I worked out last night. It was the first time in a while and I'm feeling it. I came home and told my husband about my work out and my encounter with a young woman at the club. Today he wrote about it. Just when I think he can't possibly understand what's going on in my head, he proves me wrong. Here's what he wrote:
Excuse Me, Ma'am
by Chuck Stromme
“Not bad for an old lady” she thinks, smiling, toweling off the sweat. It's hot in her exercise club.
It's been a hard year. After a good start – a two week trip overseas, a lovely early spring, a flowering garden – she had found that lump. That damn lump. Spring flowers gave way to a lumpectomy, gardening to chemo, harvest to radiation. Now it's winter again.
She's always been secretly proud of her breasts and her once copper-penny red hair. I mean really, who wouldn't be? Her breast is, well, different now. Her hair fell out. Again. There are new scars. Getting old sucks, she thinks. Well, OK, the hair is coming back at least but the rest of growing old still sucks.
But today, today is one of the good days. She's working out with her buff and younger masseuse friend. Even keeping up a little, sort of. Stretch this, lift that, faster pace, smile through the muscle strain. That kind of good day. She's wearing one of her breast cancer shirts.
“Excuse me, please.” Who... oh, a kid needs to get by. “Oh, sure, no problem.”
A moment later “Excuse me, ma'am.” She looks, sees for the first time. A very small, severely handicapped, twenty-something young woman is shyly trying to get her attention. The woman, not much more than a girl really, has one of those pink tied-ribbon shirts on. She says, in not much more than a whisper, “I had breast cancer, too.” Then, “I lost my breast.”
Life, of course, isn't fair. For each of us who is fortunate, there are those less fortunate. For each of us who are multiply blessed, others are multiply afflicted. We don't see the others very often, mostly because we don't choose to, but sometimes we encounter their reality. Sometimes we have no choice. Sometimes it taps us and says “Excuse me, ma'am.”
No one is ready for that kind of reality. We're not ready for harsh or cruel. We forget they exist while we're basking in good and fulfilled. We don't know what to do when we meet the others.
Only one response will get you through a time like this. Take in the reality. Embrace it and let it affect you. Know it and make it a part of you and only then can you grow from the experience. Don't shun the afflicted. They've had too much of that. Smile, engage them, touch them if it's appropriate. You can acknowledge that you're both fruit of the same tree, then each can go on her way without pity or envy.
Merry Christmas.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
CAST ADRIFT
Since my treatment ended in October, I have felt cast adrift. I haven't blogged because I have had nothing to say that didn’t seem pessimistic or worse. Even the recent articles about recommended later and fewer mammograms didn’t anger me enough to respond.
What has angered me is the added recommendation that doctors stop teaching women how to do self exams on their breasts. Really?! What could be more benign than that? At first I thought it was a mistake; but no, it’s part of the recommendation. The underlying purpose is simple. If women examine themselves, they will find lumps. Most of these lumps are made up of benign tissue--lumpy breasts, fibrous breasts or just plain random deposits of tissue that is different from the surrounding tissue. All of these can lead to tests and procedures and, of course, anxiety. The tests can be expensive and the anxiety is “bad” for women. Therefore, it would be better if all these false alarms could be avoided. Of course that would also mean that early detection would be avoided as well.
The question then becomes, does early detection really make a difference? A recent article in the Fall, 2009, issue of Cure Magazine questions the value of routine screenings. The article compared cancer to an asteroid hurtling toward earth. If the asteroid can’t be stopped, does it really help to know three months or three years in advance that it is on the way? The end result is the same. On the other hand, if there is a way to destroy the asteroid before it arrives, the earlier it is detected the better. The point of the article is that all too often detection and treatment does not add significant time to the patient’s life expectancy and frequently reduces the quality of the time remaining. Findings indicate that this is particularly true for prostate cancer. Men can live for a number of years with this slow gowing cancer while the treatment can significatly impair their general health. This may be the case with other types of cancer as well.
