The Thing About Hugs

Evidently I’ve never been a “hugger.” Just ask anyone I work with. Occasionally, during this cancer adventure, I update the managers I work with so we are prepared when I go away for surgery. We’ve worked on a “tami eviction” plan while I take a leave of absence. It is always during these conversations that one of the managers looks at me and says sweetly, “Jan, this is where I just want to give you a big hug,” and my reply is always, “No, no thank you, I don’t think so.” However, lately I’ve noticed something different about myself and the “huggers” in my life.

Sometimes hugs are just easier. If I haven’t seen a friend or family member in a long time and they aren’t quite sure what to say or ask in terms of the cancer, a hug just seems easier. We’re talking full-on, double-breasted bear hugs with sometimes a pat on the head (mine not theirs). There isn’t time for that one-shoulder, lean-in crap. It’s a hug full of “Hey, I been thinking about you,” or “Geez, I don’t know what the hell to say so this hug should say it all.” And that is okay by me. Oh, the hugs I get.

Everybody’s hugging. Doctors, family, friends, even people I’ve only know for a short while. One awesome pottery classmate, after hearing of my adventure, immediately popped around the art table and gave me a big one. It feels a bit like those people who touch a pregnant woman's bump. Sometimes they ask and sometimes they don’t. You just lean into it and it usually ends up meaning the world.

There is no need, if you are not comfortable, in asking about the Xeloda, the insignificant leakage in my mitro- and tricuspid valves, or my bowel movements. I have “people” who ask these questions…sometimes, much to my delight, in inappropriate places like baseball games or over dinner. So don’t you fret, a hug will do just fine. However, should you ever want to know about any of the other stuff, just let me know.

Evidently I’m now a hugger.

Why hugs Jan? Why write about hugs? I have nothing else this week. Day 9 of chemo and all is well.