Hi All,
I'm sorry I've been so wishy-washy with my posts. I don't really have a very good excuse, and when I think about it, I really was kind of avoiding it. I had intended to post the day after Christmas...but I was surprised at how emotional I actually got on Christmas Eve/Christmas, and although I felt like a total puss for it I really didn't want to write anything. It's not like I've been sitting around crying over things or holed up in my house feeling sorry for myself...there's just been this weird "aura" around me. Like every once in a while I will think "this day 4 fours years ago I was having an allergic reaction to benadryl and thought I was going to die" or "this day four years ago I bought my first wig"...and I know, I know: it really sounds like I'm being overdramatic. But like I said...I don't have a mental breakdown over it...I just remember it, and then feel funny for a little while.
Nothing made me feel funnier than I did on Christmas Eve. If you didn't know, Christmas Eve was the day I began chemo. But to be perfectly honest, I don't remember much about that day, except that in the evening the morphine was making my legs itch so they decided to give me Benadryl. It was then that we learned that I'm allergic to Benadryl. I had heart palpitations all night, and I could not relax at all. I remember thinking that my heart was going to explode and I was going to die before Christmas morning. It is literally the only recollection I have of the day I started chemo. I don't remember them hooking me up to the bag, I don't remember the bone marrow tests, the blood tests, and all that shit they did to see if the cancer had spread. I don't even remember them coming in to tell me the cancer hadn't spread.
But this year, I did fine all day. I was finishing up some errands for my mom, working on this writing project I've been doing, and I was totally content. My dad took Jackie to the hospital to drop off the Build-a-Bear, and we went off to my aunts. Still totally fine. I don't know what came over me that night...I was having fun playing dolls with my little cousin, and eating the cookies that were accidentally made with granulated seasalt. And then all of a sudden I heard my mom mention something about that Christmas we spent in the hospital...and I realized that I didn't remember what she was talking about. And when I really started thinking about it...I couldn't remember anything about that Christmas, except that my extended family uprooted from the house in Seneca Falls to come to the hospital. That was my grandma's last Christmas. I've always felt guilty about that...she passed away a week after the doctors declared me in remission. Just two weeks before the next Christmas.
Well...I was done after that. I left the room and had a good cry. I cried silently all the way home. Angry at myself for something...not just for ruining Grandma's last Christmas...I realized I was angry with myself for carrying on with the holidays like nothing had happened. Pretending this was not the anniversary of the single most momentous time of my life. Pretending there weren't families having the same crap luck this year, sitting in the hospital thinking "what the f**k is going on?" And pretending that I didn't still feel so sorry for that girl I was. Because I do, and I always will. I will always cry for the Jesse Pardee of Christmas 2008.
We got home, and I was trying to watch A Christmas Story on TBS like any sane person would, and I couldn't sit still. I just couldn't.
Now...the following events...I don't even know how it happened. I mean, no offense to religious people...but I am just not a religious person. I've tried to be, and I just can't be. But all of a sudden, I was out brushing off the car in the middle of a snowstorm, slipping and sliding my way down the road in a freaking blizzard. And I went to a church.
I got to the door at 11:57 pm, and a woman I recognized as one of my childhood friends' mothers whispered "Merry Christmas" as I walked in. I sat in a pew by myself, pretending I knew the prayers, and watching the people next to me when they did the sign of the cross so I didn't screw it up. At some point during the service, I realized that I had had some sort of out of body experience. I don't know what brought me to the church. I really don't. But if I had to guess...I would say it was my Grandma. She was very religious, and I had a feeling that she was really happy that I was there in that church. I'll bet she was there, too.
When I saw everyone around me pulling out the little kneely thingy, I quickly joined them, and I started praying. Not just sending my "positive energy" as I usually say. Praying. I prayed for Grandma, and I prayed for everyone battling cancer. I prayed for those who were stuck in the hospital right now, sad and confused. I prayed for my family. I prayed for the families in Connecticut who were missing a crucial part of their holiday cheer. And I prayed for Jesse Pardee with the itchy morphine legs whose heart beat out of her chest as she received her chemo on Christmas Eve 2008.
