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Myself

Going Nowhere Fast

Sanjay Sabarwal
Angry Talk (Comic Style)
Image via Wikipedia

 

by Jemal Yarbrough

 

Today was one of those days where nothing made sense, and everyone seemed to be at blame.  I was unhappy with many, and it seemed that many close to her were taking her chemotherapy for granted.  I was angry, yet I knew what was driving this emotion: fear.  My fear, to be precise.  In my effort to control the uncontrollable, I got lost in the blame game.  It seemed easier to be angry than to face the glaring truth: I am run down, overwhelmed, and just plain tired.  Plus, I can no longer ignore the twinges in my throat that foretell a major cold: something she cannot absolutely not be around.

And so I fumed, angry at the world and especially annoyed by others carrying on with their day when I know no peace and neither does she.  Therein lies the problem: I made my pain above hers, and just felt truly alone.  Between the countless hours of worrying, and wondering what the coming day will consist of, I lost sight of the one person truly living with this.  It’s easy as hell to be mad at her family for not being around, but hard to acknowledge that I am failing her in some key ways: mainly in emotional arena.  It’s hard because I am not at peace anytime and unable to get to do the things I need to fulfill myself.  I am drawing empty, I do not know what to do.

So I get angry, and blame and try to numb myself by borrowing an hour to go to the Hidden cafe. It’s not enough because deep down, I know I am not doing myself any favors by blowing smoke, and that the real break for me is to be around my friends and family, read and write as much as I can.   I do not know how to reach out because I have been let down by a few, and due to this foolish pride of mine, I sit here alone in the other room unable to sustain my wife in any meaningful way.  I see it and know that I need to be better, and can be better. I just have to step away from the ones that aggravate me, quit blaming others,  be vulnerable, love myself, be kind to my soul, and love her with all my soul.

So although the day went nowhere fast, and I fight this cold, I know one truth: we are halfway through and at the end of the day, that is all that matters.  I am thankful for what I have, no for what we have, and have faith that things will get better.  Today ended with me realizing that I need help, and it may not come from the ones I expect.  And that’s ok.  Friends and people will fail and let me down, and I will too, and that’s ok.  I am only human.

 

 

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Robo Husband AKA Running Diary on Days 3,4,5,6

Sanjay Sabarwal
Cover of "Robocop"
Cover of Robocop

 

By Jemal Yarbrough

 

Today was one of her good days, and the old beautiful smile of hers returned as well as the desire to put something of substance in her stomach instead of my constant pleas to eat.  I also learned that the fear of the many horrors they told us about had not manifested yet, and I thanked God for the break in schedule.  Instead of a full week full of anxiety dreading the side effects, we got a small dosage of what was to come, and for that I am thankful.

I have much to learn that much I realize now and accept.  While a chance comment from one of her dear friends that I was a “robo husband” hurt my feelings for a second, the reality was that it hurt because it was true.  I am constantly struggling between being a caregiver rather than a caretaker.  I know for her what’s more important is not someone who can attend to all her physical needs but someone who can replenish her with love and care (a gentle reminder from another good friend of hers).

I am not going to lie, that’s exactly what I am scared of.  Between constantly wanting her to be comfortable and trying to provide her all the comforts of the world, I am worried I am not up to the task, that what I am doing is hollow and meaningless.  This is no longer someone who is sick, but my wife and we are going to spend the rest of our lives together.  What scares me is not knowing what will happen, and when the side effects will take form and then it hits me that I am again failing to be in the NOW.  I cannot control what she will go through nor can I stop the process.  And then it hits me that I have to be full myself before I can empty myself into her.  I need to do what makes me, ME or I will just remain a caretaker.

I know she knows that I love her deeply but the reality is I need to show it more than just feeding her medications at the right time or filling the fridge with her favorites.  I have to stop being robotic or worse just a caretaker.  I also see now that is how I am dealing with her pain, by compartmentalizing her into a schedule which does not allow for her to express her emotional pain and frustration.  I have to let her have the slice of pizza without the admonition to not put red peppers on it or take her medication as I scheduled.  I just have to let her be, let her get it out, whatever she is feeling because the cancer is not just physical, it’s also taken over her mind.  I cannot be a Robocop, not allowing her to go through all the motions she needs to in order to get a grasp of what has happened to her.

