Rough Patch

They do try to warn you that it happens, but nothing really prepares you for getting sideswiped on the road to recovery by a psychological tractor trailer loaded with What Ifs and Now Whats.

I have no intention of remaining here in the ditch, but apparently it's not a simple case of dusting yourself off and carrying on, despite my immense and utter gratitude for being alive. A helpful metaphor for me is that my skin, while healing, is still a raw, open, oozing, bloody mess. So, it seems, is my soul.

Fortunately, there is good help for this stage of the journey that includes family, friends, neighbours, good food, prayer, exercise, rest, fall colours, and my counsellor at the cancer centre.

I'm grateful for my counsellor, who gently reminds me that chemotherapy and radiation damages SOOO much. Toss in the stress of surgery, and you have months of recovery ahead of you. You're done, but you're not done. In the case of people receiving herceptin (or other additional treatments), you're actually not really done, as regular trips to the chemo suite and the cardiology clinic will remind you. Oddly, this is complicated by the number of times people (kindly) tell you how well you look. My counsellor suggests responding (kindly) with something along the lines of "I would never have known how difficult it was until I experienced it myself." It doesn't help that you're constantly running on your reserve tank without a gauge; when it's empty, there's nothing left.

A number of prayers and one particular gospel story have been my constant companions on this journey. I continue to hold on to these during sleepless nights and battle-weary days. I will try say more about them in a future post. That being said, cancer diagnosis and treatment pulls the rug out from underneath everything you thought you knew. I suspect this is true for any major illness or life crisis. It takes time to sift through the rubble and re-orient your perspective on everything, including faith. For now, I hold it lightly, and trust others to hold it for me. I am particularly grateful for the compassion and understanding that others on this journey have extended to me. You know who you are.

One absolute constant and profound gift in all of this has been the love and support of - you guessed it - Supportive Husband. These words sung so beautifully by Mumford and Sons are for him:

You saw my pain, washed out in the rain
And broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins
But you saw no fault, no cracks in my heart
And you knelt beside my hope torn apart

But the ghosts that we knew
Will flicker from view
And we'll live a long life

So give me hope in the darkness
that I will see the light
Cause oh they gave me such a fright
But I will hold on as long as you like
Just promise we will be alright

Hold me still, bury my heart on the coals
Hold me still, bury my heart next to yours

So give me hope in the darkness

that I will see the light

Cause oh they gave me such a fright

But I will hold on with all of my might

Just promise we will be alright

But the ghosts that we knew
Made us black and all blue
But we'll live a long life
And the ghosts that we knew
Will flicker from view
And we'll live a long life

 

5x6=30

Yes, 5x6=30 radiation treatments DONE. So grateful. I have a cold, my skin is a bit of an unholy mess, the allergic reaction to the polysporin did not help (a little like getting poison ivy on a burn), but the focus now is on rest and healing. Again, thanks to the kind and compassionate Treatment Room 3 team. 6 weeks is a long go, but they worked hard to make it manageable, and the small things they do each day to preserve patient dignity meant a lot. The bad news is that I was told several times that my skin will be permanently overly sensitive to the sun, so no topless sunbathing for me. They tell you this with a completely straight face.

5x6 also = 30 hackey sacks :)

If you crochet one hackey sack for every day of radiation, you have something bright and cheerful to focus on, and you end up with a class set of hackey sacks for the phys-ed department's Circus unit at Rockway. Yes, I said Circus unit - how cool is that?! Ray, Lindsay, and Jo - these balls are for you!

Thanks for all your ongoing love and support. My skin is supposed to worsen yet over the next week or so before it gets better, and I'm supposed to be airing my skin, so my advice is maybe don't show up unexpectedly.