boobie bump

the letter arrived in the wake of Sandy.  it was a nondescript envelope, white with a window addressed to me.  it looked like it could be an innocuous bill, or an update on privacy stuff from the phone company.  it was part of a big stack of mail I hadn't gotten to... bills, voting promos, bills, flyers, and some magazines.  I was tearing through the pile, toss, toss, toss, toss, when I got to this envelope.  I tore it open with the same desire to get through it as the rest of the stack of mail.

but this letter was not like the others.  it was addressed to me. it was three pages long.  it had the hospital insignia on top.  it was about my mammogram.

it opened with that dear Ms. Mastel thing.. the date of the mammogram and ... something about finding something and needing to follow up... the rest was a blur.  I read that first paragraph repeatedly.  my left boob!  something in there!

my breath grew heavy, the tears swelled uncontrollably, I stared and stared.  the shock was overwhelming, I was seizing where I sat.

picking up the phone, I kept trying to call the doctor but my fingers were slippery from the tears and I couldn't make out the right number on the phone without fumbling.  the anxiety and adrenaline were mounting, and panic drove me forward to getting the number right for my small town local doctor to ask, "what the fuck do I do?"

and so it began, the dialog about what the course of action would be.  I followed his instructions and made the next appointment to see the specialist.  and then... I sat there.  of course, my mind pulled a knee jerk reaction and began to play out the worst case scenario tape ... me dead, Zman alone, life... ended.  the pain, the suffering, the treatments that were torture that didn't work.  my own personal Lifetime chick TV movie unfolding before my very own delusion.

let go, let go... I remembered I have the ability to release that tape and get present.  I allowed myself to really feel what I was feeling, the fear, the anxiety, the unknowing and the sadness.  I used my other senses to see the trees out the window, feel the seat underneath me, feel the sensations under my skin and hear the sounds from inside me to the sounds outside my window.  I practiced mindfulness.  I sat with what is.  and in that moment, I was sitting with agony.

during this .. my electronic feed kept pumping, IM was blowing up with some random guy feeling rejected by the world and asking for advice on how to fit in, emails asking if I can do this or do that, fervent election updates and discussions, and notifications I've been poked.  yes, life kept going, and would keep going with or without this happening.

and so... I keep relaying back to the memories of the Year to Live practice I once experienced.  the important lessons I took away from it, and how I promised myself that I would stick to being ever present and loving.  where did all that go?  it seems that some of it became a habit, and some of it got lost.

on my proverbial deathbed, I had one regret that I hadn't fallen in love again.  I promised myself I would let myself be open and vulnerable when the next right guy arrived.  and one guy did... after that year, I met someone, I fell in love ... and when he broke my heart... I gave up on everything .. especially me.

it has been a crazy bunch of months of gradual dismissal of my self care.  I became a workaholic again in a toxic situation that didn't support me.  I stopped going to the gym and tossed my yoga practice.  the story I told myself is that I don't deserve the dharma, and stopped sitting.  I mean, I just gave up.

so hear I am... two years after I was reincarnated facing the very same scenario I put myself in on June 14th, 2009.  what if you had only a year to live?  (note: of course NO ONE is talking about this at this time.  drs. have not concluded that it's more than a bump on a film)  I've been taking inventory over the past two days about what I've given up over the past two years since I "died".  it's pretty apparent that I've given up on me.  this needs to be the wake up call to bring me back to that awesome place I was in on my 42nd birthday ... right before ... my heart broke and took me with it.

my friend Paul did the Year to Live practice right before me, in fact, he was a big inspiration for me to want to follow suit.  I remember we were on retreat, and he said, "I wish I had more time in buddhist practice before I took this on, I wasn't ready."  interesting observation, but here I am, facing this boob thing, and well, I'm not ready.  I don't think we get to be ready for the last year of our life.  isn't that part of the practice?  having it come when we're not ready?

I spend months getting "ready" to kick off my Year to Live, I read, I planned, I made a blog... all "ready" to do this! today, it's not about being ready, it is about having no choice.

with a sense of urgency, I have invited ongoing the mindfulness practice back into my life now, because I have no choice.  my intake of food, the way I treat myself, the need to be vigilant about working out, yoga, meditation and self care are more vital than ever.  not because I'm possibly "sick" but because I deserve it.  I'm going to break out the juicer, go for long walks, take moments throughout the day to do something un-work related and spend more time engaging with the people who truly matter.

I've decided, that maybe, with or without a bad diagnosis, it's time to do a do-over on the Year to Live.  why? because the universe is telling me I have to, because the quality of my life depends on it.  ready or not... I wake up tomorrow and start again.