We’re planning a trip to Los Angeles. This isn’t something that seems like a big deal, but it’s going to be the first time I’ve gotten on an airplane since my diagnosis. One thing that nobody told me about having cancer is that I would have fear. Fear fear fear. It’s like the side effect that keeps on giving.
So my birthday is coming up, and so is my love’s. And it’ll be our dating anniversary. We’re committed to celebrating lavishly since we’ve mostly been, you know, at home and getting chemo every two weeks. Still, it makes me worry.
My world feels smaller now that I have cancer. I worry a lot. I worry about leaving the apartment. I worry about getting from point A to point B and back again. I worry about money. And health insurance. I worry about slavery and colonialism. A lot. I worry about earthquakes. I worry about this trip to Los Angeles.
Let’s all agree that getting a metastatic cancer diagnosis is a trauma; I worry about another trauma. How will I cope if something else happens? Some of my worries (e.g., earthquakes) are founded. Some of them are a little more far flung.
I’ve been trying to work with my fear and worry. In therapy, it’s a primary point of discussion. I’m trying to invite the fear in and make it a welcome part of my emotional landscape, rather than fight against it. I’m trying to remember that my diagnosis isn’t that old yet. It’s only four months old. Four months of fear. Well, one month of being really fucking sick. And then three months of fear.
I’m hopeful that I’ll grow out of the fear. That it’s part of this “phase,” whatever that means. I want to get out more. Take in more delight. I want to live in the bigger world.