Self-Destruct Mode

Word spread around Kohler like wildfire this week. A new case of cancer. A child. It's someone I know.

The first day I found out, my heart sank and I cried. I called my mom and I tried to problem solve and think of things to help the family. Then I cried more.

Yesterday I got progressively worse. I literally ate everything I had in the house. I wrote my friend an email that I hope was encouraging. It literally took me hours to compose because I was so out of my wits. (Plus, I had to stop a couple of times to stuff my face with Wheat Thins and string cheese.) I cried a lot.

Eric visits me on Wednesdays. I tried to chase him off once and said I wasn't very good company and that he shouldn't come up from Milwaukee.

Then I tried again and told him not to come because I was planning to open the wine.

I gave in and opened the wine. By the time Eric got to my house, I was feeling more than good. We'd done a webcam call with the Marventanos wherein I'd made it clear that probably one glass of wine wasn't where I'd stopped. And I spoke with my friend Lisa on the phone and I'm sure I was a mess then too.

Then I started to cry. I just cried and cried. I tried to chase Eric away, but he didn't leave. I just sat in his arms and cried. I cried because it's not fair. I cried because it's tough to explain chemo to an adult, let alone a child. I cried because I can only pretend to know how those parents are feeling. I cried for my own children. I cried for the utter lack of control in life. I cried for my dreams lost. For my children's confusion about why they don't have a father. I cried for my friend's future - I know the child will be healed. But I also know that if the child has a runny nose or a loose tooth or stubs a toe, they are going to *freak* mentally and worry that it's cancer. I cried for the rumors and the annoying pitying looks. (The mother has already set up a blog, which I think is smart, as I found it to be the most forthright way of disbanding the rumor mill.) I cried for the feeling of being completely overwhelmed 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I cried because I know what the medical bills and the paperwork will look like. I cried because my daughter (who is in first grade) said "Are you crying because {Child Smith} is sick? I heard people talking about it on the playground today." How is it possible that the kids at school are discussing it? Or that cancer is even a part of their realities?

Truthfully, I cried because I gave in and went for the wine.

Eric tried to tell me time and time again that today is a new day. He's right. I get to start over each day and try again. It's amazing the damage that self-destruct mode does. I let it absolutely ruin an entire day. I couldn't rally enough to do my hair or put on makeup. I tried to be productive but burned out after 2 hours. Rachel didn't have her homework done for school. I made an awful dinner. I forgot about our webcam call with the Marventanos because I'd already started the wine by the time the designated hour rolled around. I hung on my kids all day, like a wet blanket, telling them I love them. (Which Jake will accept; Rachel can tend to get annoyed with that kind of clingyness...) The house was a disgusting mess by the time we went to bed. I didn't wash the dishes or pick up a single thing. I just shut out the lights and left it all. I didn't have the energy to put sheets on my bed. I just slept on the mattress pad.

Things snowball. Sometimes it seems less like a snowball and more like an avalanche.

Today is a beautiful new day in Wisconsin. It's a chance for me to begin again. I am going to try to switch out of self-destruct mode and begin again, with the hope that I can proceed positively in this life.