I feel like an alien among the healthy.
And I felt like an alien in the support group.
But I’m happy as a clam in my chemo-created cocoon.
Just me, my pooch, my runners, my skates, my computer, my sewing machine and my peanut butter and toast.
I think I’ll stay right here.
I’m gutted by groups.
As I lurk awkwardly, battling the urge to bolt, the remaining strangers meet, beam, chat, laugh and connect. Stuck quaking on the outside of the quickly bonding group, my panic grows, my force field thickens. I’m too mortified now to function at all.
Seeing I’m “shy”, the group may kindly coax me. Ouch. Or toss me to the bottom of their fresh echelon.
I wonder how they do it. And why I can’t. I vow not to “group” myself again.
Yet, today I join the Stepping Stones support group.
So, move over group-phobia. Here comes fear of grief, fear of germs, fear of other women’s fear. Fear of drama. Fear of bravado. Fear that some of us will die.
Will I give myself a break? Will I let myself engage? Will I help and be helped by other recently diagnosed women?
I’ll soon find out…