(Please click on entry title to comment)
One of the things that recent events has allowed, and even screamed for, is introspection.
Going on what I’ve observed, it seems that around the six month mark after diagnosis, thoughts and emotions get low, and I’m no exception to this. I will admit, this is not how I thought the breast cancer treatment would go – how naive was I? While I knew that chemo was going to be a long and unpleasant experience, I never knew just how long 6 months could drag and at the beginning, I wasn’t slated for chemo, anyway. When I got through surgery with my headspace mostly intact (I was definitely wearing my Yellow Hat, at least) I thought I was going to manage this experience reasonably well, emotionally. It was going to be a few months out of my life and then back to mostly normal. I knew that I would always be really worried about future recurrence (and losing my sister to this disease did not inspire confidence) but I did not know how far down breast cancer was going to drag me. I am a planner, a bit of a dreamer, researcher, and generally a positive person. In fact, I find it really hard when, to go back to de Bono, I have an abundance of Black Hats around me. While I’m no Pollyanna by any stretch of the imagination, positivity has always gotten me through life, even through some of the darkest times when it’s only been a glimmer in the distance. I’ve always taken the view that when one door closes, you’ve just got to look for the one that’s about to open somewhere. I’ve found now, that my positivity has mostly deserted me – the doors are all locked and the windows painted shut. Earlier in the year, I posted that I don’t know who I am or who I’m going to be after this. I still feel that way – is this all it’s ever going to be now?
We recently went to the shack for a few days. I was longing for a change of scenery and that’s the cheapest and easiest – even the cat can come. I was overjoyed to be able to do a 4km walk along the beach. Although I wore thongs to protect the soles of my feet (wasn’t sure that shell cuts would be a good idea at this stage of treatment), the cold at sunrise did not seem to affect the neuropathy. I haven’t been able to walk any significant distance since the last AC treatment 3 months ago so this was a really big thing. And, as often happens when I’m walking by myself, my thoughts turned inward.
A few days ago, I completed a SAHMRI survey on emotional and physical well-being after a breast cancer diagnosis. I’m more than happy to help advance knowledge but the slant of the questions made me think. It seems a lot of the concern is over how women view their bodies after treatment – “am I still a woman?”. This aspect of body image isn’t one that disturbs me. “Are you able to look at yourself in a mirror?” Yes, I can. But I can’t see me…and that is what the survey questions didn’t reach. I look at my body dispassionately. It’s a long time since I thought that my body was gorgeous (if I ever did) but I’ve always lived quite comfortably in my skin, whatever it’s faults. Since treatment, my body just seems like a collection of parts that have little to do with me. Even while I’m struggling with the realities of the chemo side effects and trying to regain strength and movement, I feel completely disassociated with it. It doesn’t help when there’s parts of it that have no feeling left or scrambled nerves. (When the nodes are removed, a major nerve is damaged which leads to a whole area around the underarm, upper arm and chest being compromised with regard to sensation.) I know that seeing the world as if through glass is a major flag for depression – I assume that seeing yourself that way is a bit similar. And yes, I acknowledge that I am depressed.
I was thrilled to be able to walk at the beach and get out on the kayak, and it was very therapeutic, mentally as well as physically, but it does open the door to emotional analysis.
I’m getting close to the end of chemotherapy now. Today is scheduled for treatment No. 11 and then next Thursday should be the last. However, I’m anxious that, due to the peripheral neuropathy in my feet, the doctor may pull the pin on one or both. I so want this to be over as I’ve really had enough and I’m just dragging myself through the days, but I don’t want to have come this far and feel that I haven’t done as much as possible to defeat this disease. In the end, I will do what I am told. Possible permanent nerve damage takes the decision-making out of it.
So, now I’m close to the end of allowing myself to be poisoned and then, in a few weeks, I will present myself to the hospital to be irradiated. I wonder (and hope) that in some future time, people will look back at this common treatment regimen and shake their heads in disbelief at the barbarity of it.