However, the fact that it might rarely make a difference in the final outcome doesn’t matter to those “exceptions” who are still alive years after diagnosis and treatment. Most of them are convinced that they would be dead if they had not discovered and treated their cancers.
I am certainly convinced that my bout with uterine cancer in 1996 would have killed me if I had not had surgery, chemo and radiation. How can we ever be sure though? If this Triple Negative breast cancer is going to ultimately be the death of me and my treatment was all for nothing, maybe I would prefer to have the six months back and go on a cruise instead. How can we dare to make such choices and leave our loved ones wondering if we abandoned them without putting up a fight? For me, that's the toughest question of all.
.
What has angered me is the added recommendation that doctors stop teaching women how to do self exams on their breasts. Really?! What could be more benign than that? At first I thought it was a mistake; but no, it’s part of the recommendation. The underlying purpose is simple. If women examine themselves, they will find lumps. Most of these lumps are made up of benign tissue--lumpy breasts, fibrous breasts or just plain random deposits of tissue that is different from the surrounding tissue. All of these can lead to tests and procedures and, of course, anxiety. The tests can be expensive and the anxiety is “bad” for women. Therefore, it would be better if all these false alarms could be avoided. Of course that would also mean that early detection would be avoided as well.
The question then becomes, does early detection really make a difference? A recent article in the Fall, 2009, issue of Cure Magazine questions the value of routine screenings. The article compared cancer to an asteroid hurtling toward earth. If the asteroid can’t be stopped, does it really help to know three months or three years in advance that it is on the way? The end result is the same. On the other hand, if there is a way to destroy the asteroid before it arrives, the earlier it is detected the better. The point of the article is that all too often detection and treatment does not add significant time to the patient’s life expectancy and frequently reduces the quality of the time remaining. Findings indicate that this is particularly true for prostate cancer. Men can live for a number of years with this slow gowing cancer while the treatment can significatly impair their general health. This may be the case with other types of cancer as well.
However, the fact that it might rarely make a difference in the final outcome doesn’t matter to those “exceptions” who are still alive years after diagnosis and treatment. Most of them are convinced that they would be dead if they had not discovered and treated their cancers.
I am certainly convinced that my bout with uterine cancer in 1996 would have killed me if I had not had surgery, chemo and radiation. How can we ever be sure though? If this Triple Negative breast cancer is going to ultimately be the death of me and my treatment was all for nothing, maybe I would prefer to have the six months back and go on a cruise instead. How can we dare to make such choices and leave our loved ones wondering if we abandoned them without putting up a fight? For me, that's the toughest question of all.
.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Fuzzy Wuzzy
Fuzzy Wuzzy Was A Bear
Fuzzy Wuzzy Had No Hair
Fussy Wuzzy Wasn’t Fuzzy Wuzzy?
That’s me… Fuzzy Wuzzy.
All my too short hair is standing straight up. No curl yet, but maybe there isn’t enough of it to show any curl. I’m hoping for the soft “chemo perm” I got last time but who knows what makes the hair curl or change color. It just does. I guess I should just be grateful not to have hair at all. That is at least a possibility. I have talked to post chemo women who had little or no hair return for a long time. So I’ll rub my fuzz and try to be patient.
By the way, the cute guy with me is grandson Douglas. We love to do puzzles together
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Thursday, October 8, 2009
And None to Go
Tuesday was my last day of radiation treatment. Now there is nothing left to do but heal and wait. The fatigue lingers but I am hoping the pain won’t. On the outside, it looks like the worst sunburn ever; a hot, tender bright red with blisters. It’s already starting to peel around the edges. On the inside it reminds me of shingles. Jittery pain messages zip around, careening into each other and reminding me that the worst of the burn is deep inside. I just hope that the nerves don’t take as long to heal as they do with “real” shingles. Dr. Wendland, my radiation doc. advised me that the nerve pain could last from a few weeks to several months. I’m hoping for the few weeks…
My radiation therapists and Dr. W. all gave me congratulatory hugs which made me feel emotional and a little sad. I think the sadness was a mixture of relief and anxiety. It feels strange to be cut loose from the demands of treatment. It feels like I am no longer actively fighting the cancer. I try not to obsess about it but I know from my past experience that it will take a while to get myself to where it doesn’t dominate my thinking. I know the time will come will I can go longer and longer without thinking about it. Eventually, I will only get anxious just before a check up. A long way down the road I may even forget to schedule my check up. (Like I forgot to schedule my annual mammogram) Or, maybe having learned that lesson, I will be careful to schedule and monitor important check ups and take better care of myself.