As I struggled with my guilt, I received a wonderful email from a stranger who encouraged me to go on, to keep on writing to figure out what we are going through and suddenly that one page email reminded me that I have all the tools to make her get through this and that is through friends, family but most importantly me (as self-important as that sounds).

And so a week ends, and we begin anew again tomorrow.  I think I know what I must do, and for now that is enough.

To the nameless friends and strangers who gave me the idea for this post: Thank You.

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Myself

Day of 1/1/11: I am number 1!

Sanjay Sabarwal

 

by Jemal Yarbrough

 

Too many unanswered texts, too few call backs, too much selfishness. I picked the picture to the right because it illustrates to me that there are many who will just continue with their lives not really concerned about friends or family.   I can’t but help be fascinated at the raw emotions I feel as those who I considered close to me once have left me to languish in the toughest battle of my life.  Others have surprised me at their tenderness and care and still other’s I cannot fathom their immaturity.  The reality is that friends come and go, family does the best it can, but only I can make the life I need to live.

So today, I celebrate letting go.  The 1’s being of particular important because at the end of the day I only have myself to rely on.  I no longer want to be dominated by disappointment, hurt or worse, Anger.  No longer will I give lip service to the ideal of being here NOW.  No longer will I dread cancer, chemotherapy, radiation or any of the myriads of  side effects we will face because the reality is we can either be overwhelmed by it or live day-to-day.

Moreover, I cannot expect people to be the way I want them to be.  They are going to be only true to their own nature and while some pay lip service to the ideals of great friendship or family, I just have to take it with a grain of salt.  I want today to be the only day I vent these sentiments because in the past 2 months alone, I know who my real friends and family are.  The rest just acquaintances who once provided fond memories and now just need to be relegated to old photo albums as reminders of a great past.  Some need to be removed completely, others left at a distance, and a few to be politely fake too because it matters to her so much.  So to some I say hello and to others Goodbye, it was nice while it lasted and thanks for the memories.

So 1/1/11 help me today to let go of the past, not worry about the future and just revel in the present.  That’s my gift to myself.

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Days 1 and 2: a running diary

Sanjay Sabarwal

I sit here after many days, tired from my mind incessantly shouting out different words to spin on to this space, but I resist not due to laziness or indifference but sheer exhaustion.   But I fought the urge for far too long so now I sit in front of this blank page of my life, snatching a few precious moments to spit while she battles the life saving drugs they have given her to move forward.  The irony is simple but deadly, you need to practically kill yourself to kill the killer inside.  In a way, she has to become a murderer of her body parts just so she can live.  The traitor must be punished and science has come a long way in battling “This Emperor of All Maladies” (ok so plugging the new book I am reading) but the treatment has victims, not just the one suffering but anyone the patient is close to.  I am so used to her smile but glimpses of that are becoming rarer.  The dreaded day finally came around when the campaign to save her began.  We were told 7 or 9 weeks, depending on which doctor we talked to.  So to be quite honest, we are not sure when the campaign will end but one thing was for certain: we had started.

Day 1 not much to report except, she walked in and by the time my mother in law and I sat down to get comfortable, she came out. Only 3 minutes of danger instead of 12 she reported.  Instead of coming out in a wheelchair, she walked out confidently, perplexed at our surprised faces.  Session 1 out of 28 completed in a mere 90 seconds.  The hope that perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad surging in our thoughts and prayers.

by Jemal Yarbrough

“You have such pretty hair” the nurse said, her accent thick from Asia and the smile slightly fake.  That made my girl smile, and I brightened up as well since any compliment made her flourish.

“Too bad, you’re going to lose it all.”  Our smiles froze, and I don’t think I could have hated a stranger so much so fast.  Welcome to Chemotherapy.  Where not only will we fill you with toxins, we will try to obliterate your self-esteem as well.  Although the word is scary and the side effects well-known, we weren’t prepared with the ease with which they pump the poison and chip away at the cancer.

