My Tribe

I just returned from my college reunion. It was wonderful to be back in Grinnell, Iowa, with my tribe. I knew some of those in attendance back in college, but I’ve developed many more relationships with people in our “cluster,” classes of 1986, 87, and 88, thanks to Facebook and more intentional efforts by groups, particularly groups of women, to build community and get together. I reached out to this community last March when I received my cancer diagnosis, and they responded with an incredible show of love and support.

So at the reunion I was in a somewhat strange spot as “cancer survivor.” I never want to be too optimistic. I want to be just optimistic enough. But really, optimism was beyond the point, because it was glorious just to be there, healthy today, to hug and hug and have time to talk about all those things you can’t fit on Facebook posts. To hear voices and accents, see smiles, hear laughs, and contribute my own.

Many people shared anxieties before the reunion. But what was clear as soon as we arrived is that we are aging together. Three years ago, at the last cluster reunion (’84-’86), we were a little excessive. And when we got home some women posted photos of their “cankles,” swollen ankles, a new things for us at 50. This time around there was a lot more talk of “pacing ourselves” and after two nights of dancing I heard three different women say their hips hurt. My tribe.

Susan Sink, photo by JB Letchinger

As a cancer survivor, you join a tribe you didn’t really want to be part of. Membership is important for support, especially in times like this week as I wait for my 6-month check-up and blood test. In a recent column, Susan Gubar wrote about “scanxiety,” the fear at the edges each time a cancer survivor goes in for a test. Although I didn’t find Gubar’s book about ovarian cancer helpful, I really appreciate her column in the New York Times, “Living with Cancer,” which has gone on longer than she expected as she is in her ninth year as a survivor. Psychologically, you’re going to “go places,” and it’s nice to dip in to that column or tribe, check in with a member, and then move back to living day by day.

When you join that tribe, the fear is that you have jumped the track and your old tribe is going to go on without you into the distance of “ordinary aging.” So I have to say, I reveled in the experience of this past weekend. The first night a group of us, after one Cosmo each, went to our rooms to “settle in” at 9 p.m. On Friday night I decided to “leave it all on the dance floor” when “She Man and the Masters of the Universe,” a reconstructed band from our college days, played a wonderful, funk-filled set. I had more to leave on that dance floor than I could have imagined. Haven’t danced that much outside my own kitchen in years.

Left to right, Kent Staley, Byron Ricks, Tim Black, and Will Kaylor

I wasn’t sure what to expect from the weekend–none of us were. We arrived carrying more lawn chairs and fans and pillows than in years past. And less whiskey. Someone overheard a person from the Class of 2012 say, upon passing our lounge party Saturday night: “There’s good music in there. But then we’d have to watch old people dance.” Truth is, I laughed a bit at our middle aged dancing, but from love and recognition.

Now I’ve returned to watering and weeding and chickens. Tonight, we ate spaghetti carbonara with PEAS and asparagus from the garden. Life is very, very good.

View of train tracks and South Campus at Grinnell by Jim Rasmussen