Brought to you by the letter "C", as in ...

Some have noticed and asked why my writings as of late are about things that occurred many years ago – friendships made or tiny little ramblings, but no “current reveals”. My excuse is that my “current” is nothing to write home about and, frankly, I’m not great at “reveal”, either. That being said, here is my attempt.

I currently work only two days a week. The original plan was for me to spend the rest of my spare time getting my life packed and organized, and then be mobile, and then be reinstalled. It would be a huge undertaking, and likely emotional, but the payoff would be both amazing and completely and totally worth it. E-yep, that was the original plan … and what do we know about things that we plan? Exactly – they change. You can (and should) plan on it. Since that change, I’ve found that I’ve had a lot of spare time with very little “plan”.

Now, for those at home keeping score, you’ll recall that the average health of females in my extended family has left PLENTY to be desired these days. One would think that the amount of unexpected spare time I now have plus the health issues of my aunt, my cousin and myself would add up to be a bad equation. Ah, yes, that would USUALLY be a good assumption – but I have over three decades of employing a great “c” word to deal with these things … “compartmentalization”. So I have been able to be a fully-functional, highly effective, part-time employee to my company, even though I’ve slept in my own bed less than 8 times in the past two and a half weeks as I support my family the only way I know how. Those that work near to me have no clue about how I spend my down time – which is exactly how I like it to be. Actually, it’s how I NEED it to be.

There are those that would argue that compartmentalization is very close to running away – and I see that similarity, and it does not bother me. Not in the least. In spite of my participation in the Lewis & Clark last year, I’m no marathoner – but I am a fantastic runner. So, while I embrace the common health issues in my family, I find myself unable to apply that information … that diagnosis … that WORD … directly to me and my health situation … even though I walked down this road 20 years ago. So shoot me – I’m scared. Actually, that’s not truthful. I’m not scared – I am terrified. And my compartmentalization is starting to fail me, through no fault of my own. There be cracks in this armor in places where I noticed no previous weakness.

How do these cracks demonstrate themselves?

As a company representative, I had to attend a luncheon on Friday. I made sure that this event had NOTHING to do with anything “health” related, because that could wreck my whole “keeping the line between my personal and professional life” intact. The keynote speaker started her session with an inspiring story about how she took over the family business as her husband was about to succumb to … Cancer. I made it back my “big city” offices, where Scott and I wound up on the phone for close to an hour. It was a terrific (and much needed) conversation, and he never asked me point-blank what was going on and I never told him. In fact, I caught myself making sure that I didn’t say anything more descriptive than “sick” when it came to my own current health situation, which rather sounds like I have a cold.

While driving on the way home, I flipped down my sun visor and a small leather bracelet that is more than 30 years old fell into my lap. I made it when I was a child, for another child, and it is decorated with my astrological sign … Cancer. The letters waiting for me at home on Friday included requests for money from three different societies who spend their time and energy looking for various ways to research or treat or one day cure the many hundreds of known types of … Cancer.

On Saturday morning, after spending an amazing evening in my own bed with my own pillows, I watched a DVD of one of my favorite television series with the goal of “distraction”. The guest star was a VERY YOUNG Patrick Swayze playing a character who receives a surprising diagnosis of … Leukemia. Twenty seven years later Patrick Swayze is fighting … Pancreatic Cancer. Giving up on electronic means of distraction, I head to my favorite bookstore where I find a title that seems interesting - “We Disappear” - and the 21st word in the description of the story is … Cancer. I instead pick up a movie that I’d wanted to see when it was released and is now out on DVD. The lead character is raising his amazing daughters with a supportive but complicated family as he continues to recover from losing the love of his life four years prior to … Cancer.

Dammit - I never asked to be a poster child representative. I never wanted to be an expert. I never aspired to be the “go to” on what comes next down this hideous and thorny pathway. I’m not brave. I’m not strong. I’m not a saint. I have no desire to be anyone’s damn hero. This isn’t compassion … I’m just me doing what I can for my family while thrusting my head in the sand at the same time. I am avoiding my own health while entrenching myself in everyone else’s. The dance continues. My aunt is dying of Cancer – a little more each day – and I spend most of my nights by her side as she continues in her steady decline. My cousin is fighting her second round of Cancer. She visits the hospital daily for her own treatments as her strength slowly shows signs of returning while her mothers’ slips away.

Me? In a revolting replay of my life from 20 years past (a very nasty rerun, if you will) I recently had a friend walk away because of the current amount of drama in my life. This, at a time when friends seem too frightened to challenge me on the purposeful distance that I keep. Distance that I know is a side-effect from my compartmentalization, which I cannot give up. If I did, then I couldn’t say that I’m just “sick” anymore.

Who hasn't felt like this at least once in their lives?

"Without my pride,I reach out from the inside ..."
Look - I know it's scary, I know it hurts ... but I'm scared and I hurt, too. Reach out anyway, please.

Falling into ... friendship, swing-dance style

Thus far, I’ve written in detail about my friendships with Tim and Karin. Today is Scott’s turn. With most my friendships, I don’t know the exact day or circumstance that the bond began. That’s not true with Scott … I know EXACTLY when we began our friendship. It was as easy as letting the pretty girl hit on me on Valentine's Day and then falling on my butt.

