You may have experienced a time of great struggle and difficulty and thought you would never come out of it. Or perhaps you knew you would come out of it at some point. Or maybe you thought you would come out of it, but it didn't happen on your time frame, or it never happened at all. Perhaps you died before you came out of it. If that is the case, I find it interesting that you are reading this.
I had been split from my husband for about a year and a half, had just landed a well-paying job and thought my new life was waiting for me with open arms. It was, but it wasn't in the form I expected. Here I was, finally starting to feel all single, and that maybe I could meet men again and enjoy my life a bit, as my true self. Alas, life had other plans for me. I was promptly diagnosed with stage IV thyroid cancer and thrust into the rabbit hole of the medical/industrial complex. Bon temps.
As the odyssey progressed, I had the idea that I would come out the other side better, stronger, faster (not unlike the Six Million Dollar Man, Steve Austin). Only my life isn't a '70s TV show. Hell, no. I suffered through a doctor who didn't read the operative report and staged it too low. He continued me on generic medication when, turns out, only the brand seems to work for me. The ultrasound technicians ran that wand ever so gently over my throat as if they were trying to determine the sex of a baby. Little did I know they should have been digging down in there pretty solid like.
Three years goes by, and surprise, surprise! Cancer's back! Actually it never left, because the "highly reputable" doctor at the "highly reputable" cancer clinic failed me. I contend that they, in fact, managed me right back into cancer. He sat before my eyes reading the operative report and stated, "Oh, I didn't recall that the tumor had moved outside the thyroid." Didn't recall? You never read the report, jackaninny. But I had put my trust there. Foolish me. If you don't want to die, you have to stay on top of it. You do really have to manage your own health care, and BONUS: you get to pay for the privilege while they take ski vacations on your dime. Nobody knows your body the way that you do, if you've been paying attention.
Fortunately, I found immensely better care at the Mayo Clinic. It occurred to me finally, after three years of quality of life descending and feeling worse by the day, that I had never gotten that "Phoenix rising from the ashes" thing that I had expected after the initial thyroidectomy and radioactive iodine. At first I thought, "It never happened. I never rose from the ashes." I have now convinced myself (after a second surgery and change to brand medication) that I still will rise like the phoenix. Perhaps I'm setting myself up, yet again, for disappointment via expectation. The ashes stage continues and shows little sign of morphing Phoenix-y any time soon.
Expectations sound like a great idea, in theory, but they are distortions of reality, setups for resentment. When you expect the best, what a damn disappointment it is when you don't get that. When you expect the worst, what a joy it is when you get anything remotely better than that. Expectations create resentment when unmet. They kill love and connectedness. It never was the love you gave that hurt you; it was the love you expected to be given back that hurt you and made you want to put up impenetrable walls. Among my theories (and I have many), expectations are the root cause for most, if not all, divorces.
Acceptance is a key antidote to unhealthy expectations. I'm still ashes. I figured I would be rising by now, but I'm still ashes. For all I know, I'm still the former phoenix burning up. I'm still mired up in the medical/industrial complex, using a pillbox the size of an '80s game console, and still trying to discover the mystery ailment(s) that keeps me from living the life of a vibrant, beautiful, confident 50-year-old woman.
Am I frustrated? Beyond frustrated. Profoundly exhausted, in pain, all that. But my antidote is acceptance. I can accept that I'm still ashes or I can rail against it. I can wallow in self-pity, gnash my teeth and shake my fist to the sky and shout "It's not fair!" Or I can accept that I may die before the phoenix rises. I can accept that I may never enjoy carnal knowledge of another man besides my ex. Acceptance doesn't mean I have to like it. It just means I have to accept it. In acceptance, I can find hope to continue living. Not always, but most of the time.
Will I ever rise from the ashes? It remains to be seen. Does it help me to blow sunshine up my ass and tell myself it's all going to be great and I'll feel better than I've ever felt? That would be setting myself up for unrealistic expectation. So I'm going with "no" on that one. This isn't a TV show, and I'm not the star who can never die. Life is not perfection, nor is it fair. I doubt it's supposed to be. But through acceptance of what is, at this moment, I find courage and hope for the future without setting myself up for disappointment. I hope that if acceptance has eluded you, you may find it in your life, for it is a tremendous blessing.