Recurrence anxiety has at least one positive aspect and that is that it lends urgency to daily life and an appreciation for everyday pleasures. I hope not to lose that but I know it is easy to sink into complacency. I need to find a place in between where I can keep the fear at bay and still relish being alive.
.
My radiation therapists and Dr. W. all gave me congratulatory hugs which made me feel emotional and a little sad. I think the sadness was a mixture of relief and anxiety. It feels strange to be cut loose from the demands of treatment. It feels like I am no longer actively fighting the cancer. I try not to obsess about it but I know from my past experience that it will take a while to get myself to where it doesn’t dominate my thinking. I know the time will come will I can go longer and longer without thinking about it. Eventually, I will only get anxious just before a check up. A long way down the road I may even forget to schedule my check up. (Like I forgot to schedule my annual mammogram) Or, maybe having learned that lesson, I will be careful to schedule and monitor important check ups and take better care of myself.
Recurrence anxiety has at least one positive aspect and that is that it lends urgency to daily life and an appreciation for everyday pleasures. I hope not to lose that but I know it is easy to sink into complacency. I need to find a place in between where I can keep the fear at bay and still relish being alive.
.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Bucket List - First Draft
Anything that requires strength or endurance is pretty much out of the question, at least for the near future. That doesn’t leave a lot. Clearly bucket lists should be started at a much earlier point in life. So if parasailing, scuba diving and zip line adventures are out of the question, what’s left?
I can’t help thinking about some of the things I regret not doing. I wish I had spent more time with kids and grandkids while I was healthier. I wish I had met my brother, Steve. I wish my husband and I were better travel companions. I wish I had gone to Italy and the British Isles. I wish I had seen Stonehenge. I wish I had visited out local community theatre. It seems a waste of time to focus on wishes and "might have been" things. A bucket list should be for things that are still possible. So, what is still possible? Here goes my first draft Bucket List in no particular order.
1) Watch my grandson, Douglas, play basketball
2) Meet my brother Steve who lives in South Carolina
3) Visit the Butchart Gardens in Victoria, Canada
4) Visit the Oregon Gardens
5) Camp at Silver Falls with the Siekman clan
6) Visit Rob and Kathy in Sierra Vista, Arizona
7) Watch the whales and dolphins from the beach at Kauai
8) Snorkel in warm tropical water
9) Take an Alaska cruise, see Denali, visit our friend Bob
10) Go to Carmel with my friend Ruth
11) Spend time at the ocean
12) Have a pumpkin carving day with granddaughter Lucy
13) Reunion with my California sibs
14) Laugh, talk and play with friends
15) Go to the beach every chance I get
Wow! Fifteen things. I thought I’d be lucky to come up with ten. Guess I’m more ambitious than I thought.
Last week end, my friend Kizzie and I went to Yachats and stayed one night at the Overleaf Hotel and resort. We walked on the beach and watched the surf and the sunset. Watching the water and hearing the soothing sounds of the ocean are calming and therapeutic for me. It was a blessing to have a brief “ocean fix” but it always ends too soon for me so going to the beach stays on the list.
The reunion with my California sibs is already scheduled for November so I am already putting the list to work.
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Sunday, September 27, 2009
Single Digits
Seven. It’s a great number. I was born in the seventh month of the year. There are seven days in the weeks, seven wonders in the world and, of course, the lucky jackpot—777. Now I have seven days of radiation left.
