Although I am no longer teaching for a living, my annual rhythm still depends on the academic calendar. Both of my daughters are still in “school,” though my older one is in her last year of law school and is otherwise fully grown; my husband teaches as an adjunct at an R1 university; we live in a university town. So with Labor Day and the return to school that it signifies also comes a feeling for me of increased responsibility and the start of a count-down clock to the end of the semester/year.
Last year, my September was quite different, as I embarked on the fight of my life. That was all—all!—I had to do: focus on finding the treatments I needed to get better. At least that was the idea; in actuality, I did have a bit more to do than that, and when I didn’t, the consequences were serious. But that’s a topic for some other diary perhaps.
This September, with renewed health if not renewed vigor, I feel obligated to take up where I left off, at least in a limited fashion. However, I don’t know if I ever could go back to the crazily intense schedule I had before I became ill, even if it were feasible. Not long ago, I was a single mother of two as well as a full-time Ph.D. student, with responsibilities in both arenas that left me feeling that I was not serving either “master” (home or academe) very well. A little more recently, I was a struggling lecturer, still parenting the child at home, and teaching full time—which included designing at least one new class from the ground up each semester. When I became ill, I was working as a union rep, the sole organizer for a local based at a university an hour’s commute from my house; my daughter was then entering high school and by no means grown up. I was very newly remarried and still adjusting to the new status.
Many of you may recall the somewhat successful book and movie from a few years ago, “I Don’t Know How She Does It.” I refused to read or see it, because I was sure I’d be annoyed by the relative privilege that the protagonist enjoyed. Being a working mother stretched beyond my capacity, I would have been irritated that somehow this woman’s plight was entertaining—when so many of us have it much harder than she did, and much harder than I ever did as well. However, in retrospect, I don’t know how I did it either. One does what one must. But at what price?
Serious illness does have a way of making one stop. I had no other choice. I lost my job, for good or ill. I needed to put all my energy toward healing; I was at real risk of dying if I didn’t. Yes, I still had a daughter to raise and a husband to partner, but in truth my daughter was far more on her own than was good for her, and my husband was scrambling as never before to keep us housed and fed.
The immediate crisis successfully survived, the effort I expended (with the help of my family and closest friends) having been effective, I approach this September differently. And yet, I have to prioritize now more ruthlessly than ever.
Monday Night Cancer Club is a Daily Kos group focused on dealing with cancer, primarily for cancer survivors and caregivers, though clinicians, researchers, and others with a special interest are also welcome. Volunteer diarists post Monday evenings between 7-8 PM ET on topics related to living with cancer, which is very broadly defined to include physical, spiritual, emotional and cognitive aspects. Mindful of the controversies endemic to cancer prevention and treatment, we ask that both diarists and commenters keep an open mind regarding strategies for surviving cancer, whether based in traditional, Eastern, Western, allopathic or other medical practices. This is a club no one wants to join, in truth, and compassion will help us make it through the challenge together.
I have several short- and long-term goals to address this semester, but here I’ll mention only a few. Our financial situation is unstable, and as soon as I can start generating some income, the better off we’ll be. There is a limit to what my husband can generate given his current jobs and the market for his skills, regardless of his exceptionally strong entrepreneurial abilities. Nevertheless, I have to start dealing with some of our medical bills even before we have the surplus to make much headway with them. Some of my friends shake their heads at me, telling me that since I’m uncollectible (which is true) I shouldn’t worry about that so much. Yet, I do. At the same time, our tax extension from April is about to expire, and although I’ve shoved just about all the relevant pieces of paper into a couple of bulging manila envelopes, the process of sorting, organizing, and totaling expenses is not something I relish. Especially because there’s probably another large bill attached, one that can’t be ignored for long.
I am itching to get back into political outreach. Even though my state is pretty securely in the Obama column, the down-ticket races and proposals are extremely important and their outcome far from certain. In the past several elections, I canvassed and phone banked for many hours from September to November, and on Election Day itself I’ve served as a driver to get people to the polls or as a poll watcher. This year, I’m not at all sure what I can take on and complete.
This year, as before, it’s largely up to me to support my younger daughter emotionally and academically. She’s stronger than she was a year ago, but it’s also a critical year for her, with much depending on her school and test performance. She’s not ever been a gung-ho student, so I don’t expect that to change now. Doing things differently than most kids do is a mixed blessing for the kids and the parents, as many of you may know from your own experiences.
All this noted, my priorities are different now than they once were. It used to be that I was willing to put everyone and everything ahead of my own needs, even basic physical ones like sleep and exercise. I can no longer afford to do that, at the risk of my very life. It sounds a bit melodramatic to me to put it in those terms, but perhaps that means I haven’t been paying close enough attention.
This time next year I hope I will be in a more stable position than I am now. For the time being, however, the day-by-day approach must still suffice, and I must continue to make my peace with where I am and what I can do, not scolding myself for what I haven’t achieved yet.