Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl... (26 page)

I allow him to get all the way to his car before I push down on my horn and watch as he leaps a solid five feet in the air before coming down solidly on both feet like a cat.  Since he’s in such a frantic mood he wildly looks around the lot for the noisy offender and that’s when he sees what I’ve done. I’ve driven my father’s car, something he knew was going to be hard for me to do yet, here I am. While carrying this letter around in my pocket, I get this overwhelming feeling that I can do anything, and I think I’ve just proved that to the good Doctor, Hotstuff McBritishPants, himself.

“I simultaneously want to kiss you and kill you, and I’m a licensed medical doctor! Get out of the car and come here.” I’ve learned better than to mess with him when he’s being this bossy. I step out of the car and he meets me in the front, folds me into his beefy arms, and congratulates me for what he knows was a big, monster move for me.  Let me remind you, he’s a wonderful hugger, just wonderful. 

“Don’t be mad,” I say with my face pressed into his pectoral muscles. “I just really wanted to surprise you and I knew you’d come if I said all that crazy stuff and look, you did.” I pull back and look him in his beautiful, caring eyes and all I can think is, man his mom would be so proud of the way her son turned out. 

“I’m not mad. I am, however, possibly having a heart attack.” 

I listen to his ticker and its fine so I just squeeze him tighter and tell him, “I’ll do CPR if you drop. No worries.” 

“Well, now that you’ve got my attention, is this why you’re here? To show me you don’t need me anymore?”  He says pointing to my cool ride.

“As if. Actually I’m here to go to that weekly support group thingy they have here on Thursday nights. Pretty exciting stuff huh? Also,” I pull The Letter out of my pocket and show him, “I found this guy last night and I want to discuss it with the group. Listen to me. I’m saying ‘the group’ as if I know anything about these people. They may all be silent, terror-stricken, freaks like me and then I could guess how the night will go. We’ll all just sit and stare at each other the whole evening making awkward noises and weird faces. I don’t know why I brought this,” point to letter, “thinking they,” point to door, “would possibly care about…” my arms flail about meaning everything and he stops my ranting before I get myself any further worked up than I am and ditch the plan.

“Stop. You’re going to love those people in there and I happen to know from experience that they are going to fall in love with you,” wow. “Give them a chance and they’ll give you a chance. These people? They will get you and you will get them. I predict that this is going to be the absolute best thing you’ve done for yourself to date.” Like a good dad he pats me on the back and scoots me off in the direction of the door. 

“Oh God. Why do I feel like I’m going to the big dance without a date? OH! I know… Come with me!  PleasepleasepleasepleasePrettyplease, with a cherry on top?” I pull my best beggy face. Nothing. He’s an impenetrable force that my best beggy eyes don’t work on.  This is new. They ALWAYS work!

“Go. Talk about
that
letter with
that
group and call me later.” So serious. So doctory. 

“Fine, but when they kick me out for having a flask in my bra I’m blaming you.” My pouty face doesn’t break his impassable wall either, GAH! His heart must be made out of solid rock.

“You go be a big girl now and make us proud,” he shouts as he climbs into his very fancy doctor car (the Audi, what a snob) and rolls down the window as he drives off, yelling  “It’s true ya know. I love you.” And just like that my dreams have come true, Mrnotsosmall@all finally loves me…. only, he’s not the one I want after all… Ashton is.

One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand… you were only waiting for this moment to arise… Blackbird fly…

nineteen

The room where the support group meets is lit from above with bright white fluorescent bulbs, the kind that, for whatever unknown reason, tend to generate and feed the panic that still lives deep within me. Across the room I see about fifteen people milling around the coffee and donut table that appear to be on friendly terms with one another. They’re completely at ease, normal, unaffected. You can tell from the effortlessness with which they display their affections for one another. It’s simple for them to express their love for others, to show that they care. There’s a lot of arm rubbing, back patting, and hugging going on and for me, unless I know someone well, those are not the moves I make with a new acquaintance. I’m a, you-stay-in-your-bubble-I’ll-stay-in-mine kinda girl, and I’d like to keep it that way for just a little while longer.

As I’m standing under the metal threshold, contemplating my next step with the door propped open in welcome beside me, I take the moment that I still have alone and appraise the general mood of the fellow cancer captives that are present. As I stand and watch them I see something I’ve recently become familiar with within myself and that’s… determination.

Through the process of learning to cope with my anxiety, the real beast that causes my agoraphobia, I’ve learned that deep within me lives a fighter. I mean we all know that I love to fight in video games and that I come roaring to life with a bit of healthy competition, but that’s only because I
love
to win! The competitive monster who raises her head within me when I get on that battlefield  is not someone you want to come face to face with in real life, just ask all the guys who’s KDR’s I have single-handedly destroyed. They’re my bitches now and they know it.  Lucky for me the beast who I fight as in the gaming world has finally shown up in my private persona, and because of her I’m becoming the badass I’ve always wanted to be in my day to day life.

