The Present

I don't know why, but it's always been hard for me to live in the present. I tend to dwell on the past a lot, both good and bad. It's my way of sorting out how the hell I got to where I am. So many bad things have happened in my life that sometimes I wonder if I was just born under a very unlucky star. Come to think of it, my astrological sign is Cancer. Regret is a double-edged sword, and I've been cut both ways. So many choices I wish I could rewind and do over. So many others I wish I had taken a chance on. The hopeful side of me also daydreams of futures that never quite materialize. We all want so desperately for things to work out just right, to get the things we want, to love fully, and to experience complete happiness. They say the present is a gift, and it must be enjoyed accordingly.

Friends and family are always asking what they can do to help me right now. All I want is for my loved ones to be present for me. That doesn't mean being with me everyday-- being present means understanding where I am through this experience and showing compassion and empathy in those moments when I am most in need. There have been times when I've been faced with someone's physical presence, but their emotional absence. It's the kind of scenario that begets a greater sense of loneliness and isolation for the person facing cancer. Thinking of this makes me wonder again if I was truly present for my mom during her illness. Was my presence enough or should I have been more present? Even caregivers are susceptible to distractions since cancer is only part-time for them, although it is full-time for the patient. My older blog posts showcased some optimism and even a little cheerfulness-- both of which are in scant supply these days after 6 months of getting physically and emotionally pummeled by all the joylessness that is cancer. But I don't want to be overcome by thoughts of self-pity, which can easily seduce the weary mind. I want very much to enjoy the present, and a lot of that joy comes from being with my sons. Without them, this experience would be even more bleak.

Precisely because of them, I have made the decision to go ahead with the adjuvant chemotherapy. If I wasn't a mother, maybe I would have taken the chance of throwing off the chemo and going on with my life under the assumption that I'm fully cured. The risk would have been mine alone to bear. They say you have a choice, but what kind of choice is it when you have the proverbial gun to your head. But I need the guarantee for their sake. As much as I will really dread walking into that infusion room on Wednesday to get hooked up for another round of chemo, I will do it because hopefully it will put a period at the end of this cancer instead of a question mark. If all goes well, cancer will be something in my past and I will have secured a happier future for myself and my sons. Until then, I will do my best to own the present and live in it to the fullest of my ability.