more writing from the liminal
baby's first cancer scare, flashbacks, and new grief
I write to you on a Tuesday morning. I find myself sitting to write these days when I don’t know what else to do with myself, when it feels as though I have no other choice but to be with myself. I still find myself hanging in a liminal space as I navigate my current health issues.
Here’s an update I shared on social media after meeting with my doctor nearly a week ago.
After my doctor’s appointment, I got in my car and called my mom to process. I felt new forms of grief take shape within me as we spoke. I felt in shock, disoriented - and I still do.
After that appointment, I couldn’t bring myself to go to the lab and have countless phlebotomists poke and prod me with needles to get my blood. I waited until the next morning to go and thank goodness I did. An angel named Mariah took utmost care and patience finding the right vein, putting heating packs on my hands and arms to make them easier to access. She took 10-15 minutes plotting her moves, telling me her plan, and it worked - she only had to poke me once to get the blood she needed. I thanked her enthusiastically and let her know she’s “really fucking good at her job.”
Driving home, I caught a glimpse of some of the most stunning morning glories I’d ever seen in my life. They were huge and glowing an almost neon blue. I exclaimed and cackled and pulled over to greet them. It was a morning that felt like the world was putting some wind under my wings - a morning of small blessings. Gifts that I was happy to receive.
This past week has felt, as I said, disorienting and confusing. I do not know how to be. And I guess that’s ok. I’m feeling withdrawn and quiet - as if I’m turning inward to mentally, spiritually, and energetically prepare myself for what’s to come. I am brimming with new emotion that I’m trying to understand, to tend. With the support of the plants, I continue to be surprisingly grounded, to feel surprisingly capable of navigating what’s to come. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t fear, worry, and sadness.
I thought I had already grieved the reality that I wouldn’t be having my own children, but apparently there is more grieving to be done. The reality that I will likely have a hysterectomy or both of my ovaries removed makes a thought more of a fact if that makes sense. There’s a sense of finality, there is no longer room for me to have a choice. A choice, that I’ve honestly never felt was there to begin with. I’ve never had a partner I’d want to have a child with. I’m not financially stable enough to have a child. I have never had a choice - not before and not now. The grief there is sharp. This reality makes other realities painfully clearer: I don’t have a partner, I’m financially unstable. I’m about to be “barren,” I’m about to enter a threshold that feels significant. While I’m only 40, I’m about to enter a portal that is often reserved for elders. I feel, very strongly, that I’m being pushed into a new stage of life, stepping into a new role.
In the past, as I was coming to terms with the reality that I wouldn’t be having children, I would close my eyes and imagine a reality in which I was able to live out another life. One where I’d found a loving partner to raise a family with. I’d see myself holding a baby in my arms, touching my nose to theirs, singing them songs. I’d see myself holding their hand as they toddled along next to me. I close my eyes now and I imagine having a partner who would hold me through all this, who would be there with me for every step. Who wouldn’t have to text me to see how I’m doing, but would just be there to ask, to care. I imagine laying in bed crying and receiving a loving embrace from a partner laying next to me. It’s not that I dream of a nuclear family of my own, but in a world where this is the norm that I fall outside of - and where chosen family isn’t always easily available or accessible to everyone - it seems to be the only way for most folks, including myself, to get their needs met. While I wish we lived more communally and had more fluid community and family networks, for the most part, those types of networks are incredibly difficult to find and build. I dream of this shifting for all of us collectively and that we’ll lean more into a village mindset and away from the nuclear family. But for now, this is where I find myself. Dreaming of a partner, dreaming of a world where community will become caretakers.
I am flashing back to other recent traumas, to the not-so-distant-time when my life fell apart, when I lost my job, when my grandma passed, when I had to sell my home. Again, I find that people do not understand what I am navigating. There is no way for folks to understand unless they have been through it. People to do not know what to do, do not know how to show up or be curious. There is the kind text or small gesture and that is all. I have done so much asking for help this year that I’m not sure how I will manage asking for more. I am tired. I am depleted. I can’t seem to catch a break.
In my panic after the bout of pain that started this journey, I reached out to one of my herbalists, Kelly of Attic Apothecary. I knew she offered a free clinic and so I reached out to inquire about getting on the list. To my surprise, she offered to see me in a few weeks. We met yesterday and I left feeling so validated and supported. I made this appointment before I knew much about my situation. At the time, I was thinking I was dealing with ovarian cysts and that we would talk about how to manage and treat those herbally. Fast forward and the situation is quite different. I worried that this session wouldn’t be valuable somehow. I was absolutely wrong.
I spoke about how the doctor acts as if these surgeries are no big deal. I’ll likely go home same day or the next day and beyond that, I could be back to work the next day. The only sort of healing precaution they put in place is around not lifting a certain amount of weight for a certain amount of weeks. This doesn’t sit well with me at all. Knowing myself, this all feels like a big deal - whether I get a hysterectomy or an ovary or two removed - I am going to be unconscious while someone cuts me open and takes out part of my body. Kelly validated me wholly and expressed that surgery is actually a big deal, it’s a trauma to the body. We can reason with our mind about what’s going to happen, but the body registers things differently. We spoke about how to care for myself pre and post surgery, both with herbs and also by eating well, sleeping well, and managing my nervous system.
To add to all this, it’s likely I’ll go into surgical menopause after surgery. So that’s a whole new layer of things to contend with and adjust to. It’s not just surgery - it’s surgery and going into menopause. Again, the portal.
I am struggling to accept that this is the reality of my life these days. I have tried so hard to rebuild, to stay on the path of aliveness, to do my best, to believe things will shift for the better…and over and over again, the rug is pulled from beneath me. There are a few small wins here and there, but ultimately, they are not enough to sustain me. And neither are the herbs. I know so many folks feel this way. It’s nearly impossible to survive, better yet thrive, in the systems we live under. We can only do so much and I guess, for now, that will have to be enough. Hopefully, amidst all this mess, we’ll eventually come closer and closer together.
WAYS TO SUPPORT ME
As surgery is likely imminent, I can use all the support I can get as I am hoping to be able to take a week off of work post-op.
Support Common Kin Quarterly: There are still two more seasons - fall and winter - of Common Kin Quarterly left to sign up for!
Support me at upcoming markets: I am doing two markets in October as long as my health allows me to. I may have to pull out of one or both depending on how things shake out with timing of surgery, healing, etc. I will try to have salves, oils, salts, scrubs, teas, and a couple tinctures available.
SIMAH: Sunday, October 12th, 11 am - 1 pm. Jordan Park, South West Pavillion, 1000 S 900 W.
Black Cat Market: Sunday, October 26th, 10 am - 5 pm. Publik Space, 975 S West Temple.
Support me with a $$$ donation: I am always happily accepting any financial donations right now as I navigate having extra bills (me and Dot’s health) and not enough income from part-time work and unemployment. You can make a donation to me on Venmo, my username is vanwardy.