Over the last few months I've had an assortment of conversations with a friend of mine, who has had health issues of her own, and we've been comparing notes (and not in a Suffering Olympics sort of comparison) about what we each remember or do not remember about our health experiences. "I remember this in pre-op, but not this..." "I can remember this appointment, but not this one..."
And all that got me to thinking a lot about remembering and forgetting. I can tell a distinct difference in my short-term memory these days, like I escalated the aging process by about a decade or two. (Forty is the new sixty, anyone?) For example, I used to be able to quickly recall the names of actors, movie titles, and movie quotes, but that's more of a struggle these days. (Although, that's not really a useful life skill anyway, so does it really matter that I can't remember those things as well?) I also have to be very quick to write down anything on the to-do list before I forget it. Probably a lot of what I can't remember from recent months is from trauma, my brain's way of saying, "You didn't need to remember that anyway, so let me do you a favor."
As a result of those conversations with my friend and my own reflections, I wrote and published a new piece for Gospel-Centered Discipleship, which just released this morning. I normally post pieces to the blog before escalating to formal publication, but I just got the sense this one needed to move straight to publication, so I spent part of break writing it and then going over edits from the editor.
"What a Rare Brain Cancer is Teaching Me About the Art of Remembering and Forgetting"
I hope you find it of value. My prayer is still that God would help me to remember what needs to be remembered (maybe that means I still recall that Ethan Embry is TB Player in That Thing You Do! - and maybe not), and to forget what needs to be forgotten.
Feel free to post it to your socials or text it to a friend. Thanks for reading.
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Functional updates:
I'll eventually post an entry dedicated solely to health updates (hi, Great Itch of 2024), but as a preface to that:
This break was much-needed in a way I didn't anticipate, offering a lot of margin and space to pause and hear myself think. The chief conclusion that rose to the top revolved around communication moving forward. This blog was essential in the early days and months of my diagnosis. My family and I needed to offload a lot of direct communication and this method met that need. I also wanted a forum to pour out all that was rolling around in my head. This has easily been the most prolific period of writing for me in well over a decade.
Those were good and right things - at the time.
But the situation has evolved and my body isn't coming off the rails like it was in the first six months and the constant parade of thoughts has slowed (despite the lengthy note in my phone that says "future blog post ideas"). My family and I aren't white-knuckling our way through life as much as we were. Although, that's not to say we aren't as guarded, as we've seen first-hand how life can change in the blink of an eye.
As time passed during break, when I thought about the prospect of posting again, it suddenly felt like such a chore to me, and I was suddenly feeling the weight of expectations from others, whether real or perceived. I told my mom, "I don't want to be both the breaking news and the reporter of the breaking news." Not anymore, at least. It never felt like a chore at the beginning, but like I said, time and space have finally given me enough room to hear myself think.
All that being said, you will notice a considerable difference in the frequency and substance of posting moving forward.
Sometimes I might post just health updates.
Sometimes I might post just reflective pieces.
Sometimes I may post both.
And sometimes I may go for stretches where I post neither (this is where it's your job to not panic just because I haven't said anything in awhile. Keep calm and carry on).
This isn't just about the next 12 months of treatment.
This is about the rest of my life.
I have to find a more sustainable pace and rhythm to all of this without making like a bear and hibernating from all humanity until further notice.
I've been so grateful for you who have been reading, keeping up with every post and every turn of events. You have been the encouragement to me in the chaos, and writing has been the light in the darkness. (Looking back, I literally don't know how I posted anything coherent those first two months after the surgery in April when I felt so wretched and everything felt like a big fat giant mess).
There's still a long road ahead and you'll no doubt hear from me eventually, but until next time, back to you, Bob, for the weather and traffic. 😉
