This morning I was mapped for radiation. I won't bore you with details except to give a few highlights and thoughts.
While I was in the waiting room in my jonny, another woman in a jonny walked into the waiting room and sat down across from me. I noticed how young and beautiful and thin she was and we exchanged knowing smiles with each other. I imagined her to look like my friend, Colleen, who I met through an online support group but never met face-to-face. I wanted to chat with this woman because it was my first time there and it would have been nice to have a bit of support from a "kindred spirit" but my inner critic magically appeared as it always does when I want to do something that involves courage and it said to me "Don't even bother talking to her. She's too pretty to talk to you." Listening to my critic, I just looked at her and smiled. But then I heard her say something and I walked over to where she was sitting because I couldn't hear her. She started talking about the weather and how we were finally having a sunny day. I answered in kind and then the technician came out to get me. As I followed the technician down to the hall, I was proud of myself for ignoring the voice of my inner critic and listening instead to the voice of the angel sent to me for a brief moment to calm my nerves.
The technician brought me into a room, which for lack of a better term I will call a "mapping room." The technician motioned me over to a board-like table that was sitting in front of a scary-looking machine. I got on the table and the technician made me put my arms up over my head into two holders. Immediately I felt as though I was in one of those medieval racks, but I was surprisingly comfortable to be able to stretch out with a pillow under my knees for added comfort. When I looked up at the ceiling I saw the most beautiful panoramic photograph of a tropical island, and I heard the faint sound from the 40s of what I like to call "crooner music." With this forced serenity and all the attention I was receiving from the technician and the radiation oncologist I thought how easy it would be to get used to this routine.
While I was lying on the table I was thinking about all kinds of things but for a brief moment I was thinking about how tattoos were not legal just ten years ago in Massachusetts because of potential health risks, and I was thinking about the cancer risks associated with tanning parlors. Then I thought about the irony of the cancer-fighting treatment that I was preparing to receive that included both permanent markings on my skin and radiation.
I lay on the table for close to an hour, and what I went through during that time is really not worth mentioning except that it involved a lot of measuring, moving in and out of the scary-looking machine which turned out not to be so scary, and waiting for the technician to do whatever she had to do to make the appointment complete.
When I got up to leave, the technician handed me a card for my first appointment. I asked her whether she would be giving me my radiation treatments and she said with perfect self-esteem "It will either be me, or it will be Melissa. She's wonderful too." Ah to have faith in oneself.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Sick and tired
I feel as though my life has slowly returned to its pre-diagnosis state. It started over the course of last week when my son and husband periodically complained about how I don't give them enough money each week. It progressed over the weekend to "Mom, can I borrow your car? Mine is out of gas." And since then it evolved to "Thanks for the $20 for gas to get me back to school." "You didn't give Aaron his lunch money today so he couldn't eat, but I took him out for hot dogs after school." "Can I have $100 for groceries?" "Can I have my lunch money?" "Are you doing more grocery shopping, I've already spent the $100?" "Lunch money, please?" "I haven't paid my therapist in four weeks. I need $80." "I need my lunch money." "Can you pay the fee for me to go to my high school reunion?" "Oh mom, can I have my lunch money?"
And then there were the non-money issues - arranging around one of my surgeries to have my co-workers sign a birthday card for another co-worker, arranging around said surgery to plan a birthday lunch for that co-worker, dealing with a friend who sent me a text at work that read "How depressed do you need to be before you check yourself into a hospital?" and trying to coordinate a crafts table to an uncooperative crew.
Behind my seemingly outward composure I just want to throw up my hands and scream "I'M DEALING WITH CANCER HERE!!" I'm thinking of the man who worked for my father and sought my father's advice in his hospital room three weeks before he died. I am wondering how that man fared without my father.
I've been told that I am a caregiver, but what my "givees" don't understand is that sometimes the caregiver needs caring too.
On the other end of the spectrum, one of my bosses gave me a post-operative care package just before my second surgery and in the bag there was a card that read in part (and I paraphrase) "I know that you find it hard to ask for help, so when I sense that you need it I am going to reach out." This woman knows exactly what I need. In fact, that's all I've ever wanted, feeling like somebody, just one person, is looking out for me. Why have people stopped looking out for one another?
And then there were the non-money issues - arranging around one of my surgeries to have my co-workers sign a birthday card for another co-worker, arranging around said surgery to plan a birthday lunch for that co-worker, dealing with a friend who sent me a text at work that read "How depressed do you need to be before you check yourself into a hospital?" and trying to coordinate a crafts table to an uncooperative crew.
