What is JOMO?

Workin' the wig in La Jolla, December 19, 2021 - two days before my last chemo sesh

What is JOMO?

WARNING:  This post is not for type A types.

We were sitting around after performing at an art gallery party in La Jolla, and the boyfriend of one of the bellydancers described his girlfriend as "Queen of FOMO".  Someone asked, "what is FOMO?"  He answered "the Fear of Missing Out," implying that his girlfriend is committed to dance gigs because she doesn't want to miss out on any of them.  Then a woman that was sitting with us said she was the Queen of JOMO.  I asked, "what is JOMO?"  And she happily answered "the JOY of Missing Out."  A-ha!!!

This woman, we'll call her Betty, went on to describe JOMO and how marvelous it was that she was able to live this lifestyle.  "I go to one party a year, and this is it.  I wake up every morning and see how the day unfolds..."  Finding out that Betty also lived in La Jolla, I had to ask "what do you do?"  She went on to say she was retired and that there was a time she lived a completely different life.  "I used to get home, have to pack my bags, and be off the next day.  My life was high stress and scheduled."  She said she was once on an Olympic team and that she also worked "high up" in government.  She was amazed that no one ever told her that retirement would be this wonderful.  She thought I was much younger than her, but I probably wasn't.  

"You've earned it!" I told her.  "Yeah, I did."  She said, almost as if she could finally be comfortable admitting that.  I told her that I was a stay-at-home mom, so I am not quite JOMO'd yet.  She went on to advise me to put a little more JOMO in my life.

It's been months since that night, and I still have been contemplating about JOMO.  The Joy of Missing Out.  I think I speak for most anyone who has been diagnosed with something like cancer, you put things in perspective really quick.  Once you go to that first chemo appointment and the nurse asks whether you have an advanced directive filled out, you realize that you are at that point where the hospital needs to know what your preferences are, just in case...you know what I mean.  Like, who should make decisions for you, just in case.  You know what I'm saying?  Just in case...

To me, JOMO is a more than Me Time.  JOMO is the unknown and the unplanned and it takes trust...in God and self.  This has made me ponder my priorities.  I realize that I need to Marie Kondo my life, you know, deep clean.  I need to look at each part of my life that takes up time and space and ask myself, just as Marie Kondo asks of each piece of clothing from an overstuffed closet, "Does this spark JOY?"  I either hang it back up knowing its true value, or toss it on the mountain of sentimental and useless outfits.  

Marie Kondo, throwing stuff out

The idea of JOMO also is a comfort to people like me who have to miss out on things because of how we are feeling.  It helps to find the JOMO, especially after times of un-wellness, discouragement, and self-pity. I can find joy in the things I get to do...rest, take things slow, pray more, write more, appreciate more.  I know how fortunate I am that "just in case" hasn't taken place.  Other than letting my hair grow, my awareness of what true joy is, even if it means "missing out", is also growing with it.   

Viva JOMO!

    

     

  

A year after diagnosis...

 

September 5, 2021 - My chemo port was already installed.

It's been over a year since my diagnosis.  When I was diagnosed with lupus in college, it was devastating.  As the years passed and I remained relatively healthy, I went into a sort of denial that I had it, even though my bloodwork always confirmed that it was there.  It was my "normal".  Friends sometimes were shocked when they would find out that I had it.  I just never thought to burden anyone with that knowledge.  I was handling it and no one could tell.

Finding out that I would be going through chemo and that I would lose my hair made keeping it a secret impossible unless I just stayed at home for several years until my hair grew all the way back.  And growing the beautiful hair I had before chemo took 7 years of tender loving care.  I knew I wasn't going to be a hermit for 7 years, even though the thought of being a hermit now doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

Thomas on shave duty

Recovery from chemo has been a process.  Oncologists have told me that it takes a year to recover and that the recovery would be like a jagged, uphill graph.  I have days that I feel better, and then days that I feel fatigued and nauseated, and then I get better again.  And that's how it has been for the last 8 months.  

I have become a bit reclusive, even on social media.  I post a few positive things I would like to share, otherwise, I do not scroll as much as I used to.  I have been missing a lot of posts and I hope no one takes it personally.  In real life, whenever I know I have an event outside of my home, I save up all my energy for it.  I really want to spend time out with people I love and those I haven't seen in a long time.  When I give it a shot, I have to gauge and plan for my energy level.  I try really hard not to stack too many events in one day.  One event, depending on how strenuous it is, how long the drive is, or how hot the weather might be, has the ability to drain me of energy.  I remember one of my besties who was recovering from cancer, told me that she felt "fragile."  Perhaps it's a natural, self-protective instinct to want to stay home and take it easy.  Or it's the result of the psychological trauma of having cancer and going through treatment.  Whatever it is, the longer I am away from home, the more I feel anxious or tired, or anxious I'm getting tired.  It all gets exhausting.   

The good news is that I finally found a wonderfully active Facebook support group for people with non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma.  I totally forgot that I posted in another one right before I went into chemo.  A few days ago, I finally got a response to it.  When I double-checked the group, my post was the last post in it.  So, I did another search and found a group that had several people posting daily.  It's been so mentally relieving to read others' posts on what they are going through, and finding how much I relate.     

  

Other than that, I have been upping my daily prayer game at home.  I now have a loose schedule (and I mean that I don't give myself a hard time if I miss one) of Catholic prayers I do during the day; Morning Offering, the Angelus (6am, 12pm, 6pm), Liturgy of the Hours (Morning, Evening, Night), and a 54-day rosary novena that started on the Feast of the Assumption (August 15) and ends on the Feast of Our Lady of the Holy Rosary (October 7).  What I love about these composed prayers is that all I need to do is show up and open my heart of intentions throughout the day.  God provides everything else my soul needs through ancient prayers and scripture.   

As for The Long Hair Quest?  It definitely is still ON.  The -do has got a slight wave to it right now, but it looks like the curl is getting weaker as it slowly grows.  I am so happy the top of my head is no longer minty cold.  Everyone says it's growing fast and that the shorter hair looks "badass" or that I can play an "assassin", things I guess wasn't so obvious I could do when I had long hair.  It's been pretty interesting getting to pass through all these hairstyles that I probably would have never chosen for myself otherwise. 

Last but not least, today is my hubby's birthday and words cannot express how grateful I am for him.  I know it's not easy to be the strong one and the caregiver when I am going through it.  He manages to never complain or make me feel like I am a burden.  He's there when I need a shoulder to cry on, when I know and feel it's not rational to cry, I just need to.  And even when I don't believe it myself, he looks at me like I'm beautiful.  He is a healing gift of love for me in every way, the unsung hero in my journey back to health.  And all I can do today is thank God for him and wish him the happiest birthday ever.  Gift ideas, anyone?