Aug 25, 2015
Weddings are interesting. Some people plan for a year or
more, and everything leading up to that day is about the wedding. It’s this
huge focus that feels like it will never arrive. Then the wedding happens, and
if you are lucky (as I was) it is everything you hoped for and more. And then
this strange thing happens afterwards. It’s like a huge comedown from being so
high. Almost like a mini depression.
That’s kinda what the week following the ride was like for
me. I walked into work still on a high. A number of my co-workers asked me
about the Ride and congratulated me. Over the next few days though, the
comedown set in.
The thing is, at the Ride I was an equal. I was not ‘canser
girl’. I was not thought of as different. I certainly didn’t feel
different. I was a rider first and foremost. I had to earn my spot by
fundraising at least $2500 – there are no discounts just because you had canser.
And then I had to cycle the whole 236k to cross the finish. So did everyone
else there – regardless of their canser status. My yellow flag was not there to
differentiate me from the other riders – it was there to celebrate a small victory
over a disease that kills. When people looked at me, I felt like they saw my
team colours first, not the fact that I had no breasts. I was surrounded by
people who had either been affected directly or indirectly by this disease, or
at the very least wanted to make an impact for those affected by the disease. I
was completely comfortable in my own skin.
A work environment is not the same. I mentioned when I first
started back to work how it was nice because nothing at work had anything to do with
canser. I could go in and just be a normal, working person. But my insecurities
that started before the Ride came back full force after The Ride. It felt like
the difference between me and my co-workers was magnified now. Whereas I felt
like I was on equal footing with my teammates, I did not feel like an equal
with my co-workers. I felt less than. Different. My chemo brain made me feel
sluggish when trying to problem solve. Although I was not ready to be back full
time, my graduated schedule made me feel like it was one more thing that made
me different from my co-workers. Plus all my doctor’s appointments –
which made me wonder if that made me appear sickly. And of course the fact that
I looked so very different than when I left. Suddenly all I could see when I
looked in the mirror at work was my lack of breasts and tight, curly (some days
unmanageable) hair. A woman who didn’t really look like a woman. A freak.
It was awful. And lonely.
My refuge continued to be camping, and my riding. We started
doing Thursday night team rides out of Silverado, as well as continuing with the
Tuesday night team rides. For the few hours while I was on my bike, I was just a
member of the team. For the few days we were out camping, I was just another
camper.
As the month continued, and my hours increased I found I was
always more tired the first week the hours increased, and would adjust by the 2nd week.
Only to be tired the following week when they increased again. It was normal as
my body and my mind adjusted, but didn’t help the way I was feeling.
After completing the most challenging physical feat I have ever attempted,
all I could see were my failures everywhere else. The sad thing is, I don’t
even think what I saw as “failures” were actual failures. They were
adjustments. But I just couldn’t see it that way, and they continued to
snowball. I was so overwhelmed that I pulled back from friends. And family. And
my wonderful canser support. I felt like my life was spiralling out of control.
It was a year and half past diagnosis – I should be able to stand on my own two
feet. I wasn’t even full time yet at work for God’s sake. I felt like
I should now be giving back. That the time for me needing support was done. And
those feelings paralysed me more.
In the sea of expectations I had of myself, I was drowning.
My counterpart Ty at work gently reminded me that it would
take time to get back into the swing of things . My manager (and friend)
Melissa told me not to push it too hard and just take it one day at a time. Her
boss Brian was also very supportive and checked in every now and again with me
to see how things were going.
So the only pressure being applied was from myself. Which in
hindsight is like a huge light bulb. But at the time, I was relentless in
my criticism of myself.
It’s only now that I see I was suffering, but was so blinded
by my insecurities, I didn’t realise it. Instead of trying to take on more, I
should have given myself a break, and taken stuff off my plate instead of
berating myself when I just couldn’t add anymore. It was like a switch went off
once I was back at work – like my brain tried to wipe out all I had been
through and that I should suddenly be able to handle every single thing thrown
my way – and then some.
For the first time in a long time, I felt terribly alone.
Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel
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