Behind my seemingly outward composure I just want to throw up my hands and scream "I'M DEALING WITH CANCER HERE!!" I'm thinking of the man who worked for my father and sought my father's advice in his hospital room three weeks before he died. I am wondering how that man fared without my father.
I've been told that I am a caregiver, but what my "givees" don't understand is that sometimes the caregiver needs caring too.
On the other end of the spectrum, one of my bosses gave me a post-operative care package just before my second surgery and in the bag there was a card that read in part (and I paraphrase) "I know that you find it hard to ask for help, so when I sense that you need it I am going to reach out." This woman knows exactly what I need. In fact, that's all I've ever wanted, feeling like somebody, just one person, is looking out for me. Why have people stopped looking out for one another?
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Artwork
I have been very unhappy with my artwork lately. I think that a lot of it has to do with having been rejected from the Post Road Art Center art show. It definitely contributed to my feeling not good enough. But I am wondering if some of it has to do with my diagnosis.
Let me interject first by writing that I define myself by my artwork. It is the easiest and fullest way for me to express my voice. A very big part of me feels as though my artwork is the best thing that I do and has helped me cope when I've felt as though I haven't measured up to others. It's the one talent or niche that I have that has set me apart from my other, more judgemental, family members. Many people from my past remember me for my artwork. So when someone rejects my artwork, it goes deeper than just simply "getting back on my horse and riding again." I feel as though the person has rejected me - what is the deepest part of me, what I hope to contribute as part of my life's work, and what I hope to leave behind when I am gone.
Getting back to the diagnosis piece, my mind has been protecting me with denial so it's very hard for me to seek out some clarity on how I really feel about my diagnosis, but I think there is a vulnerability inside of me that is making me more sensitive to rejection and more motivated to make more sustainable contributions now that my productive time may be more limited.
I have always known in the past that the one quality that keeps me from producing great art is my lack of patience. I've never had the patience to go one step further. I've always wanted to finish my pieces fast and then show everyone and get positive approval, but now I just don't have the energy. In the protective denial of my mind, I am not acknowledging the physical impact of having had two surgeries in the past month. I am kidding myself in thinking that I am totally back to where I was pre-surgery. Of course, I don't have the energy and the patience to produce right now. I am NOT one-hundred percent back to my regular health. My worry is whether I ever will be. My hope is whether the diagnosis will help me to become more patient.
Let me interject first by writing that I define myself by my artwork. It is the easiest and fullest way for me to express my voice. A very big part of me feels as though my artwork is the best thing that I do and has helped me cope when I've felt as though I haven't measured up to others. It's the one talent or niche that I have that has set me apart from my other, more judgemental, family members. Many people from my past remember me for my artwork. So when someone rejects my artwork, it goes deeper than just simply "getting back on my horse and riding again." I feel as though the person has rejected me - what is the deepest part of me, what I hope to contribute as part of my life's work, and what I hope to leave behind when I am gone.
Getting back to the diagnosis piece, my mind has been protecting me with denial so it's very hard for me to seek out some clarity on how I really feel about my diagnosis, but I think there is a vulnerability inside of me that is making me more sensitive to rejection and more motivated to make more sustainable contributions now that my productive time may be more limited.
I have always known in the past that the one quality that keeps me from producing great art is my lack of patience. I've never had the patience to go one step further. I've always wanted to finish my pieces fast and then show everyone and get positive approval, but now I just don't have the energy. In the protective denial of my mind, I am not acknowledging the physical impact of having had two surgeries in the past month. I am kidding myself in thinking that I am totally back to where I was pre-surgery. Of course, I don't have the energy and the patience to produce right now. I am NOT one-hundred percent back to my regular health. My worry is whether I ever will be. My hope is whether the diagnosis will help me to become more patient.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Medical history
Depression History:
Cancer History:
- Have had OCD since 1964
- In talk therapy off and on since 1973, but first recognized depression in 1969
- On anti-depressants since 1995
Cancer History:
- Diagnosed on February 25, 2009 with an Invasive Ductal Carcinoma (Stage 1)
- Had surgery on March 10, 2009 to remove margins around cancer site and lymph nodes, and all came back clean
- Currently weighing treatment options
The only symptoms I have now are pain under my right armpit (where the lymph nodes were removed) and a killer stomachache, which I've had every day for about one week now. I think it's nerves.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
SARK save me!
I think that SARK (Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy) is going to get me through my whole ordeal. When I say "ordeal" I am not referring to the cancer treatment, I am referring to the depression, although I have been documenting some of my cancer experience in SARK's style. It seems that the only thing I really enjoy doing when I am alone is drawing and my style is very similar to SARK's in that I write down inspirational quotes that mean a lot to me, and I surround them with vibrant colors. It's validating for me to see someone with a similar style being so widely received by the public.
