Fight The Big Fight: In Gladness

Jenny here.

Two weeks ago today we were sitting in a dimly lit French restaurant in Brooklyn with old and new friends. We had flown out that morning to attend the weekend wedding event of one of my college friends.

I am going to start with the punch line tonight: Travelling post-cancer is not the same as pre-cancer and despite my careful considerations of how we would be navigating travel to, from, and around NYC, plans are made to change AND in that change, change us. Or in our case, sometimes in our stubbornness to NOT accept change, we still are changed, only through some self-inflicted suffering.

The morning started off early, after just a 2 hour nap (we keep a late schedule, so it’s hard to change that for just a weekend!). We were out the door around 4:00am, dogs walked, fridge stocked with food and beverage for the pet sitting friends, bags packed as light as possible.

“Just take carry-on bags” we thought. “It’s just a few days; it’s summer clothing, save the baggage fees”. “We’ll get coffee when we get to the airport. We have done this before.”

4:04am. On our way to the car, running late, the extendable handle to the rolling carry-on bag snaps off. It’s too late to stop and buy something else and too late to dig up another bag that would work. So we were off, busted bag and all.

We decide to park in the airport lot instead of the further away shuttle lots thinking the walk is not far. I mean, we have flown before, pre-cancer, and this is NO BIG DEAL. We had talked about Uber-ing it from home, but decided not to do it. So we parked. Handicap spot, mind you. It’s not THAT far. Wil with cane, back pack, and insisting to carry said broken carry-on as we walked…and walked…and walked from the parking lot. And then walked…and walked…and walked through to the TSA area. The line was terribly long. I asked Wil about seeing if we could do the shorter “needs assistance” line. He proceeds to the long line, still dragging bags, until an older TSA worker actually insists, based on Wil’s haggard appearance, that we cut to the short line.

Fearing a fall (or just plain extra exhaustion for him), I pick up the bag I am now cursing we didn’t check at the front door, hauling it through the airport.

I was still un-caffeinated.

I was angry.

At the bag, at him, at me, at cancer, the universe, and nothing at all. This is not how I saw this trip. This is not how I saw us, ever. What should have been an easy, done-it-all-before-morning, was turning out to be so so stressful. And all I wanted in that moment was our old pre-cancer ease back. For Wil to walk without pain and carry my bag. For me to just worry about stupid shit like picking a magazine for the flight.

After we made it to our terminal, there was a Starbucks. *Universe thank you!* And I began the task of waiting in line to grab us something for breakfast while Wil sat. I had asked him about pre-boarding, so we would have more time to get him settled...he thought he might be OK. There is often this divide between wanting him to try at everything and worrying it will all crumble. Flying is hard when you are a big a tall guy, especially one with neuropathy and a cane. Flying is hard on the short companion who sits next to the tall guy too. Walking, sitting, getting settled. Everything just takes more time now. It happens, just at the small expense of bystander eye rolls and impatient looks.

Hailing a cab at your destination? Should be easy too…except for the long hike to the area they allow you to hail one at LGA. Carrying the broken suitcase.

Nothing felt easy.

Side Note: We would like to think of ourselves as generally honest, loving, smart, and kind people. But we are bullheaded to a fault. Both of us. I could go into more boring details, but each detail contains this truth: Life is different now and we weren’t prepared to admit it or fully live in that reality. So reality hit us squarely in the face and said "YES, be here too. Be glad. Live."

We arrived at our Brooklyn brownstone Airbnb find, very tired. But happy that there was a freshly made bed with a wide open window, breeze flowing in from the backyard garden. And so I let go. Again. This. Is. Our. Life. And we're across the country. Something that two years ago was, forget easy, impossible.

I will let some of the pictures tell you the rest of the weekend. It was beautiful, each and every moment, from the Zen Buddhist ceremony, the gorgeous reception with good food and wine (and even better people), hitting up the local bodega for breakfast finds, hipster coffee, the Transit Museum, an afternoon in Brooklyn Bridge Park, and watching the sun set behind the Manhattan skyline…sure, it was less walking than we would have done in years past (we did a lot of Uber to preserve Wil’s energy), but we also did quite a bit of post-cancer-living-it-up as best we could...making memories, outside a hospital, together.

And the best part? We checked that effing broken bag on the way back, took the pre-board help, took our time, lived out the lesson we had learned, and proceeded in gladness and safety. I think there will be more travel in our future, even if it looks different than before. How could it not? Acceptance is certainly not a destination, but instead a process of post cancer growth. Bring it on. We want to live some more.

Much Love.

----------

On our way to our Airbnb, so tired: