The Gift of Chaos

Growing up, my house seemed to be in a constant state of chaos.  Between issues with mental health and mood swings by members of my family, and the lack of organization and planning that other families seem to have, I was never sure what I might come home to after a day of school or after a shift at work.  It certainly created moments of anxiety, tension, and sometimes even pure hell on earth.  But it also kept you on your feet, anticipating what might be hitting the proverbial fan, and it sharpened reaction time to whatever crisis was occurring, which improved rates of coming out unscathed.

Since moving out on my own in my early 20's, life became much more complacent.  Of course minor events  arose; that's what life is all about...the old "rolling with the punches".  Whether it was journeys overseas, untimely deaths of family and friends, or tricky pregnancies, things seemed to be manageable and I felt in control of my reactions, my emotions, and my ability to have some say in what my role was in the event.  And then cancer came a-knockin'.

I've written previously about how powerless I've felt; not only with the diagnosis, but also with the treatment regime.  Perhaps I have allowed that to happen...feeling overwhelmed can render a person into a helpless victim role, and I have fought hard to stay on the positive side of that situation.  But breast cancer and perhaps all cancers, are just so complicated.  Even with virtually the same diagnosis as another person, treatment isn't always the same since there are so many variables.

On a side note, I like to crotchet.  My daughter had asked me last year to make a series of slippers for her friends in a range of variegated colours, and after the completion of these, I amassed quite a collection of yarn balls.  After I made the decision to go on sick leave after semester one of school (I am the principal of a K-12 school and teach senior English), I also decided I would start making granny squares and use up these bits of yarn and make an afghan.  I didn't put a lot of thought into the finished product until I was nearly 120 squares into the blanket.  It was then that I realized that some yarn balls created 5 squares, some created 14 squares.  Some colours looked great together, and some clashed miserably.  Coming up with a pattern for these colours to make an aesthetically pleasing finished product was not going to be easy.

Then I had a light-bulb moment:  this was my cancer quilt.  Cancer has no rhyme or reason.  While some factors increase your chance of developing cancerous tumours or growths, it affects any age, any gender, and any lifestyle.  Cancer is random, and if this was going to be a keepsake of what I have battled for a year of my life, it needed to symbolize that randomness and the lack of organized structure.

So, I stopped worrying about finding patterns and structure within the afghan.  I just simply stuck colours together and slowly the blanket took shape.  And as I sewed each little granny square together, I realized that I was that blanket.  There are oddly shaped colours randomly pieced together to make a complete collection, much like the complexity of treatments and the random side effects to them.  And despite the chaotic nature of the colours shaped together, the finished product was complete and whole.  And I know, that once my treatments are done and the cancer journey comes to a close, I will be also be complete and whole and will do what I can to wrap others in my strength and warmth.