cancer – day 121
You know, when people tell me they feel bad that I’m going through this, I usually try to tell them that it’s not so bad, that it could be so much worse. And that’s really very true. I just found out yesterday that Tia Mary (Artie’s aunt, so, like, an aunt-in-law) has breast cancer. She just found out two weeks ago, and it’s big, she’s probably stage 3 at least, and it’s so large and dense that she has to go through chemo before surgery in order to shrink the tumor so it can be excised. Right now the surgeon’s telling her that removing it now would leave a big indentation (I forget what she called it) because, it sounds like, the tumor is pressing against her chest wall. Big bad voodoo daddy stuff.
And she called me today because Philip (Artie’s brother) had lunch with her yesterday and gave her my cell number suggesting that she call me to talk about my experiences so far and let her talk about what she’s being told and work through how she’s going to deal with it all.
So here’s me, five weeks into chemo, 121 days since diagnosis (how long is that, anyway?), telling a new diagnose-ee everything I can about what I’ve learned about breast cancer, and trying to be helpful to someone who’s still at that “what’s happening?” stage. We talked for an hour and a half or so. I have to give her a lot of credit for even calling me. When I was first diagnosed, everyone was trying to find someone for me to talk to, and I really didn’t have any interest in doing that. I was (and still am, I guess) of the mindset that anything anyone would have told me still wouldn’t have prepared me for what it’s actually been like. I just cannot even tell you how awful and sick and weak and debilitated you feel from chemo, it’s like every element of my body has had some kind of reaction to this and is fighting it tooth and nail, and all the while I’m trying to have a good attitude (which I’m actually apparently failing at on a daily basis, if my caregiver’s moods are any reflection of my behavior as a patient or a person), though people who see me “out” like at TBTR or Firehouse seem to think I have a great attitude. But it’s a constant struggle. It would be so much easier to just be severely cranky and mean all the time instead of still trying to be nice and good to people. Oy vey, it would be soooo much easier.
But wrong. I really believe we all influence the energy around us, and that it’s important for me to stay the course to always try to be becoming a better person, more kind, more forgiving, more accepting. How I’m feeling is no excuse for making someone else feel bad by taking it out on them. So I try not to do that. I try not to complain or whine about poor me. Not that I succeed, but I do try.
And who’s this poor me, anyway? By external comparison, my situation sounds so much better than so many other cancer patients. I have a “caregiver.” I’m on disability and not working, focusing on my health and chemo recoveries. I’m almost never alone, and though I’m expected to be in charge of my own care and well-being, there’s still a huge safety net of having someone around almost all the time, just in case something goes wrong, like today when I felt crummy all day and my temperature kept bouncing around above 99, keeping me nervous about hitting that 100.5 marker of go-to-the-hospital-now.
Other people dealing with cancer don’t have all the luxuries I do. They have to go it alone, literally, leaning on friends for the most difficult things but mostly still taking care of themselves. Other people have to still try to work full time and struggle through a daily grind of being “on” for other people, when I can stop whatever I’m doing any time to rest (though I can’t sleep to save my life right now, I’ve slept about twelve hours since Thursday of last week). My tumors were still small enough that they could do just a lumpectomy, instead of having to do a radical mastectomy. Other people have other major life issues at the same time they’re in chemo . . . divorces, kids getting sick, other people to care for like aging parents or children. My biggest concern is that I can’t take care of my cats during chemo, and I can’t wait to be done and get them out of the kennel (nice as this place is, it’s still a kennel, and not a place an animal should have to live for three months). But that’s my worst problem. Living on 36% of my income isn’t easy, but that’s why financial planners tell you to have at least six months savings in case of life disaster, and I have savings to get by and family that will help me with absolutely anything if the going gets too rough. I really have it very easy, for a cancer patient.
Aside from having every side effect known to chemo, that is.
Tia Mary teaches grade school. She can’t take time off for chemo, and she can’t suffer in front of the kids, they won’t understand. She has to go through chemo twice, though she’ll probably have a mastectomy and not have to do radiation. Her sons are adults now and don’t live at home anymore, so she goes home after work and has to make her own dinner and take care of herself. And here’s me, complaining because Mark doesn’t vacuum very often and the place feels dirty. Sheesh, if that’s my worst problem (aside from chemo side effects, again, can’t forget about that, Cynthia), I sooo have nothing to complain about, and I should be incredibly thankful I’ve had it so easy.