Journey: The Second Spring

Spring came early to central Pennsylvania this year. Our daffodils are typically late bloomers but around the neighborhood the yellow and white bells began appearing mid-March. Our cherry tree bloomed in the last week of March and so did the purple hyacinth, a gift from a dear friend. For years, if not decades, the first sights of spring had delighted me. The fresh light green of the new leaves, the first flowers, the buds on the maple trees and the lilacs—a promise of new beginnings, the signs of renewal and rejuvenation. This year though they evoked different feelings. It’s my second spring in that new strange space. What is it going to be?

Nature is waking up to refresh its beauty. It adorns our yards and gardens in exquisite colors. But I’m not quite resonating at the moment with the idea of renewal and rejuvenation. I truly want to. I’ve been wanting it for a year. But things are uneven and non-linear. I’ve been struggling almost non-stop for the last three months with unexpected symptoms that only indirectly relate to my diagnosis. Between the treatments and menopause, the body lost its balance. I’m yet to regain it. My mental state got a serious additional hit during the pelvic floor saga. It’s hard to hope; it’s hard to look forward to the next, happier chapter. The beauty all around me provides a startling contrast to my inner world. I’m grieving. I’m grieving the innocence of the previous fifty years when I could rejoice in the sight of first spring flowers without any shadow thoughts. I’m grieving that things will never be the same and right now, it’s hard to anticipate the “different but good nevertheless.” There is uncertainty and unpredictability. And it’s not just the kind that comes with this diagnosis. It’s also other things that only people on the inside know about. The skin after radiation can become painfully itchy for no reason for years to come. Both chemo and radiation can cause fatigue months later (and how to separate it from the fatigue of the menopause??). I used to figure things out. I had suffered from mysterious stomach issues for almost 30 years (since age 3) and I was able to eventually resolve it with acupuncture and nutrients (yes, I did all the mainstream tests and they showed nothing. And no, it’s not psychosomatic. And yes, acupuncture and nutrients can make an enormous difference). I’m determined to try and figure this out, too. But it’s a much steeper hike. It also requires a different mindset or perhaps this whole ordeal came to change my mindset. My life cannot be run and controlled by symptoms. Occasional physical symptoms come by virtue of the fact of residing in a human body (occasional, preferably not for a year and counting…). For years, I’ve been trying to come up with a masterplan of doing anything and everything, no matter cost, time, or effort, to prevent any physical malfunctioning. Alas, these things are beyond our control. Where does it leave me? I’m not sure. How to separate my sense of wellbeing from my physical state? Perhaps it’s my next big lesson to attempt to master.

And then there is another thing. My son is applying to doctoral programs this cycle. His first offer came on February 8^th from the Harvard Kennedy School. Harvard, folks!! It may sound very normal and very reasonable for many of my American colleagues but for me…. Both my father and my late uncle were explicitly advised against applying to undergraduate programs in non-Jewish-friendly institutions in Moscow (most of the institutions of higher education in the USSR, especially in the capital, were not Jewish-friendly) and then for the rest of their careers rerouted to the less prestigious options because of their “last names.” My grandparents rarely used the words “Jew” or “Jewish,” and if they did it was always said in hushed tones. They lived through the years of aggressive, dangerous antisemitism of the late 1940s and early 1950s and the established, institutional antisemitism of the last decades of the Soviet Union. They never questioned it; it was the way things were. I was puzzled by all of it as a child. My Jewish family never discussed our Jewishness or what it meant pretty much until I decided to move to Israel (I wrote a book about it and related things). My son is the only descendant of both sets of my grandparents and he is accepted to Harvard. If this is not ancestral, historical justice, I don’t know what is. I’m immensely grateful and very proud. I’m also learning that the feelings of joy and happiness can coexist in one heart along with the feelings of angst and despair. The happy news of my son’s various offers came right in the middle of my recent medical crisis described in the previous two posts.

I count my blessings. If you are reading this, you are one of them (it’s awfully important to people who write that someone is reading their stuff). I’m loved by dear people far and near. And if I ever reach that new, happier, more joyful chapter, it would be thanks to one person in particular: my husband. I said the same thing when I got my PhD and again when I received a full professorship. My world is lovingly supported by one very special Elephant.