For those not familiar with SARK, here is a link to her web site:
http://www.planetsark.com/
For those not familiar with SARK, here is a link to her web site:
http://www.planetsark.com/
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Good news?
On Monday morning I received the news that the results of my pathology report were negative. Both the lymph node and margins that were removed the week before were cancer-free. Ron was ecstatic. He said that now he could finally exhale. I, on the other hand, was more than a little sad. Since my diagnosis on February 25th, people have been paying attention to me, buying me small gifts, putting notes on my keyboard, sending me mail, offering to get together with me, taking me seriously, commenting on my strength and perseverence, giving me a sense of community, and looking out for me. Now that I am cancer-free I get to go back to my isolated life and be the nobody I was before I got sick, and it makes me sad.
Ron really understands my sadness and made me feel better when he said "Just because someone isn't drunk doesn't mean that person is not an alcoholic." He was right. Being cancer-free gets me off the hook for the time being but that one little lump has secured me a lifetime membership in the "club." It's kind of like when I was 12 and I was talking to that girl at tennis camp who told me that her father was Neil Diamond's manager and he wanted to get into a performer's union, but in order to do that he had to be a performer. So, at the end of "Cracklin' Rosie" he crashed a set of cymbals together once and that got him into the union.
I know that my thoughts and emotions seem twisted to the "normal" person but that is part of my depression, to grasp at whatever I can, whatever works to make me feel better.
Afterthoughts:
Ron and David were happy with the news of my pathology report. Before I went to the doctor this morning, Aaron was sad and displayed emotion. I was happy that he got it out. I hope he is happy when Ron tells him the good news when he gets home from school. It makes me feel loved that this news makes my family happy.
Ron really understands my sadness and made me feel better when he said "Just because someone isn't drunk doesn't mean that person is not an alcoholic." He was right. Being cancer-free gets me off the hook for the time being but that one little lump has secured me a lifetime membership in the "club." It's kind of like when I was 12 and I was talking to that girl at tennis camp who told me that her father was Neil Diamond's manager and he wanted to get into a performer's union, but in order to do that he had to be a performer. So, at the end of "Cracklin' Rosie" he crashed a set of cymbals together once and that got him into the union.
I know that my thoughts and emotions seem twisted to the "normal" person but that is part of my depression, to grasp at whatever I can, whatever works to make me feel better.
Afterthoughts:
Ron and David were happy with the news of my pathology report. Before I went to the doctor this morning, Aaron was sad and displayed emotion. I was happy that he got it out. I hope he is happy when Ron tells him the good news when he gets home from school. It makes me feel loved that this news makes my family happy.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Blog inspiration
The day before I received my diagnosis, I confessed to my therapist that a large part of me wanted to be told that I have cancer. The two of us spent the remainder of our session discussing the whys of that. But I also sensed that even with her acceptance and gentleness around my confession she was searching for a similar confession (and maybe reassurance) that a larger part of me wanted to be well.
When someone shares the news that they've just been diagnosed with cancer, the recipient is left feeling awkward, searching for the right words to say, and it's usually a platititude - "I will send you positive thoughts," "I hope you are getting better every day," and "I will keep you in my prayers." I'm pretty sure that no one entertains the possibility that someone may be somewhat pleased with a cancer diagnosis, and that's why the person with the illness upon breaking the news will probably not hear "how do you feel about that?" or "wow, you lucked out, no more facing this uncertain economy."
So why did I want to receive the cancer diagnosis? Initially, I thought that the possbility of death would bring relief from a life plagued by depression, in a world where I receive daily reminders that I am not good enough and I believe that I am merely tolerated by the people in my life. I feel very lonely most of the time. I confess that I was looking forward to people acting nicer to me, treating me more seriously, and reaching out to me. But after I've come to experience all that and more in the aftermath of sharing my news, it appears to be much more than that.
I view the battle that I will be facing as an opportunity to search deep inside myself for the person I truly am and when I find that person I want to grab on as tightly as I can and pull that self out from the emotional muck and misconceptions that shaped my life and plagued me for so long. And that is because I need the true person who dwells hidden inside of me to stand with me for strength, for love, and for the courage to be who I am without worrying what anybody else thinks.
And when I emerge on the other side of this battle I hope that I will find the world a happier place to live, because if I can make myself a true lifelong friend I know I will never be alone, and that may ease the depression too.
