The other night I found myself sitting on my bed surrounded
by bags and purses of various sizes and all the accoutrements that would
cohabitate said bag. I was on a mission
to find the perfect “I have cancer and have no idea what I might need” bag. Not too heavy, but not too small. It would need to have adequate compartments
for small items and pens. It would need
to hang at just the right place on my body.
This is how Paul found me. He
asked if I was okay and I just shook my head.
I hadn’t cried since making the chemo decision and I needed to. I did, but only for a few minutes, and I then
I turned my head to my mess of an end table and refocused my attention.
The next day I went to my first Reiki session. Throughout of the whole thing I kept
wandering what I was doing there. My
brain was on overdrive and it was hard to relax. For those who don’t know, Reiki is a type of
energy healing that involves chakras and while I’m spiritual in my way, this
was very new to me. There were
definitely places on my body where I felt different while she was working on
them. At one point, memories of my
grandmother came flooding through me. Having
done it I am pretty sure it’s not going to be a regular thing for me but
afterward I did have an epiphany about where I am emotionally and it’s not
good.
I have been so caught up in being strong for my family and
my friends and my co-workers that I have not dealt with any of this. I just keep pushing it farther down and
telling myself that the only way to conquer cancer is through positive thinking. I do still believe that, courage is better
than fear. But you can only be logical
for so long before the pain erupts and I haven’t done that yet.
Throughout all of this, what has surprised me most is the
sheer kindness and generosity that I have been shown. Yes, through friends, but also through acquaintances
and people that I know peripherally. It
has been astounding and I am so grateful and baffled by it. It’s also very uncomfortable in a way. I am fiercely independent and I like to be in
control. I went to the consultation with
the oncologist alone and that was by choice.
I asked the chemo nurse if I have to bring someone with me to my chemo
sessions (and I do, and I am happy with who it is), but I asked because I do
not handle showing weakness well.
I’ve already started joking around with the oncology
nurses. I did that in the hospital too,
I figure that being memorable and well liked is the best way to go when others
are in charge of my body. Play it light
and fun, that’s the way. When I was in
labor with my daughter, I had two wonderful nurses who kept talking about how
lucky they were to be in with me and not down the hall with the woman who kept
raging and hitting. Don’t get me wrong, I
know that everyone deals with childbirth in their own way. I proposed to my anesthesiologist as soon as
the epidural kicked in, which was immediately (he was very good). In between pushing and being on oxygen, even
though I was exhausted, I talked to my OB about Star Trek and Thor. This is my way and I like that about
myself. But as I get older, I’m starting
to realize that I find it easier to accept help from professionals than the
people closest to me.
How do you repay people for such help? For sleeping in my
hospital room and talking to me at 3am to try to distract me from the
pain. For rushing out on a Sunday morning
to meet me at the hospital to pick up my daughter so that she could have a fun
day with friends rather than being at the emergency room with me. There are countless others, letters and
messages from people who have had similar experiences, two hour phone calls
from friends I’ve known for decades. I
am conflicted. Torn between feeling overwhelmingly
grateful for a new understanding of what love is and resentful of cancer for
putting me in the position to know.
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