Of mice and monsters

When I was growing up, my family lived in the country. Our house was situated on a dead-end, gravel road, near a town of approximately 12,000 people. So we didn't have streetlights nor the glow of a big city to taint the inky hue of the night. Therefore, when we extinguished the lights, it was dark. Really dark. The kind where you can wave your hand in front of your face and not see it.

Like any kid, I believed monsters lived under my bed and in my closet. And because it was so dark, there was no chance I would see them until they clawed at my legs and dragged me under the bed for a late night snack. But the bed, of course, was safety. No monster could get me as long as I was safely under its impenetrable covers. Therefore, the flying leap became a nightly ritual.

As I got older, the rational side of my brain won and I managed to banish those beasts. But I clearly remember experiencing a series of nightmares that scared the hell out of me. A sasquatch-type beast was coming to get us (usually only my sister and I were home). The sun was shining brightly, which typically isn't scary. But the daytime setting allowed me to clearly see as the beast banged on the windows and ran from door to door looking for a way into our house. I remember feeling terrified (although as I think back, he did look a bit like Chewbacca from the Star Wars flicks).

Whenever I had this nightmare, I would wake with a start, my heart pounding and mind racing.

This recurring dream was one of two I experienced regularly as a child. The other involved losing my eyesight or being blinded by such bright light that I could only open my eyes a tiny bit to view whitish images and feel tears run down my face. Of course, I had to accomplish some task in the dream, like drive a car or travel to a destination. I remember feeling frustrated at my virtual blindness.

When I had laser eye surgery a few years ago, I lived that nightmare. I experienced a rare reaction to the procedure where I became hypersensitive to light. This phenomenon lasted about two weeks. It was frustrating, dangerous (when I tried to do something I shouldn't) and tiring - just like the dream.

It was eerie when one of the two recurring nightmares of my childhood came true. Perhaps my Chewie dreams represent the nightmare of living with cancer. It's a scary, evil beast doing anything it can to invade my home. The monster in my dream tried his best to get me any way he could and kept coming back. But he never made it in the house (or the car when we tried to run for it). The monster never got me. He was always locked out, stuck on the other side of the glass.

So I'm telling the beast to stay outside, where it can't reach me. I know it's there (and it knows about my presence), but it can't have me any more. It may limit my movements and scare me with its hideous teeth, horrible roars and scraggly brown hair, but it can't have me.

Thinking about my childhood nightmares also made me recall a time I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of metal hangers clanking together in my closet. I froze, terrified. In a wavering voice, I called for my mom and/or dad several times. They slept soundly through my fearful cries for help. But my sister, Angie, came to my rescue. She fearlessly flipped on the light and slowly opened the closet door to discover a mouse (remember, we lived in the country where mice seek shelter in nice warm houses). No monster lurked behind my closet door.

Angie was my monster-slayer, protector and the person who stood by my side when I was fearful. She still is. She's willing to be available for oncologist appointments, CT scans, chemotherapy sessions, depressed rampages, listless days and fearful mumblings. Her and Michael are my two rocks that I cling to during my journey with cancer.

With such great support, I can (usually) face my fears, whether it be the monsters under my bed, a mouse in my closet or the evil that is cancer. I am not alone.

Your brave friend,
Tina