A place at the table

Last night, I went out to an ovarian cancer fundraiser by myself, not knowing anyone there. If you know me even a little, that sentence might turn on your lie detector. If you don't know me at all, just trust that I am a proud introvert and generally "do not go gentle" into any good night of strangers. Back when I used to drink alcoholic beverages, though? Nope, not even then.

Anyway, as so often happens when one puts oneself out of one's comfort zone, something very cool happened. I was met and welcomed by so many lovely people. I was given genuine smiles and hugs and I did not dismiss them, nor did I retreat to my comfy inner cave of snark. I did not hide in the bathroom (except for one time when it was really too loud in the room). I let them in. This alone is progress. 

One of the aforementioned lovely people told me her own story, the struggle when one of her children was diagnosed with cancer. She said that one of the doctors told her, you have to set a place for cancer at your table. Cancer doesn't have to speak, it can be quiet and in the background and all that, but you do need to make space for it. Because it's here now, and it's not going away. 

I kept thinking about that, all last night and all morning today. As in, HELLNO, I'm not making a place at my table for that. Have you seen my table? It's filled with piles of old mail, books, barrettes and hair clips (now quaintly referred to as "goals"), and boxes of medical supplies for my incision that stubbornly refuses to completely heal. There's barely room for a fork, and there's definitely not going to be room for THAT THING. 

I get it, it's a figure of speech. But I think that even after all this time of absolutely living with it, part of my brain still does not accept that cancer is firmly part of my life now, that it's here and not going away. I guess that's been part of survival mode. But now of course I'm out of that mode at present and easing into acceptance. Not easing. But trying to come to some kind of terms with the fusillade of the last 6 months. I'm not denying that it happened or that it has transformed me and may continue to do so--but a place at my proverbial or literal table? I just can't.