See, here’s the thing. It’s easy for me to be ruthless in the land of make believe because in there, it’s safe. No one actually gets hurt. But, in my own domain, where I should feel free to battle for my own life, it turns out I’ve actually been the enemy all along. Not anymore. When my birth-person pointed out to me that I was just like her, it did something to me that I’ll always be grateful for, it made me aware. That day prompted the same ruthless monster who’d been fighting for me online to finally raise her hungry head and fight for me in real life as well. And this fight is one that I’m determined to win. If it means going to therapy, I’ll do it. If it means coming to these meetings and talking about my life with complete strangers who are more than likely going to touch me, well then so be it people, touch away. But being like that woman, well that’s just not even an option.

So here I stand watching the touchers, preparing to be touched myself, nudging that determined monster inside me to wake up and help a sister take her first step into the room, when from behind me a deep voice says, “Are you going in there anytime soon or do you plan on supporting the group from the confines of this lovely doorway?”  Smartass. 

“Connor.” I’m so happy he’s here, but don’t tell him that, his ego has grown exponentially since Liddy’s been around.  

“Why are you here? You’re healthy as a horse; out of everyone I know, you are the last one who needs a support group. Liddy supports the hell out of you. Believe me, I’ve heard her cheers.” He smiles anytime he hears her name, it’s nauseating and I’m totally jealous. I wish someone loved me enough to make other people nauseous at the thought of our adoration. I actually have a full-on crush on their relationship… big, heavy, sigh…

“Well, Liddy said you’d be here and I happen to know that you don’t like to be touched so I thought I’d come and offer myself as your personal-body-shield for the night. You know, I can jump in front of the hugs and handshakes for you. Take one for the team,” he shrugs like it’s no big deal and I realize in that moment just how seriously my brother has taken my father’s role over as my protector in the last couple of years.

“I love you.”

“Duh. You’re so cheesy. Now come on and let’s go meet our people, shall we?” He grabs the limp arm that’s been dangling by my side and pulls me forward into the room that’s abounding with cancer’s hostages.

Connor pulls me around the room introducing us to each and every stranger until we’ve met the lot of them. He’s saved me from exactly eight hugs and seven handshakes thus far, securing himself fifteen I-owe-you’s in the process. We are pointed in the direction of the sign-in table, where there is a lovely older gentleman seated handing out name tags to aid all of us new folks in remembering the many names recently exchanged. 

We head over and sign in and have our nametags secured over our hearts thanks to the help of our new friend. His warm smile is so calming that I’m tempted to let him touch me, but the moment’s fleeting. I’m not there yet. Warm smile or not he’s just going to have to shake it out with Connor for the time being.

“Well, it’s wonderful to have some new faces here with us tonight. Not that the circumstances are any good but it’s nice no matter. Welcome. I’m Jerry, the old guy who coordinates this shindig each and every week, so hopefully you’ll have a good enough time tonight,” he notices my grimace at his choice of words but continues on undeterred, “and maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll see you again next time. Now come on, let’s get some pre-game sugar in the both of you,” he continues talking and gets up to take us over to the table I’ve been most excited about, the junk food/coffee table.

“A friend of mine makes these donuts fresh for us each week! A donation! Good people still left in the world, I tell ya. Good people,” he’s shaking his head in wonder that someone would be so kind as to donate donuts to a bunch of sad soul’s week in and week out. There is no limit to how endearing I find this man to be. Honestly, before I leave here tonight I’m going to let him hug me. It’s my newest goal for today.

Connor introduces himself as we walk and then gives me a squeeze to try and encourage me to break out of my Jerry-induced trance. “Hi,” I lift my hand waving, “CeeCee,” I reply pointing to my nametag. “Nice to meet you. Lovely donuts.” Lovely donuts? 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you as well, young lady. Shall we?” We’re at the well-stocked donut table now, where we’re each encouraged to take more than one (Connor takes three, I take one). I want to scream out, ‘sugar is poison to the body’, but I don’t. Instead I do the right and normal thing. I take a single, toxic, sphere of dough, grab a cup of coffee and sit down in one of the prearranged seats that are circled around beside me. What these people all appear to know that I have yet to learn is that it’s smart to begin the meeting with something sweet because soon enough we’ll all be swallowing some of life’s most bitter pills and like the wise Miss Poppin’s says, “a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down…”

Guess what? We’re only thirty minutes into this meeting and I’m already emotionally wrecked. Turns out the sugar did not help the medicine go down in the “most delightful way” and that Poppins lady is, in fact, a fraud.  Connor is trying with all his might to remain stoic beside me but he’s breaking, I can sense it in his posture and the manic lip twitches that suggest he’s trying his hardest not to cry and to be a man. Not me though, I’m leaking like an old Buick.

We’ve heard from a wife who lost her husband exactly one year ago today after fighting a yearlong and valiant battle against lung cancer. Then there was a young man who lost his mother six months ago to ovarian cancer as well as his father five years ago from pancreatic cancer (he fears for his life daily – yep), and then two others, each of whom are breast cancer survivors who are struggling to get back to the “normal” lives that they used to peacefully live before getting sick.

