Sit, Allison, Sit. Good Girl. NOOOOOO...Sit!

Why can’t I sit still? Why can’t I turn my brain off? Why do I get uncontrollable urges to rake the yard, do laundry, jump up and down, scrub floors, clean out closets and sometimes watch fainting goat videos on YouTube? Well folks, that’s called adult ADHD. It’s a total strength because I get shit done. A lot of it. The downside is, I truly can’t sit still and relax for long, which is why I watch short TV episodes and not movies. I have been known on occasion to pick up someone else’s house (I know, the nerve!) reorganize their things and sometimes do all their dishes (I’m sorry Lindsey). I can swear to you that I can’t help it. If I don’t move my body I will start talking really fast because the energy has to come out somehow. I can remember playing a geography game in 5^th grade and we had to sit in our desks. I knew a lot of answers because Geography was my favorite and reading the text book was a major past time for me. I was getting so excited (as in, jumping out of my desk, shouting and probably spitting everywhere) during this game that I was asked to go sit in the hallway, which secretly I was thankful for because my mental needed a serious time out. 15 years later in grad school I was sitting around at game night and was screaming all the answers repeating 5^th grade all over again and because I was drinking, I bet I was really spitting all over the place. Me on drugs is not pretty, I choose to “Get High on Life,” which oddly enough was the poster that I made that won the annual Northside Elementary poster contest. Full circle people, keep up. Mariluz describes my personality as a lab puppy and in many ways that’s true, except that I am potty trained the majority of the time. At the end of the day, the common denominator for disaster here for me is having to “sit” or “lay down.” If you ask me to sit for too long I will start picking at things, shaking my leg and shouting out the capitols of South American countries. Please don’t ask me to sit…or lay down for that matter.

I was told that my arm movement would be restricted because of my mastectomy and that I needed to lay down and recover I had a panic attack because all of the sudden I really, really, really, really wanted to rearrange my kitchen cupboards. Like in that exact moment. The mere thought of me not being able to move plates, toasters, panini makers and spices around was equivalent to ripping out a piece of my soul. To all my psychologist, counselor and LCSW peeps, I know you are picking up a pattern here in my behavior and my reactions to things, and to answer your question…yes I am aware of it. Moving is therapeutic for me, so just let me move about the cabin dammit! Even if I am missing a body part. By the way, all of my complaints about Marco’s superhero level energy and how he can stay awake for 5 days straight is all my fault. Well, it’s a little of the apple juice’s fault too. I refuse to take 100% responsibility, as I should, I’m an American. Anyhow, let’s go back and review really quickly: I have breast cancer, am pregnant, just had a mastectomy and now I can’t rearrange my kitchen cabinets. What the hell?! It’s obvious I did a piss poor job putting the kitchen together three years ago and now it needs to be fixed, immediately, and no mastectomy is going to stand in my way! Plus, shouldn’t losing a boob make it easier and faster to do things now? Am I a secret genius and just increased my efficiency to complete tasks? Plus, there is a major piece missing to the puzzle that I forgot to add. The day I came home from the hospital, my little blessing of a neighbor, Mikey, made and installed a walnut bar top for my counters. It was supposed to be the first thing I saw when I walked into the kitchen, but it was the second thing I saw because the first was my dirty kitchen floor. I know, I’m an asshole. When I saw the bar top so beautifully installed with beautiful flowers on it I wanted to cry and pick Mikey up and spin him around, then get started on rearranging my kitchen. I got irritated that I couldn’t pick him up and spin him around even if I wanted to because of my surgery, so I just kept saying, “thank you.” The feeling of being overwhelmed and grateful for such a wonderful gift left me with a response that wasn’t aligned with how I was really feeling. I still have a little guilt over that moment. What I really should have said was, “I can’t believe that you did this for me. You gave up a lot of your time and energy into fixing up the room I love most and I am so grateful and appreciative to have such wonderful neighbors and friends like you guys.” For some reason I just couldn’t say it…

My whole life I have gotten joy out of doing things for others and helping them along their way. I can do it so effortlessly that I lose my own self in the mix. When I got sick people were lining up around the block to help us out. Being on the receiving end was extremely hard for me to show just how appreciative I was. It’s a humbling experience when you let someone else pay you back, so to speak, or effortlessly help in a situation when you need it the most. The help starting pouring in immediately and of course I over analyzed everything down to the most magnified detail because I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. Friends and family would yell at me, “Just let us help you!” And that my friend, is much, MUCH easier said than done. In fact the most humbling of all my experiences, the one that made me throw in the towel, was when I realized that immediately after surgery I could no longer use the bathroom on my own. Relieving myself was no problem, but someone had to walk with me, then unroll toilet paper for me and alas, wipe me up. Using the bathroom and taking care of yourself in that way, is for most of us an independent activity. Think about it the next time you use the bathroom and I promise you, you will walk out appreciating your health. I remember Darin giving me a lecture in the hospital in front of the nurse saying that I’m stubborn and he knew I wouldn’t call and ask for help to use the bathroom, so the nurse needed to make sure she came in and checked with me frequently. I kept thinking, “no one in their right mind (and I emphasize “right mind” because this sentence can go in at least 7 different directions) is going to joyfully and obediently ring the assistance bell and request to have their ass wiped (after operating on my own since 1984) by someone they’ve never met, or know very intimately for that matter!”  Excuse me for not jumping at that exciting opportunity each time nature called. So, that’s where my first real humble pie was served and those bites, although coming in changing forms with each stage of this process, are still hard to swallow.

 I never knew or could understand what the cancer process was like for another person or for a family. We hear the word, “Cancer” and immediately think the worst. Then you hear the words “In Remission” and immediately think the best, but what you don’t think about are so many other words, emotions, memories, lost independence, gained confidence and experiences left to process once the trauma soaks in. Because that’s what it is, a trauma, and anyone who thinks this process is not, I invite you to sit and speak to someone who has or had cancer. But, as my children’s pediatrician has said, “There is light and joy that come from trauma,” and she is correct because I know it, I’ve lived it, I’m crying looking at her right now. Her name is Simona Ilci List Arigoni.

Coming up next: The Day We Met Simona.