The Year of Yes

Full Circle

Did it again. This time holding the hand of the one I love.

Perfect end. Perfect beginning.

What is Yes?

2010 is done, and so is this, my Year of Yes.

And I’m asking myself, what does it take to conquer fear? What is strength?

Is it to free oneself from other’s expectations? Your own? Is it to push yourself? Or let yourself go? Is it to run? Or stay? Is it to embrace noise, motion, chaos? Or silence, stillness and peace?

After all that I’ve been through this past year, I still couldn’t tell you for certain. And I’m content to let it remain a work-in-progress. I am content to say that perhaps it’s about finding a satisfying balance of all those things.

This year, I had many public Yes-es: I jumped in the ocean on New Year’s Day. I got a tattoo. Got pretty and did Mortified for the second time. I participated in flash mobs, and even got to lead one. I played a spy. I met my idol. I dyed my hair pink. I was on the radio. Found love and lost it (only to find it again). And as a means to heal my heart and body, I decided to follow a dream and start making music.

There were also many private Yes-es—challenges that touched deeper parts of me—things that could not find expression with words. Those are the things that really moved me forward and shaped me, helped me get a little closer to that person I want to become.

Ultimately, I was able to put much of my fear into perspective and embrace a kind of strength I never knew I possessed. I made new friends and was exposed to a wealth of love and joy that otherwise would have been lost to me if I did not choose to open myself up to it.

I am amazed at the bounty that all this Yes has brought into my life. I lost some things. But I gained others.

Because I risked failure.

Because I risked embarrassment.

Because I risked pain.

Because I risked loss.

Because I risked having everything fall apart, only to find that even it did, I would still be here. The core of me is still strong, still intact. I didn’t know this before. I know it now. And I find tremendous comfort in this.

I find freedom.

I find lightness.

I find Yes.

So there’s this thing…

I’m having surgery on November 3rd.

Nothing big. In and out. Short recovery. And if all goes well, it will buy my girl parts three more relatively pain-free years.

The story: I’ve been having cyclical pelvic pain and spotting since the summer. The level and length of pain has increased since then. I’ve missed some work. I’ve had to explain to friends, family and co-workers that I can’t be relied on because while I might wake up perfectly fine, by 3 o’clock in the afternoon I could be in agony.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but it sometimes feels like I have a bowling ball sitting on my pelvis. Yep.

None of this is new. I went through something similar in 2007 and nearly forgot about it (or blocked it out?) until my doctor suggested the cause of my pain may be that my endometriosis had returned. Three years ago, the point of surgery was to make conceiving a child easier. Now the point is to have the quickest and least complicated path towards a bowling-ball-ectomy (though if you knew what I had to go through to arrange time off for this—unpaid—and still guarantee my job, it’s actually a little complicated and leaves me with a distaste for American labor policy).

I’ve gathered a pretty excellent support team for my recovery, and am planning a geek-tacular sci-fi marathon that ought to compliment my painkiller haze quite nicely.* Until then, I’m trying to be good to myself and not get too anxious. It’s not major surgery, but it is a disruption, and hopefully it will go better than last time because I know what to expect and can advocate for myself more effectively.

Would really love to live-tweet the surgery. Or photo-blog it. Y’know. The parts that I’m conscious for. That would be fun.

* So if, on November 4th, I start tweeting about my dawning realization that I am the Quizatz Haderach, you’ll know the cause.

And just like that, a 10-ton elephant has been airlifted off my chest.

Oh, guys. My funeral. It was going to be awesome. Circus performers! Live music! A parade, even! But you’re just going to have to wait a little longer.

Test results: Precancerous changes are characterized as “mild.” At this time, my risk for developing cervical cancer is low. Check again in 6 months. It is likely that this will, in my doctor’s words, “clear out on its own.”

As for the pelvic pain. Well. Turns out it wasn’t a cyst, but perhaps the return of my endometriosis. I had surgery 3 years ago to diagnose and remove tissue, and there was always a risk of it returning worse than before. Again, I’ll wait and see. I’ve been pain-free since last Sunday, and I am holding on to that for as long as I can.

I continue to “keep busy with survival,” as my favorite quote goes.

I want to thank everyone, from the bottom of my melodramatic, hypochondriacal heart, for the well-wishes and support. It was a lifeline. Bless you bless you bless you. If I could, I would extend my arms through the internet and give you all an inappropriately long hug. Thank you.

I have a favor to ask.

I need your white light. I need your healing thoughts. I need your Atheist prayers.

Last month, I had my annual pelvic exam and my pap smear results came back abnormal. My doctor called them precancerous changes to the cells.

After he said this, all I heard was a buzzing sound. I’m not going to tell you where my head went, because if you’ve gotten this kind of news, or anything like it, you’ll know exactly where it was.

