I feel like a teenager again

I'd love to say, "I feel like a teenager," because I'm feeling young or energized or some other reason. The truth is I feel gawky, awkward, out of balance, unsure. It's like my arms and legs are too long. I'm uncoordinated. My mind can't quite gain control over my limbs, my thoughts, my feelings, my reactions or my frustration.

I'm trying to look at this period as one of growth. That's most of the reason we were all so crazed at teenagers; we were growing and developing so quickly. I'm hoping that I'm on the verge of taking the next, however painful, steps in my evolution.

In the meantime, I find myself reacting in ways I know I don't want to, but can't stop. I want to be calm and graceful in my communication and actions and thoughts, but I'm screaming and thrashing around like a wild woman. I can't find my center, that part of me that slows my reaction and quickens my perception, that part of my mind that sees so clearly and so far that everything coming at me seems to be in slow motion, giving me the time and presence of mind to choose more wisely.

I found a way to get comfortable in my own skin several years ago. I found answers of self and mind and spirit that sooth my soul. I'm no longer afraid of what others think of me. I understand perception and know it's necessary to manage it from time to time, but all in all, I'm me. Most importantly, I'm OK with who I am. I'm smart. I'm compassionate. I'm goofy and often clumsy. I understand highly complex concepts and remain baffled by some of the simplest. I have a strange sense of humor. I'm fearless in as many things as I can manage. I don't have all the answers, but I know how to find as many as I can and make the most of them. I'll figure it out, whatever it is. Being comfortable in all this has given me confidence that seems to intimidate others at times, a thought that I find absolutely laughable! How could anyone be intimidated by my goofy ass!?

In my own skin, I'm doing great. It's in the rest of the world I'm uncomfortable and can't seem to get anything right. I'm being taken in ways I don't intend, and what's worse is I can't figure out where the wires got crossed! What is going on? I feel like an alien walking in a strange land, and it's a cramped, suffocating place.

Maybe I'm a plant that's outgrown it's pot. Maybe my pot has finally cracked. Whatever the case, I have faith I'll work it out. I'll find the next set of answers that I need, the next place where I'll thrive. I just hope I get it done before I drive myself (and everyone else) crazy.

Here we go

My father-in-law, from here on known as "FIL," had part of his colon removed four years ago because of colon cancer. It was inconvenient and unpleasant, but there was no chemo or other treatment that made his experience cancer. Not to trivialize, but it wouldn't be unlike having your appendix removed. Not that cancer is ever good, but to say FIL got lucky would be an understatement.

With a family history fraught with various types of cancer, unhealthy diet and exercise habits and weight issues, FIL should have been standing in line for his first colonoscopy when he turned 50, the age at which the average person should start getting colon screenings. Actually with the mitigating factors in his health history, he should have been getting them earlier to be on the safe side.

FIL was 61 years old when he got his first colonoscopy -- 11 years past the recommended age. As you should assume from the first sentence here, the tests didn't come up empty. Since then, FIL has been checked regularly for any recurrence of the cancer, and we found out last week his most recent tests didn't come up empty either. This time, we're looking at a much different situation: Stage 4 colon cancer that has metastasized to his liver.

This time, we're really going to see what cancer is really about. As a friend who is a cancer survivor said to me upon the news, we've woken up to our "worst nightmare." Tomorrow, FIL gets a port put in for his chemo. Monday, we're meeting him in North Carolina for an appointment with an oncologist at Duke for a second opinion. I'm not sure any of us have really digested this news, really come to understand the depth to which we and our lives are about to change. Coping mechanisms seem to be fully engaged.

Right now, we're all still in the driveway, packing for the road ahead, doing what we think will make this a more comfortable ride. We're stressed and worried and emotionally drained, and we're not even in the car yet. My feeling is that Monday will change things, push us into a new phase of our journey, shed new light on the reality we face. In the meantime, we hope; we pray; we believe in the power of medicine to heal and the human spirit to overcome. We do the things that come Tuesday morning might be more difficult, but will be all the more important.

On a related note, my husband had his first colonoscopy two weeks before we got the news about his dad. The doc removed a benign polyp and will watch him carefully, but he is healthy and plans to do whatever is necessary to stay that way. I didn't even have to prompt him, and he's only 31.

Lesson learned.

10 things I know

1. The most comfy place to take a rest in Tysons Corner Center is the chairs in Brooks Brothers.
2. I'm a Twitter addict.
3. Carlyle Grande in Shirlington has the best French toast on the planet.
4. There is no football like University of Tennessee football.
5. Chic-fil-a chicken minis should be served all day.
6. I can learn anything from a book.
7. I'll probably be the last person in the world to get a Google wave invite, and I REALLY want one!
8. Giving up red meat 5 years ago is one of the smartest things I've ever done.
9. My favorite things in the world to buy are books. I have a million.
10. The interconnectedness of the universe is astounding.