It was quite an experience. Cathartic. Therapeutic. I didn't feel like I was forgetting anymore. It made me feel like I was paying tribute to those events in my life...and when I got back home in the snowstorm that night, I was happier and ready to have a nice holiday. I fell asleep to A Christmas Story on TBS, waiting for Santa.
These past few days...they've still been a little strange for me, so forgive me for avoiding this blog. My New Year's Resolution is to stay faithful to it! Wednesdays! From here on out (until I don't post on a Wednesday).
Happy New Year,
Jesse
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Uncomfortably Different Christmases
Hey, I suck, we all know it. I could say finals were my excuse, yada yada yada, you've heard it before. But I'm here now, so you can all exhale.
I was actually planning to sit down and blog this past Friday. I had this whole blog post planned where I retold my sad Christmas story from 2008 when I was diagnosed with cancer, and we spent the holidays in the hospital, getting biopsies and scans and tubes and shit, and somehow turn it into a story about the spirit of Christmas and elves and pine cones or something.
But then, the Newtown, Connecticut shooting occurred, and my story didn't really matter anymore. At all, really.
I sobbed as I read the descriptions about each of the people killed, and even felt kind of sorry looking at the shooter himself. You have to wonder what was going on in his head... But this isn't about him. He made a decision that day, and that decision is wreaking havoc on the people of Newtown, Connecticut.
There's something about Christmas time that puts a sort of fog over tragedy. It's like you know the gravity of a situation but you can't fully grasp it because it's Christmas time. Everything starts happening in slow motion. It's like...trying to walk through a pool of red and green Jell-o...all of your coping mechanisms and comprension abilities are on the other side of the pool, and you're trying to get there, but you're constantly being assaulted by the red and green, and twinkling icicle lights, and pine scent attacking your nose, and you just can't get there. (Sorry, I had green Jell-o the other day.) My sister Jackie said herself in the essay I posted, that she knew how serious it was, but couldn't think of anything but Christmas. Tragedies are not supposed to happen at Christmas-time (apparently no one told the Mayans).
Like the song says, "it's the most wonderful time of the year," "don we now our gay apparel," and like such as ("and like such as" is my new phrase, courtesy of Miss Teen USA 2007 South Carolina). It's hard to comprehend that something bad is happening when the world is cramming cheer and merriment down your throat.
And I obviously have no idea what the people in Connecticut are going through. No idea whatsoever. Will never even be able to grasp. But I'd be willing to guess that a lot of them are walking in a Christmassy blur, asking themselves what the hell happened. One day they brought their child to sit on Santa's lap, and the next he was gone.
Christmas will be different for them this year. Uncomfortably different. And although I know nothing about what they're going through, I know a thing or two about uncomfortably different Christmases. They are bittersweet.
When I woke up on Christmas morning in the hospital, the nurses (lead by my girl Detria!!!), had put out a pile of presents on the little tray at the foot of my bed. A pretty decent sized pile, really. And not only that: there was a table of presents for my sister, Jackie. And they weren't shitty presents either. Altogether, we had a pretty decent collection of Aeropostale sweatshirts, Build-a-Bears, Twilight books, make-up kits, games, and plenty of other really nice gifts. The nurses knew that our Christmas was completely shattered, whether we realized it or not. And they tried the best they could to bring some sort of happiness to the day. And I'll tell you, I was probably as happy as I could be, for someone who was spending Christmas with as a little orange elf named Doxorubicin.
And even more overwhelming than the nurses' kindness...was thinking of where those gifts came from. They came from people. People we didn't know. People who didn't just stop at the dollar store and grab some silly putty to donate to the hospital. People who knew were just people struggling on Christmas.
Throughout the day, more gifts arrived, some of them from people who had spent Christmas in that very room in years past. My sister brings a Build-a-Bear up to 11G on Christmas eve now, to pay it forward.
That's what the vitcims of the Connecticut tragedy need right now. At least I think they do. They need people. I know that there's been lots of gifts, letters, and food sent there. And that's great. But I know not everyone has the money to send things, and that's okay. I will request this of you, though. Whenever you post a status, tweet, blog (like this kid), or even just plain old say that you are praying for everyone involved in this tragedy (or sending positive energy, like this fruitcake over here), you actually take a moment or two to send that energy, or say that prayer. Really do it. I know how easy it is to say "sending my prayers" and then start watching that show on MTV where Nev the catfish guy shows people how to use google---because clearly I am guilty of this myself. I am going to take a moment right now...