After a mere 4.5 hours, she was ready to go home and starving.  Instead of the stereotypical nausea or vomiting, she was starving and ready to eat Chipotle and she did despite my misgivings (even though I was vastly relieved).

Almost 3 days now, I can say now with confidence that the only thing I am certain of is my fear and prayers that she get through this as painlessly and quickly as possible.  The sad reality is that in this quiet house we are in, just the two of us, I feel so utterly alone, I can hardly breathe.  The friends and family have been wonderful but as one of my best friends quite bluntly put it: it’s just the two of us, and whether we like it or not, we are in it for the long run.  Truth is, I am just scared and so is she.  I can’t even imagine her fear or pain, and I wish I could take it on.   But the battle has just begun, fear is just an emotion, something the mind just conjures.  Some may say its only Day 3 of 7 or 9 weeks, but to me we are already well on our way to get her getting better.  And in the end, that’s all that matters.

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Breathing

Sanjay Sabarwal
Fire Breathing
Image via Wikipedia

Lying to you was better than seeing you lie there.  Protecting you from the realities of your current world was more important than breathing. Watching your beautiful face still and breathing in pure oxygen made me wish for complete bliss for you. 

Not 5 feet away from you yet feeling a stranger, I look upon you wishing it was me lying there and you watching me.  Asking again and again why you to no one in particular gets old and while the shabads surround the room, the soothing melody allows me no time alone with my thoughts.  I sit here in darkness thinking of lies to tell you so the flicker of hope brightens in your green eyes,  I don’t have the words to tell you that everything will be fine because it’s not.  However, the reality is that although our past lives are obliterated, we have a new beginning. 

Breathe my babu.  Breathe away the anger, the past, the arguments, the many wasted moments regretting what was not to be.  Breathe in the love surrounding you, Breathe in thoughts that will remove the enemy in your body, the unwanted stranger.  Take control of your body.  Get angry.  Get calm.  Focus the laser of your thoughts ‘ on to that pervert, and give me back rightfully whats fine.  Breathe.

The darkness swirls around me, and the thoughts try to enter, but I wont allow it.  I am willing you to breathe away all the negative energy, and lets start our lives anew.  Breathing together positivity and love.  Neither of us know what the future holds except we are together.  Breathe out the intruder like a fireball, and come back to our new life.

I love you.  Breathe…

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Fraud: A Blog Post

Sanjay Sabarwal
The Secret Life of Words
Image via Wikipedia

I have a need to be read so I know I exist.  These are my words, and I need to share them.  Too long, they have gone silent, and worst of all ignored by me.  I had convinced myself that writing was enough, just like breathing.  But after a while, you need more than air to live.  Life isn’t just a series of breathing exercises yet for a while that’s how I treated my life.  Something I just had to do.  No vision. No motivation.  Just passing of the day and really just being lucky enough to be around people who loved me for existing and providing me with everything.

So why am I whining because I know I am a fraud.  I know that the words coming here now are just so simple and don’t even come close to the poetry in my head.  It used to be so easy and now I am lazy and dull.  I stopped listening and hearing what the words were trying to tell.  So now I just sit here, listening to amazing religious songs with a cold cup of coffee trying to convince myself at 38 that this is what I want to be.   Yet every moment feels forced, made up just so I can say I wrote. 

I am a writer.  It’s what I tell myself when I wake up every morning, and the first strokes of the words comes easy.  Yet after a minutes, I find myself tweeting/emailing/posting/reading/searching/paying bills all throughout the precious time I have managed to find to write.  It’s as if my body is telling me to get real and go back to my superficial life. And I oblige.  That’s the sad part.  I know I am failing myself and yet somehow I still continue on the path. 

I am a fraud, but at least I know it.  And knowing is half the battle, Gi Joe reminds me.  But wait, I feel like a fraud but does that really make me one?  It’s the question that nags at me.  Who am I, really?  Am I the thoughts in my head or am I to be defined by actions?  What is it about slamming these letters down that makes me feel like a light weight heavy lifter?  Is it the guilt that the joy I felt when I first learned to transform my thoughts into reality seems buried, muffled underneath the chorus of doubt and guilt? Or is it just not meant to be? 

Should I remain a fraud or for once be the man I said I wanted to be?

And then there was silence…