On Friday, when I had eight days left, they started my “booster” radiation. The booster is a bonus of extra intense doses targeted at the tumor cavity. This is based on the theory that if there are any stray cancer cells they are most likely to be here at the original site of my cancer. One might think that if those cells had any gumption or energy at all they would have moved on in the five months since my surgery.
It seems to me things could have been done differently. Of course I don’t recall anyone asking me what order I thought things should take. It makes sense to me that treatment would move from the most specific area to the full body approach. That would mean surgery, targeted radiation, wider area radiation and then chemo therapy. I guess it’s a little late to bring this up now.
So, seven treatments to go. Then I can start working on my Bucket List.
.
On Friday, when I had eight days left, they started my “booster” radiation. The booster is a bonus of extra intense doses targeted at the tumor cavity. This is based on the theory that if there are any stray cancer cells they are most likely to be here at the original site of my cancer. One might think that if those cells had any gumption or energy at all they would have moved on in the five months since my surgery.
It seems to me things could have been done differently. Of course I don’t recall anyone asking me what order I thought things should take. It makes sense to me that treatment would move from the most specific area to the full body approach. That would mean surgery, targeted radiation, wider area radiation and then chemo therapy. I guess it’s a little late to bring this up now.
So, seven treatments to go. Then I can start working on my Bucket List.
.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Left Behind?
I just read about a minister who got his feelings hurt because he wasn’t invited to a picnic given by a group from his congregation. When someone realized the oversight and called to invite him, he told the caller it was too late. He had already prayed for rain.
Why does that resonate with me? I guess I’m still thinking about the “envy thing”. My life feels stalled and passive while everyone else is moving on with such purpose and bustle that I feel left behind. I imagine and hope that will all change when my treatment is over and my strength returns. Then I can begin planning trips and outings with confidence that I will be able to not just endure but enjoy the activity.
A quick glance at the paper shows dozens of things that I think I would normally enjoy doing but don’t have the energy to pursue. Realistically, however, I confess that it has been a long time since I went to a concert or a play. My inertia must have preceded my treatment with me scarcely realizing it. When did it happen that the major events of my weeks and months were church and brief get togethers with friends to visit or have lunch?
That really isn’t true, is it? I was in Georgia just this January and February visiting our orphanage and spending time with friends. Surely that isn’t boring and does require some level of energy. During my treatment and recovery I have enjoyed visiting with friends and relished normal activities. I’ve laughed and giggled and shared old memories and made new ones. Maybe it’s all in my head that my life has become a long, lazy period with breaks for appointments and treatments and little else.
I haven’t been left behind after all. I’m just stalled a bit. My canoe is tied up at the shore for a while but friends row by and bring me flowers and sweets and shower me with encouragement and love. The river is waiting when I’m ready to row again.
.
Why does that resonate with me? I guess I’m still thinking about the “envy thing”. My life feels stalled and passive while everyone else is moving on with such purpose and bustle that I feel left behind. I imagine and hope that will all change when my treatment is over and my strength returns. Then I can begin planning trips and outings with confidence that I will be able to not just endure but enjoy the activity.
A quick glance at the paper shows dozens of things that I think I would normally enjoy doing but don’t have the energy to pursue. Realistically, however, I confess that it has been a long time since I went to a concert or a play. My inertia must have preceded my treatment with me scarcely realizing it. When did it happen that the major events of my weeks and months were church and brief get togethers with friends to visit or have lunch?
That really isn’t true, is it? I was in Georgia just this January and February visiting our orphanage and spending time with friends. Surely that isn’t boring and does require some level of energy. During my treatment and recovery I have enjoyed visiting with friends and relished normal activities. I’ve laughed and giggled and shared old memories and made new ones. Maybe it’s all in my head that my life has become a long, lazy period with breaks for appointments and treatments and little else.
I haven’t been left behind after all. I’m just stalled a bit. My canoe is tied up at the shore for a while but friends row by and bring me flowers and sweets and shower me with encouragement and love. The river is waiting when I’m ready to row again.
.
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