The membership no one wants

 In the spring of 2018 I received a membership card* to a club no one really wants to join. No one begins a relationship, invests in someone, spends special occasions, hard-earned dollars, well-deserved time off, or significant time with a person, and then marries them thinking 'well, this probably won't last, but why the hell not.'

Well, most of us don't.

So after close to a decade of marriage, it was almost surreal (for me at least) to go through a divorce. Shocking...no, not exactly. But surprising, yes. And despite it not exactly coming out of the blue it was still a huge blow. And my recollection of the entire first year is blurry at best. And now, years later, I occasionally tell the story or reflect on the situation as if I'm telling someone else's story.

This membership card* is completely different for one very important reason. I didn't see it coming. At all. I knew I didn't feel well. I know something was off. And it's not that I thought 'oh that (cancer) can't happen to me.'

I must have sat for two or more hours, on the floor, next to (or more likely in) my dog's big, soft bed just petting him and staring blankly into space after I got the call. I don't remember feeling anything, other than his fur running through my fingers. Even now, more than a month later, I still do not really have the words to articulate what that moment was like for me. Or the hours and days that followed.

I heard someone else, who has gone through this, once say that it's a whirlwind of noise and silence. There are suddenly so many people needing you to pay attention - to your calendar for appointments, tests, results, medications, options, and decisions that need to be made. 

When someone would say to me 'does 1:00 p.m. next Tuesday work or is Thursday at 10:00 a.m. better?' for an appointment part of me wanted to be like 'I have absolutely no idea. What day is it today?' 

And then when the medical offices close for the night and the phone calls stop, and everyone goes to sleep, there is silence. Except for the whirlwind of noise in one's own head. 

And for me at least I often thought I was managing someone else's calendar of appointments, looking at someone else's test results. It was truly jarring to occasionally see paperwork on a surface in my home with information about my diagnosis and realize it was my name on them. 

In the beginning, it's almost as though I couldn't feel a thing or think straight. 

But I know I'd like to decline the membership.

*they don't really give us cards. It feels more like a tattoo on your face.