I’d worked with my previous sales team for several years. We were a tight family and suddenly, the only member of my “new” team I knew was my boss and Scott. I’d met Scott briefly in 2005 at a meeting in Las Vegas and, in February 2006, I was off to Chicago to attend my first meeting with my “new” team. From the invite I saw, the only name I recognized was Scott’s.

I’d flown into DFW on the afternoon of February 12th to get myself mid-way to O’Hare and the next morning saw me flying EARLY into ORD so that I could be part of the first crew in. (This behavior is part of my “making sure everyone is comfortable and taken care of” routine. It is, simply, what I do. Not doing it would be the same as … not breathing. I’m not boasting here – it’s just the truth.) Scott landed at the same time, and we met on an airport walkway. He recognized me before I recognized him (later telling me that my Van’s were a dead-giveaway of my “California-ness”). We headed to baggage to pick up my checked my bags, where I learned they lost the bag that had my warm coat. Terrific … this was February in Chicago, where the average temp was in the mid-teens. But we’d spend most our time indoors, so I left my hotel contact info and we connected with the driver I’d arranged and headed to the hotel to stash our bags and find lunch.

Over lunch prior to the meeting start, we learned that our musical tastes were the same (with perhaps his choices being slightly edgier than mine), that we both order our steaks rare, and that he has a much higher tolerance for caffeine than I do. (I *still* don’t know how he can drink Venti Americanos throughout the day and actually sleep at night.) We both also had the same song assigned to the people who were the first loves of our lives. His strength in his faith was an eye-opener for me because … well, typically sales folks aren’t exactly known for their religion beyond the worship of the all-mighty dollar. It was when he told me that he liked live music that I knew how we’d be spending Valentine’s Day 2006.

The meeting went well (even though my bag had still not arrived) and, as there was no official dinner organized, a group of us met in the lobby to discuss our options. I knew which club I wanted to go to, and we tried to get other folks to come along, but it turned out to just be Scott and I. When we arrived at the club, it had not yet opened for the evening. We walked around the corner and Scott found an English pub so we had dinner and beers there. By the time we were done, the dual-stage club had opened.

So here we were – two pretty-much strangers spending our Valentine’s evening in a city neither of us resided in, ready for music from bands we hadn’t heard of, and each sharing the experience with a new friend. This was either gonna be a bomb or a blast, only time would tell … and it didn’t start out well. The first band had a guy on the keyboard who was a dead ringer for Charlie Manson but he was quite talented and the music was LOUD and only alright. I was worried that it was gonna be a short night. We had a couple more beers, the set was over and we migrated to the other stage at the club.

That’s when Joanna Connor and her band took over ... in every sense of the word. Joanna looked from afar to be about 25 (we later talked with her and clearly closer up, she was more in the 40s range). The girl just absolutely rocked! During her first set, she played something that I knew we could both dance to so dance we did. We sat back down, had a few more beers - there were LOTS of beers, and a quick round of Silver Patron (my fault) - and were having a conversation while the other band took over in the other room. We didn’t move – we talked about … everything. He had photos of his children (they are, of course, adorable).

When Joanna started her second set, by about the third song, this really striking girl walked over and I thought “oh damn, she’s gonna ask the only person here that I know to dance and leave me sitting here all alone like this” … and then I noticed she wasn’t talking to Scott. She was talking to me. I glanced over at Scott and he didn’t seem to mind the idea of watching two gals dance … so I took her outstretched hand as she led me out to the floor. We danced swing for a bit (probably my FAVORITE way to dance) and gosh we were having a lot of fun … right up until I tripped up and I dumped. I dumped bad, and Lord it was SO embarrassing. She helped me steady myself and said “don’t worry about it” … and I tried not to.

We finished dancing and we walked me back to the table, Scott was … taken aback a bit and I walked around behind him and hid myself from my own embarrassment. She thanked him – and me, we hugged (she and I did), and I apologized for embarrassing myself, which he just kinda said was fine and then said “uh – that was hot.” And I said “yeah, especially the part with me falling on my ass” and he said “that part was minor – but that was … um, that was really hot” – so I said “What? Your other coworkers wouldn’t have done that?” and he smiled and said “Uh – no. It’s safe to say other women co-workers would have certainly never danced with her – or danced like that”. It felt good to hear – and I think he actually meant it. I was still embarrassed, but at least he now knew about my level of grace, so it was one less confession to make. The rest of the night included more Patron, and me showing Scott the basics of Swing and we stayed out far past our bedtime - far past mine, anyway.

The next morning started very early, and I was the first in the meeting room. I looked probably just as bad as I felt, if not a little worse and, true friend that he turned out to be, when Scott walked into the room, he looked over at me and had the courage to say “wow – you look like hell.” I smiled, even tho’ doing so hurt my face a bit. “Maybe so”, I replied, “but I got the hot chick to dance with me.” It’s a reference we still make to each other, two years later.

Without even recognizing it, I’d made peace with my team change in 24 hours – at a bar and blues club at the South Side of Chicago … and all I had to do was have enough courage to be myself.