Anxiety

To all you Madison blog-readers: Please join me at the Wisconsin Book Festival on Sunday afternoon October 19, 4 PM, main (downtown) public library. I will be reading from Facing Fear: Meditations on Cancer and Politics, Courage and Hope, and will be joined by my publisher, Richard Quinney, and Carol Bjerke, the artist whose image of a rowboat is on the cover of my book. Both Richard and Carol are cancer survivors, and both of them also have new books coming out this fall. We'll be talking about the relationship between our experiences with illness and our art. Despite the grim aspects of the topic, I think it will be an uplifting discussion!

When I met Carol at the Gallery Walk a week or two ago, we agreed that we couldn't comprehend how people who are not artists or writers cope with illness or other major traumas in their life. We know that it's perfectly possible for them to cope; it's just that making art (for Carol) and writing (for me) are such big and important parts of our own coping mechanisms that it's hard to understand how anyone could be without one or the other.

I had to remind myself of that, though, when it came to writing today's blog. My first impulse was to report that I didn't have much to say, except to encourage people to come to the Book Festival presentation. But when I thought about it honestly, I realized that I had plenty to say, but it wasn't going to be easy to write, or, perhaps, to read. It's not the "I'm keeping my spirits high and focusing on the wonder of the moment" kind of stuff I prefer to write--the way I prefer to think of myself. (And really, the way I usually am, I think.) It's about anxiety, which is my current emotion.

Last night I dreamt that my oncologist was leaving town. I have absolutely no reason to believe this is actually happening, but part of my anxiety, I know, results from the fact that he has been out of town for the past week, and therefore I am quite up in the air about my treatment options. Most of the time I don't think this one-week delay matters much, but I've been off chemo now for four months, and who knows what the cancer is doing. Every time the phone rings, I expect it to be Dr. Holen, who's supposed to call to tell me what's next. So far, it's been a friend who knows someone who wants to buy a copy of Black Eye; the Democratic National Committee which wanted money for Senate contests; and (as I was writing the last sentence), someone from The Nation, who presumably also wanted money, but I didn't wait to hear what she had to say before I hung up.

I'm also anxious about a "swallow study" scheduled for tomorrow, ordered by my primary care doctor because the radiologist who diagnosed my last pneumonia thought it might have been caused by aspiration. "Is that possible?" the primary guy asked, and I said it certainly was. As anyone knows who's eaten with me in the past year, unless I'm pretty mindful of chewing and swallowing, I have a tendency to choke on crumbs or even liquids. (My mother always told me not to talk with my mouth full, but I don't seem to have learned that lesson.) I'm anxious about the procedure itself, which I think involves swallowing barium, which doesn't sound too delicious, and also about what they might say about the cause(s) of the swallowing difficulty, and what they might want me to do about it. Eat only mushy stuff? I don't think so....

And of course there's the stuff everyone's anxious about these days. The election. Well, I tell people that to allay their anxiety, they should go out and work for Obama, and in the past week I've done as much volunteering as I could find time for. In Facing Fear, I write about the importance of working together, in community, as a means of finding courage and hope, and I can tell you that it really does help. I've been totally astounded by the number of people walking into the Obama headquarters every time I've been there, all volunteering their time to make the country a place they're proud of living. It really does make me hopeful. And if Obama loses, I'll know it wasn't because I sat at home, worrying.

The economy. As the stock market plummeted last week, I assiduously avoided looking at my financial statement or calling my financial advisor, under the theory (also propounded in Facing Fear) that sometimes having more information is simply not useful. I long ago decided to find someone I trusted to take care of my money, and to pay him to do it, and I'm not about to make any big changes right now. I can still pay my mortgage and I don't need a new car. So why do I need to know exactly how much money I've lost since October began?

I think it's time to go back to Facing Fear and re-read all the other prescriptions for allaying anxiety. Maybe that'll help with the medical stuff. (I'm reminded of the line from Disney's "Alice in Wonderland": "I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it.") But I have to thank all of you for reading this far, and giving me the chance to say what's on my mind. I'm feeling better already. (That's what writing does for me.) I'm just a bit concerned that now I've spread the anxiety around, and maybe you feel worse.