I’m next in the circle and everyone is patiently waiting for me to find my voice. Connor squeezes the soft spot under my hair at the base of my neck and nods, encouraging me to go for it. This all feels so very AA-ish. I almost forget where I am and say, “Hi I’m CeeCee and I’m an agorophobe,” but… I don’t. What I do say is, “Hi I’m Cecilia and I’m surviving my father’s death. He died four years ago after a long battle with breast cancer,” I get the nods of sadness that have accompanied each of the sad stories so far and continue, “I came here tonight because I’m trying desperately to get my life back. I don’t want to let cancer take one more day from me, it’s already taken enough.” 

Everyone in the room gives some sort of positive affirmation to my declaration. There are several ‘good for you’s’, one or two ‘Amen’s’ and lots of clapping. Their collective recognition over my display of rebellion against the evil-one is uplifting, encouraging. Connor goes next and he only says, “I’m Connor and I’m here for my sister.  Our father’s death stole her from me as well and I’ll do anything to support her in this fight to win her life back.  She’s right; The Cancer has taken enough.”

The room sighs in appreciation of Connor’s sincere sentiments before we continue around the circle finishing the remaining group’s introductions. After everyone’s had a chance to tell a small piece of their cancer story we take the rest of the meeting time to discuss all the ways in which we’ve each learned to manage our stress (this is very helpful). I even play my Blackbird counting song for them and, of course, Ashton is a huge hit! They love him (so do I! Damn-it)! If I didn’t think he’d kill me I’d send them each a copy right now but I know he would, so I won’t. He intended that song to be a gift just for me and whether or not I ever see him again is immaterial because I will cherish his words, his melody as the intimate offerings they were meant to be.

Time is almost up and I still haven’t asked for the specific advice that I came here in search of tonight. With only minutes left to spare I pull out my dad’s letter and slowly raise my sweaty hand. Connor smiles as if he knows a secret and waits for me to speak. 

“Okay.” I say and clear my throat loudly as everyone looks my way. “I found this letter from my dad while I was cleaning out his room several years ago and immediately hid it in the attic, as one often does with sad, goodbye letters.” I hold it up as evidence for the jury and they all nod in understanding. “The other night I finally had the nerve to get it back out and now I cannot make myself open it. I do
NOT
know what to do.” I look over at Connor and he continues to wear a creepy smile so I respond with a childish piggy face to try and break his weird mood.

“Anyway, the thought I had before coming here tonight was that maybe there would be a someone, or even someone’s, in this wise group of people who would have enough understanding of my dilemma to give me some much needed advice on how best to proceed.” My prediction was that everyone would shout in unison for me to ‘open it now’. What actually happens is the inverse, everyone stays silent.

Wearing my stone mask of both hurt and frustration I glare around the circle at each and every face. When I finally get to Jerry he nods and speaks up.

“Listen little lady.” I can already tell I’m not going to like this. “When the time is right to open that there letter in your hand, you’ll know. In the meantime, if it doesn’t feel right, then it’s not.” 

What the hell, Jerry? Is it wrong that I want to throw a chair at sweet, lovely Jerry? In my mind this went way differently, and everyone can tell by the crazed look on my face. So before I can throw a fit or that chair, he tries again.

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do, we’ll vote on it. Who in this room thinks Miss Cecilia should open that letter right now?” Not a single hand goes up. Not even Connor’s.  Well that’s news! Jerry waits, giving the cancer-people plenty of time to change their minds, but nope, not a single second thought. 

“There you go. Majority rules, it’s not the right time.” He looks very satisfied with himself and all of a sudden lovely Jerry looks like the villain in this story.

“So when will it be the right time? Hmm? I mean, here I am in a room full of supportive people, letter in hand and you’re telling me that this is not the right time to open it?” I’m so stressed my breasts are sweating. There’s actual breast sweat dripping between my small tunnel of cleavage and down into my belly button.  

“I think the one thing we could all agree on and have had the opportunity to learn, is that you should trust your instincts and not one person in this room felt compelled to hear that letter. That, my dear, is a sign. You keep that with you and when it’s meant to be opened, it’ll be opened.” 

The last word has a firm sounding period behind it ending any further debate on the topic. Ever heard a verbal door being slammed shut in your face? Well, that’s exactly what sweet ol’ Jerry just did. Crikey! Don’t ever get on Jer-Bear’s bad side; he’s carrying around a bit of feisty under all that sugar. 

“Okay. Great meeting everyone.” Great meeting everyone my ass. “CeeCee, Connor. I think I can speak for the group when I say we sincerely hope to see the two of you again next week. If you give us a shot I believe you’ll be surprised at how much this group can lift your spirits.”  Everyone nods enthusiastically, and I know that even though I’m thoroughly annoyed and crazy with frustration, I’ll still be coming back. I blame the donuts. Damn sugary delights.

The chairs are each pushed back under the table from which they came and we wave our final goodbyes as we make our way to the door. Connor continues to deflect the hands coming my way as I nod at each person in turn.  Then my newest goal for the night flutters to the forefront of my mind and I turn to look for Jerry. I easily find him at the donut table cleaning up (eating) the leftover’s and decide to be brave and prove my dedication to the plan.