the emperors clothes

zoe is at her brain balance close-out testing session.  mr. j, our pre-paided painter is finishing up his painting and i'm totally exhausted- but in a good way.  i was on call this weekend- it was kind of busy- and returned in the late afternoon to chaos- paint and dust and boxes- as we try to get the house on the market this week. and in a few days mike leaves for a two week trip to uganda.

i've been thinking about identity- what it means, why we value it, why we need it- what parts of it are stable and core to us and what parts change- or join us for  little while and then leave.  i think about this in relation to my kids- who are they? how can i help them in shaping their own uniqueness.  i think about this in relation to myself-(as you all have read)- and the process over the past year of it's morphology- and me trying to remember and hold onto the core parts.  and i have been thinking about it more universally- what happens to our identities as life happens to us?

this weekend i spent a lot of time with a patient who had just been diagnosed with metastatic pancreatic cancer. a healthy, 60 year old woman with clean living.  i mean this lady took care of herself- and everyone else.  she's a vegan, no "bad habits "(which in medicine speak means no alcohol, tobacco or drugs), she goes to work out at the "y" (ymca), she goes to church, she gives to st. judes children's hospital, to the battered woman's shelter, to the american cancer society, she is a care-taker to her friends, her sisters and her sons.  when she came into the hospital last week, it was for a big surgery with a goal of removing her cancerous pancreas with the hope of a cure.  when she awoke in the recovery room, she found out instead, that the cancer had already spread to her liver- and the surgery was aborted.  in a moment her life changed.  not cure- terminal.  not cure- months, maybe a few years to live.

i met her on post op day 9.  she was doing exactly what i would expect- questioning, fearing, accepting, and denying all at once- because it's complicated- because we're complicated.  she was asking the question that everyone asks at some point- why do bad things happen to good people?  how could i have cancer when i take good care of my body?  how could it be terminal when i take good care of other people- when i give of my time and my money?  what did i do to deserve this? why me? why now?

she is a woman of faith- and her faith is strong.  she knows in her mind that life happens- and bad things are part of life.  but there is this 1 foot gap between our heads and our hearts- and there are lifetimes in that space.  the head knows but the heart feels it- and the time travel between these two spaces can be tricky.  i was trying to just listen- and to affirm her questioning- to help her live with the tension of those opposites - the knowing and the emotions of the knowing that loop back to question the knowing.   i was trying to be present in her suffering. to not let her feel abandoned.  to reassure her that yes in fact she didn't do any thing, she is not responsible for this, and its' normal to feel it.

sometimes i think it's almost easier for people who have lived hard- bad habits and all- when they get cancer or end-stage disease, because it's like they were waiting for it to all catch up with them- as if cosmic justice has been dealt.  there is a different level of acceptance- and it can bring with it transformation and redemption.

but ms. f- she wasn't waiting for this- it came out of no where.

when i went in on sunday morning- i went to see her first.  she was in the dark, crying. she's carrying this big burden- her cancer is a secret.  only her sons know, and she didn't tell them, the surgeon did.  she hasn't told her sisters, or her pastor or her close friends- even those who've come to visit.   as she cried- i asked her what worried her most about telling her family her diagnosis- she said, "they will think of me differently- i won't be the same." identity shift.  identity loss.  she fears those moments - those life altering moments- when one minute your someone's mom, someones sister and then next moment your a mom, a sister with terminal cancer.  it changes things.  saying it out loud makes it real.  other people knowing, makes it real.  as we unpeeled it further, we found that she's afraid of the separation that comes, of being alone with it- of people avoiding her- of what will happen when she is not the caretaker- afraid of losing her identity.

i remember finding out my mom had cancer when i was 10.  my dad told us upstairs in the chocolate brown colored guest room with the rainbow carpet- the room that would eventually become my bedroom.  he told my brother and i- while we sat on the floor- knowing that sitting on the floor with my dad was a big deal, but not understanding exactly what this all meant.  i remember going down to the kitchen afterwards and my mom was there- doing dishes or something and i sat on the washing machine banging my heels into it- that loud hollow noise- and i was afraid to touch her.  i was afraid of the shift in her identity.  i felt this enormous and terrifying wall between us- that had never been there before-and i had no idea what to do about it.  then i recall my mom turning around and putting her arms out and me running into them like a magnet.  the walls were gone- she was the same- she smelled the same- her hair was the same- and the connection was back.  but before you talk about it- it is all awkward and strange and isolating.

so are most things that seem unusual or atypical.  having a child with special needs- for example.  a unique identity.  feels isolating- you share sometimes that fear of telling people- will they avoid us- will i be more alone.  what's kind of funny about it all when you step way back and look at it is..... the emperor has no clothes.  we're all dressed up- thinking we look metaphorically great-people are feeding that identity- but underneath all that imagery- we're all naked.  we're the same- we get sick- we struggle- we worry about being alone- we worry about who we are and what we're supposed to do.

but when those hard moments come- when you're wondering who you are and how did you end up here- and that none of this was what you meant to sign up for  - that is when your core shines.  the base of your being is steadfast- you find out what you're made of. for me, i'm mostly made of a small person who leans on a big God- who thankfully can take it.  when the layers have been peeled off- i can see what's propping me up- and i'm so thankful for that. because life will continue to "happen" and i will be many things and lose many things but underneath it- is something never changing.