Everyone have a Merry Christmas, and hug your loved ones extra tight.
Jesse
I was actually planning to sit down and blog this past Friday. I had this whole blog post planned where I retold my sad Christmas story from 2008 when I was diagnosed with cancer, and we spent the holidays in the hospital, getting biopsies and scans and tubes and shit, and somehow turn it into a story about the spirit of Christmas and elves and pine cones or something.
But then, the Newtown, Connecticut shooting occurred, and my story didn't really matter anymore. At all, really.
I sobbed as I read the descriptions about each of the people killed, and even felt kind of sorry looking at the shooter himself. You have to wonder what was going on in his head... But this isn't about him. He made a decision that day, and that decision is wreaking havoc on the people of Newtown, Connecticut.
There's something about Christmas time that puts a sort of fog over tragedy. It's like you know the gravity of a situation but you can't fully grasp it because it's Christmas time. Everything starts happening in slow motion. It's like...trying to walk through a pool of red and green Jell-o...all of your coping mechanisms and comprension abilities are on the other side of the pool, and you're trying to get there, but you're constantly being assaulted by the red and green, and twinkling icicle lights, and pine scent attacking your nose, and you just can't get there. (Sorry, I had green Jell-o the other day.) My sister Jackie said herself in the essay I posted, that she knew how serious it was, but couldn't think of anything but Christmas. Tragedies are not supposed to happen at Christmas-time (apparently no one told the Mayans).
Like the song says, "it's the most wonderful time of the year," "don we now our gay apparel," and like such as ("and like such as" is my new phrase, courtesy of Miss Teen USA 2007 South Carolina). It's hard to comprehend that something bad is happening when the world is cramming cheer and merriment down your throat.
And I obviously have no idea what the people in Connecticut are going through. No idea whatsoever. Will never even be able to grasp. But I'd be willing to guess that a lot of them are walking in a Christmassy blur, asking themselves what the hell happened. One day they brought their child to sit on Santa's lap, and the next he was gone.
Christmas will be different for them this year. Uncomfortably different. And although I know nothing about what they're going through, I know a thing or two about uncomfortably different Christmases. They are bittersweet.
When I woke up on Christmas morning in the hospital, the nurses (lead by my girl Detria!!!), had put out a pile of presents on the little tray at the foot of my bed. A pretty decent sized pile, really. And not only that: there was a table of presents for my sister, Jackie. And they weren't shitty presents either. Altogether, we had a pretty decent collection of Aeropostale sweatshirts, Build-a-Bears, Twilight books, make-up kits, games, and plenty of other really nice gifts. The nurses knew that our Christmas was completely shattered, whether we realized it or not. And they tried the best they could to bring some sort of happiness to the day. And I'll tell you, I was probably as happy as I could be, for someone who was spending Christmas with as a little orange elf named Doxorubicin.
And even more overwhelming than the nurses' kindness...was thinking of where those gifts came from. They came from people. People we didn't know. People who didn't just stop at the dollar store and grab some silly putty to donate to the hospital. People who knew were just people struggling on Christmas.
Throughout the day, more gifts arrived, some of them from people who had spent Christmas in that very room in years past. My sister brings a Build-a-Bear up to 11G on Christmas eve now, to pay it forward.
That's what the vitcims of the Connecticut tragedy need right now. At least I think they do. They need people. I know that there's been lots of gifts, letters, and food sent there. And that's great. But I know not everyone has the money to send things, and that's okay. I will request this of you, though. Whenever you post a status, tweet, blog (like this kid), or even just plain old say that you are praying for everyone involved in this tragedy (or sending positive energy, like this fruitcake over here), you actually take a moment or two to send that energy, or say that prayer. Really do it. I know how easy it is to say "sending my prayers" and then start watching that show on MTV where Nev the catfish guy shows people how to use google---because clearly I am guilty of this myself. I am going to take a moment right now...
Everyone have a Merry Christmas, and hug your loved ones extra tight.
Jesse
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