Day 25 :: Sail on the Sea of No Control

Dear Patti,

Virtual hugs,
Vera

She included an essay. I responded and asked if I could post both her essay–and her note, the accounting in which had so touched me. I loved her response to my question:

"Since you are almost family, of course you can post anything you find useful. Yesterday’s peach made me think of humility and today I would have probably sent something totally different, less pompous…

I am sending 2 recent pictures of me trying to reach a mountain top. One shows me hunched and panting, hardly believing I will ever make it and the next one was taken once I did reach it.

But I was not alone going to that mountain top. We were a group of people who had more or less forgotten what good physical condition is. We were scared and doubtful, and when we started we said we could always give up if it’s too hard. But whenever someone halted, the rest of us halted too and we reached the top together. A bunch of happy blue-tongued mid-agers from all those blueberries we ate on our way…

So whatever your IT, with a little help from your friends, IT can be done!"

What a wonderful way of being in the world. Since we are "almost family," here is a response to "What would you be doing today if you only had 37 days to live" from my new "sister," Vera:

If I only had 37 days left I’d be

sailing on the Sea of No Control

"Four months ago a stabbing pain in my pelvis had me down on the floor of the bathroom. As if someone tried to pull all my insides out of me and the body was resisting. My mind asked ’Is this the end?’. Then I fainted. Several hours later my gynecologist was telling me about a strange ovarian formation that he would have to follow closely. I whispered: What does that mean? He saw three possibilities: ectopic pregnancy, ovarian cancer or strangely structured but rather frequent cyst for my (perimenopausal) age, that would, if I am lucky, disappear on its own, or, if it grows, require surgery. ’But don’t worry, nowadays we use laparoscopy, much more comfortable for you, blah, blah… if the pain comes back do not hesitate to call. Ovarian cancer is quickly spreading, so to avoid any risk I will see you in two weeks. In the meantime I would like to have these tumor markers’ levels and to check your pregnancy hormones and …’

Strange how a life promise and a life ending were on equal foot in his sentence.

Two weeks…

My chewing gum legs somehow managed to get me out of his office. Was this the beginning of the count-down? I stood at the bus stop waiting for death to be sitting on that very bus and called my boss to tell her my translation would be a little late… Take your time, she said. The bus was crowded. Taking me back home, a road I know by heart. I squeezed myself next to the small square window and watched Belgrade move by. The people, the cars, the buildings, the trees, the tired sunshine over the river, all looked hazy and distant. Where am I? Where is home? Where do I belong? Where is this bus taking me?

It took me to a place I had always been avoiding, the Sea of No Control.

The first time I visited it during the 1999 bombing. I felt like a helpless peg in a game, knowing from the beginning that I belonged to the loser team… I spent the first two nights in our cave, sitting on my sleeping bag, holding my daughter’s head in my lap, hearing crushing and rumbling in the distance, waiting for our turn and listening to the neighbourhood women recount all the terrifying memories they could remember.… I decided I’d rather die playing cards with my kid under the kitchen table than listen to them again. We were no longer going down there! Instead, I called my colleagues and I continued to work. I was working for a French humanitarian organisation and there were lives we could save. The French were evacuated, the office was closed down for security reasons, but we, the local staff, were here… When going to humanitarian aid coordination meetings downtown, I took my daughter with me, so if they bombed the bridge we would be on the same river bank… She stayed in the office next door, learning computer games…

All adversities have a positive side, you just have to find it.

So what was my lesson now?

Waiting always felt like a punishment. A void impossible to fill. You cannot start anything since what you are waiting for is taking up all your brain. I was waiting for a verdict.

My grand-mother died of cancer. My cousin is fighting breast cancer, my aunt in Croatia has melanoma. My mother and my sister had hysterectomies when they were my age.

Every night a cloud of nothingness descended into my bed and spread over my tired body. I hopelessly turned and tossed, trying to shake it off, clinging to all the wisdom tips and survival tricks I had collected on my road: my resilience values, my psycho-social training, the non-violent communication recipes, my disability how to list, the verses I liked, the meditation instructions, the let-go-of-stress points, only to toss around more and to see morning light on my crumpled sheets while I, once again, had to admit defeat.

I spent my days like a zombie. All I could do was prepare an often insipid meal, fill and empty the laundry machine…

Then I gave up.

Next night I imagined a different life. All my possessions given away (including the hammock). From my waking life I took only what matters: the night giggles with my daughter, the fuming morning tea-bowls with my husband, our rare but precious family laughters, the walks by the Danube with my father, my clay Wednesdays, my qi gong class pals, my delight at connecting people, my (oh so rare!) early morning swims… And then it happened: I could be swimming every morning, I could have no more translation deadlines, no more stuff, I could freely spend my savings, I could move to my friend’s house at the sea, and organize retreats with Nada, the freelancer… Yes, I’ve had my share of How-to-live-with-challenge- seminars, perhaps it’s time I start sharing? 

The next echography showed it had shrunk a bit. The lab results were not saying much. In the meantime I had read all there is on the net on ovarian cancer and packed everything for my trip to the coast, so when the doctor said the next check up would be in a month, I only found it normal. I went to the sea and swam every morning… and scribbled down all my ideas for a Recall your Creativity workshop. The next check up totally disappointed my gynecologist: no trace of it, nothing to operate."

Thank you, Vera. Let us all set sail on the sea of no control. Perhaps we can meet near an island and have a party in between swims. A book is sailing its way to Serbia for you.