I finished up 18 rounds of chemo in April, had another surgery in mid May, and I started back to grad school the first week of June. It was a 5 day class of 8.5 hour days, a couple of books to read on the front end, and a paper to write on the back end. I knew it would be a stretch, but I really thought I could do it. I really appreciate the professors, the topic was one of deep personal significance, and I really wanted to be there.

Class met on the 2nd floor, mid morning break and snack was on the first floor, and lunch was in a neighboring building on the basement level. There was a lot of walking and stair climbing, and I was quickly worn out. Lunch was in a massive space with a lot of walking between the entrance and various parts of the buffet. Trays are not available, so to get a number of items and a drink to the table may require multiple trips, which is fine IF you feel up to it. On day two I had to stop and take breaks along the way to get to the second floor classroom after lunch. Classroom and bathroom doors were ridiculously heavy. And somehow, it seemed like everything was uphill – much like the old joke that our parents and grandparents walked miles to school uphill both ways.

This morning I woke up feeling ok-ish. I got up and had a shower hoping to wash off the exhaustion of the week. I made the lengthy drive and got a great parking place and I made it to class at 8:30 am. Wow, on time even. It was good to be in “the room where it happens” again. I took a moment to check in with my body as the meeting began, and the fatigue was intense. Just getting there had worn me out. Unfortunately, by 10 am I was feeling nauseous and shaky. I sat still, hoping for it to pass, trying to will myself to be ok through sheer determination – so that I could continue to be where I wanted to be, doing what I wanted to be doing.

Unfortunately, this wouldn’t be a “mind over matter” kind of moment. Realization was slow, but overwhelming. Frustration tears flowed.

I slowly gathered up my things and teetered to my car to rest for a while and compose myself before beginning the long drive home.

I’ve learned a lot in what I’m starting to think of as “cancer school”. I’ve learned that I can do difficult and scary things. I did 18 rounds of the chemical gut-punch of chemo. I did 20 rounds of radiation. I got naked around lots of strangers. I have learned to be comfortable being uncomfortable. And this week, in addition to some cool academic stuff, I also realized that just because I want to be strong, that doesn’t mean I am. I learned that I can’t take strength for granted. Strength is precious. My partner quotes “youth is wasted on the young”, well… I might augment that a bit to say that “strength is wasted on the strong”. Or maybe it’s that you never really know the value of strength until your well is empty.

BTW, Wikipedia has an excellent explanation of Spoon Theory here.

The class discussed all kinds of complex matters around equality and shared humanity. There was a marvelous and diverse group of people at the table. And I had a place at that table, but I wasn’t strong enough to hold that place. (And I am not ok with this.)

How many times have I been in gatherings where people are just barely there because of how much it required just to get to the room? We visited a church last weekend that had seven or eight steep stairs up to get from the entrance to the sanctuary level. Another church we visited recently had gorgeous curved stone entrance stairs outside of their gothic arched front doors. Entrance doors are sometimes heavy. Parking can be challenging. And of course, sometimes it’s uphill both ways!

I may not show up with a lot of physical strength these days, but my compassion is overflowing. I have a new appreciation for the people who do the hard work of showing up, especially when their bodies aren’t cooperating.

If that’s you, I see you.

I appreciate you.

Keep going.

Don’t give up.

We need you.

You matter.

Your voice, your presence, your body… (no matter how cooperative it is)

You.

Matter.

-Carmen