’d be walking about on my own. Yes, there were alligators in the area. No, no one had ever had a problem with one on the resort. They really weren’t commonly seen. Did I know that alligators were fairly passive and weren’t going to go out of their way to get me?

No, I did not.

You literally had to already be on top of them or they would need to feel cornered to provoke an attack. If an alligator was twenty or thirty yards away and saw you, it was not going to make the effort. It may not even be hungry. Crocodiles were more aggressive. Even so, no thanks. If I were to encounter one, and say be up close and personal where I’d be wrestling it, I would need to poke it in its eyes and it would instantly release me.

Instantly. Never mind my severed arm or leg.

As an alternative (choice is always good), I could just grab hold of its tail and flip it over onto its back and it would fall straight to sleep and be in a hibernation state.

Straight away.

None of this reassured me. I wondered how the gator unflipped itself because eventually it would wake up. I was told it couldn’t do that and it was the end for the alligator in as many words.

Another driver on a different day told me alligators were more curious about people than anything else. Curious? I think squirrels and chipmunks are curious. I do not care to see an alligator in its natural habitat.

Again, no thanks.

It became clear to me on my first night that people just spoke differently to one another here that went beyond the accent. Chalk it up to southern manners and the hospitality industry. My name was either Miss Kristie or Ma’am. It felt a little funny, but I could handle it for a few days. I entertained telling people my name was Missy just to see if I’d be called Miss Missy, but I knew I couldn’t do it with a straight face.

Past vacations with my family were very touristy. We made excellent tourists. What could we see? What tours were available? There wasn’t much down time. We were on the go from morning well into the night. We saw many things and went to a lot of places. At the end of a trip, we rated everything we did from our favorite to least enjoyed activity. Even now days, there is usually far too much discussion and planning based around restaurants and eating.

It was really good for me to go to Alabama on my own. It marks my 50th state. I am a person who has been on the go for most of my life.

In Alabama, I had every day for down time. I struggle with that because the idea of doing nothing as something is a different kind of vacation for me.

I thought about arranging transportation so I could tour the USS Alabama WWII battleship because I enjoy history. There was a boat tour I was interested in to see birds and other wildlife safely. Kayak tours were available. Those piqued my interest. Then I remembered the gators and didn’t want to be at eye level with them, even if I’d have better positioning to jab them in their eyes.

Still no.

I started to feel down that I had come such a long way and wasn’t going to do much. Then I remembered why I came in the first place – it was to take it easy and relax. I did not come to run myself ragged and see how much I could get done in a day.

Point Clear was the perfect place for my destination, named because of its super visibility. I had great clarity on why I came, what I wanted to accomplish, and how I wanted to feel.

My agenda for each day read as follows: Do Whatever I Wanted.

I didn’t want to be scheduled. I wanted to get up when I woke up, eat when I was hungry, take a long walk every day, work out in the fitness center, maybe swim, and spend time reading. I looked forward to enjoying the warmer weather and change of scenery. I hoped to write a bit every day and gather up new ideas from being in a different location. Doing nothing as something was really a pretty full day.

Porch swings dotted the brick path that bordered the shore and looked outward to the water. Hammocks waited for company. Rocking chairs made themselves at home on the patio to my room. Wicker furniture circled bonfire pits inviting guests to kick back, watch sunsets, and relax at night under the stars. Those were all signs, some pretty darn good ones if you ask me, that the pace in Point Clear was supposed to be slower and more relaxed.

There was a shuttle to Fairhope each day. One day I ventured in because I liked the name of the town (big surprise) and noticed the tulips and daffodils were out when I passed through coming from the airport. Since tulips are often one of the first spring flowers to bloom, they are associated with rebirths. Daffodils also symbolize rebirths and new beginnings. How perfect to see so many in a quaint town with hope as part of its name. This vacation signaled a new beginning for me – a lifestyle of staying active and embracing opportunities to relax.

I walked around a bit, popped into a few shops, and visited the history museum. Much to my surprise, it was in one of the boutique shops that I encountered my one and only alligator. She looked sassy and not the least aggressive, but I left her where I found her.

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Taking time for self-care is essential for me as I live with cancer and live well. No doctors this week. No appointments. No need to share with anyone. There would be no one judging how I looked or analyzing my every word or action. It’s as if I could be completely normal for a few days. As far as anyone knew, I was normal. That was my story and I was sticking with it.

Normal. What a wonderful feeling. Getting away from it all was awesome. It was definitely a perk of being on my own that I didn’t have to factor in someone else’s life.

Forgetting. Being normal.

I know there are all sorts of normal. Normal for me is abnormal for others. I want the normal of being healthy. I want the normal of waking up with energy and not having to conserve it so I can do something I really want to do later. I want the normal of being able to plan my life with certainty and not wonder about dark things like alligators and such.

Others may have their own inner struggles with what normal looks like and feels like for them. Everybody has some insecurity whether it’s related to health, personal relationships, work relationships or performance. Some aspect of a person’s life is hard and just doesn’t feel normal. Some people are awfully good at looking like they have it all together. A normal life (problem free) is not possible for anyone.

At this point, I also realize I’ve come face to face with the dreaded alligator just about every day, and that every day I flip it by its flippin’ tail after poking its eyes for good measure. It’s my attempt to keep living well with strength and purpose. I make my own rules for forgetting what I want to forget and being normal.

Forgetting is a luxury. Being normal is relative. I’ll take what I can get.

What I got in Point Clear was a place where no one knew I have cancer. Discovering that clarity was a tremendous gift. I felt happy. Capturing this feeling requires that I stick with my story of being normal when at home. I can stick with it because I can live that story. It involves forgetting the parts of my life that are challenging in terms of my health.

It demands that I keep flipping that alligator whenever it dares to snap its ugly snout at me.

alligator-amphibian-animal-347721. pexels.com
Image credit: pexels.com

See you later, alligator.