Ever since parting ways with Per, to whom I wish all the best, many things happened in my life. I found a new Dominant, and, more importantly, I have been dealing with The Big C.
In case you were already thinking “The Big C? She must mean chastity, is she in a belt?” let me say right now: It’s not what you think. (Perv.)
The Big C, in this case, means Cancer. Specifically, my mother’s breast cancer.
This has been known since early March of this year, when a routine check-up revealed an abnormal-looking cluster; further analysis made it definitive: It was a malignant tumor.
Mom is fortunate: The growth was found early, she is in good health, active and has taken care of herself, which makes treatment easier and much less invasive. She also has been disciplined about mammograms and self-examinations, yet in spite of that discipline, this tumor would have gone unnoticed for some time, as mum did not feel it in her self-exams, and would not have felt it until it was much larger and difficult to treat.
Even though this growth was relatively small, its treatment involved hormonal chemotherapy, surgery, and, now that the growth is excised, a round of radiotherapy to kill off any remaining malignant cells.
Throughout these months, I have been providing support, help, and care to my mother — or as much care as she allows me to give her: If it was up to me she would be inside a hyperbaric bubble, not being let out for anything that was unrelated to treatments; but I can not have it my way (mom won’t allow it — and that is probably a Good Thing.)
But I digress.
The point is, even today, with all the technology that we have at our disposal to treat a once life-threatening illness in such a way that it is no longer such a threat, cancer is not something to be taken lightly.
There are articles that respected physicians have written in respected newspapers that qualify cancer as a disease that needs to be treated holistically; among those avenues, there is the idea that cancer therapy is not a process that pertains to the oncological patient, but to their entourage as well. In simple terms: an oncological patient is not alone in dealing with his or her illness: their inner circle — immediate family and closest friends — shares a responsibility towards the patient to help with the treatment and the healing process, and in so doing bearing the weight of cancer becomes less burdensome for the patient. In that sense, it can be said that cancer is not just a one person illness, but an illness that affects many, directly or indirectly.
That is what I have been doing lately — Helping my mother to alleviate some of the burden of the oncological healing process, so her recovery is a speedier, easier one.
I would have done it regardless, mind. I see it as just another side of my filial duties towards her, part of that Fourth Commandment, “Honor your father and mother” that Catholic catechism pushes into our subconscious since a very tender age.
These duties — which I undertake gladly and fully aware that they are mine to fulfil, no ifs or buts about it — have exacted an unexpected mental and emotional toll.
It’s not about the anxiety of what will come next, or knowing that at this stage — on the upswing from the nadir of diagnosis and initial treatment — things are looking up, like there is a new normal. It is the constant presence of the thought that has accompanied me since this March: “Mom has cancer, it’s up to me now to take care of her.”
Perhaps this would seem overly protective of me; after all, mom also has dad; but dad… Dad, I think, still thinks that cancer is like any other illness, that you cure quickly, get well and move on. So there is little support other than the token moral support; much less than what a cancer patient needs.
Cancer is not like any other illness.
Cancer therapy is a life-altering event; it is something that will be with you for many months, even years. For mom, after radiotherapy, she will have to take the same drug she was prescribed at the onset of treatment for five more years. Five years of an altered hormonal balance, of side effects that had never been in her life before, but now are common, five years of things not being like they were before cancer.
This is why I have been relatively absent from SL lately. I have something much, much bigger than myself to deal with, and I am dealing with it with less support than usual. It wears me out, bears heavy on me, and robs me of much of my energy. At the end of the day, even if it has been a good day, I feel drained.
This is what I am contending with. It is a real battle, a battle of attrition where the weapons are not only technological but also spiritual and emotional.
I am confident that mom will make it through; she has faced tough battles before and she’s a fighter.
Until things are better, I will be in a state of semi-retirement from SL. For all that I enjoy being in the metaverse, I simply do not have the energy for it. Yes, I will still log in, say hello, stay briefly, and then log out, unless there is something important going on that requires my presence.
SL has given me a circle of virtual friends and family to which I have grown dearly attached to; I want you all to know, I carry you all in my thoughts and in my heart, always.
When I am feeling better and with more energy, have no doubts: I will be back, and that is a promise you can take to the bank, as the idiom says.
I love you all, my dear family. Wish me luck, and please don’t forget to hug me if you catch me online: I probably need it (even if I won’t say so.)