I have a weakness for Tweety Bird.

Similarly, I have a weakness for self-pity.

Both can be rather cartoony in their presentations. Especially concerning my cancer diagnosis.

Years ago, during my Saturday morning cartoon watching as a kid, I was introduced to the animated short, “Hyde and Go Tweet.” A sendup of the Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde story, it features the famous cartoon characters, Tweety and Sylvester.

Within the setting of a laboratory, our characters, inevitably, find themselves caught up in cat versus bird shenanigans. During the cat and bird chase, Tweety tries to escape Sylvester’s predatory instincts by hiding in that laboratory. Our little feathered friend, in desperation, even goes so far as to jump into a bottle, labelled, “Hyde Formula.”

Come on, we all know what happens next.

Yes, there is a transformation of Tweety Bird into some monstrous, yellow hulk of a bird with black, bushy eyebrows. Towering over Sylvester in size now, we see how the predator becomes the prey. Sylvester is scurrying away from Hyde-Tweety.

But the formula only lasts for so long. So, throughout the storyline, Tweety bounces between this monster version of himself and his original, cute little bird self. Back and forth. Sylvester is off kilter as, one minute, he thinks he’s got a chance at making original Tweety a snack, and the next minute, he’s running for his life, away from the monster incarnation.

It’s kind of like that with me and self-pity. And throw cancer into the mix?

Well, I, likewise, become my own version of Jeckle and Hyde- Tweety Bird.

Weakness:

Some may call me naïve. Some may call me innocent. Some may call me foolish.

As traumatized as I was by my cancer experiences, still, I have much uncharted territory to encounter. With my 2017 diagnosis under my belt, I am still discovering to what cancer means, exactly, to me. There is a bird’s vulnerability to that. Yes, I need to hold my body and my life with such care as I would in handling the smallest, most delicate of birds.

I don’t always succeed in that. Sometimes, I am a harsh monster with myself, like Hyde-Tweety. Sometimes, I am the sweet little bird, practicing compassion. Self-care. Kindness. Patience.

Some days are better than others.

Frustration/ Anger:

And then, sometimes, the Jeckle/Hyde- Tweety of self-pity starts its morphing process, through that of frustration. Frustration is the prelude to the anger. It’s the irritated baseline of having to cope with many blocked wishes. Cancer has created, if not simply, reminded me, that yes, there are, indeed, blocked wishes. They are represented by medical appointments and procedures, waiting games for test results, cancer “scares,” as my body is reacting in a new way it hadn’t before. I have the blocked wish of a life unaffected.

And this, therefore, sets the stage. Sometimes, Hyde-Tweety erupts at the unfair reality that is cancer. It’s usually followed by some screaming, old standby self-pity “why questions…”

Why is this happening to me?

Why do I need to go through this?

Why is this so painful and difficult?

Why can’t my life be the way I wish it could be?

Desperation (And Death Thoughts):

There is an urgency since my diagnosis that wasn’t there before. Recurrence and health/body changes are a constant in my life now, along with the accompanying uncertainty. I frequently wonder, “Is it back? Am I dying?”

Therefore, yes, desperation can come up, revealing itself in the characters of Tweety/Hyde-Tweety and Sylvester. Depending on my mood and current circumstances, I can be the pursuing predator, feeling some measure of invincibility, or I am the fleeing prey. And I cannot always determine exactly what that will look like. But yes, the word, “desperate” can be a good descriptor.

Death thoughts can drive how big of a beast my emotions become.

Is self-pity Dr. Jeckle or Mr. Hyde today?

Am I the harmless birdie or the hulking monster?

Am I stoic or am I pathetic?

Am I chasing, or am I running away?

The simplistic answer? It depends.

Frustration and anger are built- in to a cancer diagnosis. It’s our response to its unfair brutality.

No one should have their body and health altered and threatened. Cancer does that.

No one should exist in daily fear. Cancer does that.

So, Jeckle/Hyde- Tweety.

Hope:

Ah, yes, hope.

This sucker is forced on anyone with a cancer diagnosis. Ribbons, buttons, walk-a-thons and chipper support people abound, being all life and hope-affirming.

Quite frankly, it can be irritating.

Yet, I do admit to operating on the hope spectrum, varying from day to day.

Sometimes, I am filled with light and exuberance. Sometimes, I’m the innocent little birdie version of Tweety…

“I’m a tweet little bird in a gilded cage, Tweety’s my name but I don’t know my age, I don’t have to worry and that is that, I’m safe in here from that old puddy tat.”

Everything’s good. Everything’s cool. Life is bopping along and I am cancer-free.  I am, indeed, “safe in here from that old puddy tat.”

Those are the easy hope days.

And sometimes, they spill over into these kinds of hope days, taking a cue from D.H. Lawrence…

“I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.”

Bet you never thought of Tweety Bird in that way.

I mean, come on. The poem’s very title is “Self-pity.”

It’s a difficult poem to argue against.

And, depending, again, on what kind of mood and circumstances I’m in, I can grab it with fierce gusto, personal harshness to self, or even a resignation to my very death.

Yep, I’m gonna drop dead, frozen, from a bough. Good times.

It’s not exactly the mindset of cute, innocent Tweety, who sang the song earlier about being safe from the puddy tat. But it’s not quite the yellow Tweety hulk, either.

It seems to be the in-between, grey area. At least, that’s how it feels to me.

Eventually, Hyde-Tweety usually emerges, inspired by the following motivational ditty…

“So I hated life, for the work which had been done under the sun was grievous to me; because everything is futility and striving after wind.”

Ecclesiastes 2:17

Hulk smash!

Yes, here’s where the demolishing monster gets activated, only it’s more fueled by sad despair than violent rage. It is the hopeless, what’s the point of it all.

And I fluctuate, back and forth, with it.

Acceptance:

Just like the stages of death and dying, the acceptance phase does dart in and out of my life experiences. I say that to illustrate how none of this, acceptance included, is tidy, linear, and predictable. Sometimes, Tweety gets out of control. Sometimes, Tweety calms down. Accepting both can work healing, no matter what’s going on.

“Sometimes I go about pitying myself. And all the while, I am being carried on great winds across the sky.”

Lakota saying

Translation? “It is what it is.”

None of it comes easily. Cancer isn’t easy. Self-pity- and the fighting of -it- likewise, are not easy, either.

Jeckle- Tweety. I accept. Hyde- Tweety. I accept. Cancer uncertainty. (I don’t like it), but I accept, as much as I can.

Sometimes, I sail through the sky with or without my bushy Hyde-Tweety eyebrows.

Copyright © 2020 by Sheryle Cruse