Adding to my anxiety was a handful of odd gynecological symptoms that I’d been experiencing over the past two cycles. Unusual cramping and bleeding, etc. Then this past week, I started having constant, gnawing pelvic pain that grew in intensity over the course of four days. This did not help the heartache I felt due to recent events, nor was it helped by my lack of sleeping or eating due to said heartache.

Because my OB/GYN and PCP are on vacation, I made an appointment on Friday afternoon with a doctor I’d never seen before. I was immediately grateful for the doctor’s sensitivity and kindness, but that didn’t make the physical exam any more pleasant. As soon as she pressed down on the right side of my abdomen, I yelped. Dammit. It has to be a cyst. This is nothing new, though it’s been several years since my last one. I had forgotten the signs.

So an ultrasound has been scheduled for tomorrow (Monday) morning. Colposcopy was already scheduled for Wednesday morning. I may have a biopsy of my cervix then.

My girl parts, they’re not happy. Neither is the rest of me. Pain—both kinds—steals my appetite. I try to sleep, but as soon as I close my eyes, my mind begins to sort through the sudden, strange end of my relationship. Meanwhile, sitting is uncomfortable. Standing is uncomfortable. Laying down is also uncomfortable, but not as much. Ibuprofen, which I already take by the fistful for my back pain, only sometimes makes a brief dent. Distraction seems to be the best remedy. For everything.

For that, I’m grateful for my friends, especially Ivan and Grace. I’ve decided that now’s the time to make some music, so Ivan accompanied me to purchase the first musical instrument I’ve owned since high school. It’s purple and therefore, instantly awesome. So far, I’m only solid on three chords. Very punk rock.

This is how I’m going to get through this. This is how I’ll keep myself focused. This is how I’m going to heal.

Now I call upon my larger community for support. Any words of wisdom you can impart, any experiences you can share, they are most welcome.

I need it.

Yes, Love. Yes.

I could scream. I could snarl and spit. I could break things. I could be cruel.

But I refuse to be ruled by anger and bitterness.

I could cry. I could break down. I could crawl into my pain and never come out again.

But to give up on life would hurt me even more.

I could say that I’m devastated.

But I’ve survived worse.

I could say I’ll never love again.

But of course I will. I am a creature of love. I have too much of it to keep it to myself.

I can say that I had the courage to love and be loved. I can say that it was the most beautiful treasure, made more precious by it’s brief span. I can say that it moved and inspired me. I can say that it was the closest I’d come to perfection in a long time.

But now I need to have the courage to let it go with grace.

To live with the reminders and make peace with them.

To make a wish for healing, not for just for myself.

To take this sadness and render it into something beautiful.

To take this emptiness and fill it up with Life.

To find forgiveness.

And to hold it in my heart as tightly as I held you in my arms.

With the radio on.

I did not dare to look behind me. Because I knew I would see the people in the control room. And that might have made my heart beat harder and faster than it already was. I thought for sure they could hear it over the giant green mic that hung above me. I thought they would have to come in and tell me to calm down.

But they didn’t. I listened to the segment break through the headphones, watched the clock in the studio tick away. How much longer? I was alone; the host was in LA with my fellow guest. I had a piece to read, and I spread the pages out in front of me carefully, hoping that nerves wouldn’t gum up my mouth, make my eyes skip over the notes I wrote in the margins.

Then I heard the intro music began. My segment was next. I heard the host, I heard the other guest, I heard my name. And like I had practiced in my head, like I have heard guests do on public radio for years and years and years, I very calmly said:

“Thank you. It’s great to be here.”

LISTEN (You can’t hear my heart pounding out of my chest. THANK GOD.)

Live! From my bed! At dawn! What the hell am I doing up at this hour?

I passed out early last night so I’m up before the sun. My phone was a mess of notifications. I missed some things. I don’t like missing things. This is why I was an insomniac as a child, and that’s why I’m an insomniac now. Though now I’m a lot more Zen about missing things. Things are missed, and it’s ok. The world won’t end.

Oh, Dear Reader. Life. LIFE! It has taken me on the most amazing ride. Friends! Lovers! Astronauts! And here I am, taking it all in. I promise you a longer post soon, a “highlight reel” if you will. But for now, I thought I’d let you know, officially, that I’ll be blogging for the Boston Society of Spontaneity’s new Adventure Blog. I don’t have a post up yet (I’m working on it, James, I promise) but do drop by and see what all the laughter is about.

Seriously, I have six draft posts and true to form, I’m trying to finish them all at once knowing I’ll never be done because I love them too much. Meanwhile, y’know, I have a job and a life and a room to clean and art to make and I think I decided to design a book of my portrait project? I am making one of those perplexed faces right now, but you can’t see it.

I will leave you with a picture of me that my new friend, Eliza, took last month.

Eliza is 6 years old.

I KNOW.