A Letter to My Friends - Or Why "Being Strong" Only Goes So Far

rachelvk
rachelvk Member Posts: 1,411
edited June 2014 in Managing Side Effects of Breast Cancer and Its Treatment

I just wrote this after a day of trying to make it through work and realizing that being a 'strong woman' sometimes isn't enough. 

 

Why I’m a bit cranky after cancer, a mastectomy and seven weeks of chemo.... 

 

To my friends, coworkers and family,

 

First, I’d like to thank you all for your support, understanding, well-wishes and helping hands. So many of you have reached out in kind, and sometimes unexpected, ways. By no means do I wish to suggest that these are unappreciated, but I thought it might be helpful to understand why I still grumble, wince and kvetch at the drop of a hat. Looks, as they say, can be deceiving. There may be times when I might look worn out, but I’m doing just fine, whereas sometimes I look like I could run the NY marathon when frankly I’m just hoping to be able to make it to the car so I can sit quietly for a few moments.

 

It seems like it was years ago, but just a few months ago my chest was split open, cleared out and stuffed with a heavy-duty baggie filled with salt water, which today spreads from one armpit to another. From time to time, it decides to meander one way or the other, bunching up, creasing, dimpling, or in some other way resembling the shifting sands of the Sahara beneath my shirt. I apologize if you happen to catch me gathering one side or the other up and shoving it back in place. The ‘terminator grope’ from behind doesn’t happen too much, really... maybe just once every three days. Takes my mind off my other issues and almost makes me nostalgic for those early, post-surgery days, which seem like the golden years of my ordeal. Back then, each day I felt a little better.

 

Now as for that chemo... 

 

Yes, I love my wig, and a number of the hats and turbans I’ve collected to wear after my hair shed like the coat of a Saint Bernard. But not a day goes by when I don’t wish that instead of the pale landscape extending beyond my forehead, dotted by whisps of hair rebels making their last stand, my scalp was lushly covered with my raven locks. I’ve chosen to see the beauty in my face, my jawline, the delicate, sometimes glittery flirtation of my earrings, but in essence I am still looking at the skeleton of the woman I once was.

 

My energy level has begun flickering like the vacancy sign of a seedy, roadside motel. One moment I’m fine and ready to go, and the next, just getting out of my seat takes a triumph of will powered by legs that would really rather be back in bed for the day. The loss of energy often dovetails with aches and pains in any given place - legs, back, arms, neck.

 

My mind? Oh, that... I’ve never been the queen of organization and planning, but it’s starting to play hide-and-seek with me. Words disappear just as I’m about to talk. I have to walk back and forth to my office two or three times before I successfully retrieve the object of my original trip. And.... oh, never mind, I forget.

 

You’re wondering about the gloves... yes, perhaps they are a bit overdone, and pretentious. Have you ever stopped to wonder at the marvel called our immune system? How many times a day do you open a door, pick up a piece of paper on the floor, shake hands or brush your hand against a trash can as you toss something in and welcome a germ or two over for lunch? Usually, your immune system rushes in, grabs the interloper and dispatches it with nary a sniffle or stomach cramp on your part. Even when your system gets momentarily overwhelmed, you usually rest assured that those white blood cells are busting up the joint, beating up on the bad guy, and that you’ll be yourself in a few days. When you’re not sure whether your immune system is really at your beck and call, things are different. Will a germ from the person that coughed across the room make its way to me? I just washed my hands - do I have to wash them again after opening the refrigerator to get my sandwich out? Under these circumstances it doesn’t take much to nudge your temperature close to 100.5 - meaning another jaunt to the ER, with the additional stress and bills that such a trip brings.

 

Ah, the taste buds. Another part of our body that we sorely take for granted. I’ve been lucky in this regard so far - I’ve only lost my taste a few times each treatment. But when it goes, it’s hard not to miss. First, you simply starting noticing your tongue. It’s probably dry, like your whole mouth, sticking to the top of your parched palette like that of the proverbial desert wanderer. But there’s something else - a slight metallic after taste that isn’t ‘after’ anything but lingers. And slowly everything you eat becomes dulled until you judge things by texture - that is, unless your buds are in total rebellion and make everything taste acrid and steely.

 

And did I mention all those pills? I almost need a to-do list to make sure all the vitamins and supplements are downed at the appropriate time, along with the acid suppressor, and the anti-nausea meds around the time of my treatment. Though I must admit, they’ve spared me that most distressing side effect of outright nausea. I can deal with an upset stomach, as long as I can avoid the indignity of hugging the porcelain throne (sidenote: See ‘germs’).

 

At least I haven’t felt the full force of neuropathy, though my hands have tingled on and off a few times, or dealt with mouth sores of epic proportions, come down with thrush, or hot flashes, or.... oh, well, so much for the last one.

 

You’ve all told me I’m strong, I’ve inspired you, that you admire me and my courage. I appreciate knowing that. Most of the time, that strength is now channeled into making sure that all those above issues are pushed to the background. Sure, I’m tired, but there’s work to do; I ache, but if I can just make it to the computer, I can sit and get some editing done. An entire drive home from work can be consumed by pondering what meal I can make that will be healthy, filling and at least somewhat bearable.

 

The most surprising thing I’ve learned from this whole experience is how much effort living takes, and we often take it for granted.

 

So if I look at you a little cross the next time you tell me how well I’m doing, what a great example I’m setting, and how I should be proud of myself, it’s not personal. It’s just my attempt to glean the well-meaning wishes from that and process it into just a little more energy to help get me through this day.... so I can wake up and start all over tomorrow.

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