Afterthoughts:
Funny, but as debilitating as cancer can be I am not sure that it can feel as bad as the cold, painful, and vulnerable suffering associated with depression. Cancer you face with a ton of concerned people who feel that you did not bring this horrible, unfair killer on your self, and as a result they don't want you to face your battle alone. Depression, on the other hand, while every bit as horrible and unfair a killer as cancer, is not treated with the same army of support as cancer, and often is not even deemed an illness, but more of a mood that people bring on themselves and can just "snap out of" if only they set their minds to it.
So dare I say that I wished for my diagnosis as a front to have people care for me, take my depression (and suffering) more seriously, have a supportive community, and maybe in the process, find comfort with myself and my world? I'm still exploring as my begin my journey.
When someone shares the news that they've just been diagnosed with cancer, the recipient is left feeling awkward, searching for the right words to say, and it's usually a platititude - "I will send you positive thoughts," "I hope you are getting better every day," and "I will keep you in my prayers." I'm pretty sure that no one entertains the possibility that someone may be somewhat pleased with a cancer diagnosis, and that's why the person with the illness upon breaking the news will probably not hear "how do you feel about that?" or "wow, you lucked out, no more facing this uncertain economy."
So why did I want to receive the cancer diagnosis? Initially, I thought that the possbility of death would bring relief from a life plagued by depression, in a world where I receive daily reminders that I am not good enough and I believe that I am merely tolerated by the people in my life. I feel very lonely most of the time. I confess that I was looking forward to people acting nicer to me, treating me more seriously, and reaching out to me. But after I've come to experience all that and more in the aftermath of sharing my news, it appears to be much more than that.
I view the battle that I will be facing as an opportunity to search deep inside myself for the person I truly am and when I find that person I want to grab on as tightly as I can and pull that self out from the emotional muck and misconceptions that shaped my life and plagued me for so long. And that is because I need the true person who dwells hidden inside of me to stand with me for strength, for love, and for the courage to be who I am without worrying what anybody else thinks.
And when I emerge on the other side of this battle I hope that I will find the world a happier place to live, because if I can make myself a true lifelong friend I know I will never be alone, and that may ease the depression too.
Afterthoughts:
Funny, but as debilitating as cancer can be I am not sure that it can feel as bad as the cold, painful, and vulnerable suffering associated with depression. Cancer you face with a ton of concerned people who feel that you did not bring this horrible, unfair killer on your self, and as a result they don't want you to face your battle alone. Depression, on the other hand, while every bit as horrible and unfair a killer as cancer, is not treated with the same army of support as cancer, and often is not even deemed an illness, but more of a mood that people bring on themselves and can just "snap out of" if only they set their minds to it.
So dare I say that I wished for my diagnosis as a front to have people care for me, take my depression (and suffering) more seriously, have a supportive community, and maybe in the process, find comfort with myself and my world? I'm still exploring as my begin my journey.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Welcome!
Hi!
I've started writing this blog in an effort to understand unconventional thoughts I've been having about my recent cancer diagnosis. I believe that my thoughts might be related to depression and it is at this point that I have chosen to begin my exploration.
My story begins on February 2nd, 2009 when I had a routine mammogram. The next day I was called back for more views and an ultrasound. At that appointment I was referred to a surgeon who suggested that the suspicious-looking solid mass on my right breast be removed. On February 19th I had a surgical biopsy and on February 25th I received my cancer diagnosis. While I was waiting for the results to return from the pathologist I found myself hoping that the surgeon would tell me that the results were positive.
My thoughts seemed more than a little strange to me and so I decided to create a blog and explore the reasons why I would want to have cancer. I welcome discussion on this topic, and maybe through this medium we can discover together whether these thoughts are more common than people would care to admit.
Thank you and I hope you enjoy reading my blog entries.
I've started writing this blog in an effort to understand unconventional thoughts I've been having about my recent cancer diagnosis. I believe that my thoughts might be related to depression and it is at this point that I have chosen to begin my exploration.
My story begins on February 2nd, 2009 when I had a routine mammogram. The next day I was called back for more views and an ultrasound. At that appointment I was referred to a surgeon who suggested that the suspicious-looking solid mass on my right breast be removed. On February 19th I had a surgical biopsy and on February 25th I received my cancer diagnosis. While I was waiting for the results to return from the pathologist I found myself hoping that the surgeon would tell me that the results were positive.
My thoughts seemed more than a little strange to me and so I decided to create a blog and explore the reasons why I would want to have cancer. I welcome discussion on this topic, and maybe through this medium we can discover together whether these thoughts are more common than people would care to admit.
Thank you and I hope you enjoy reading my blog entries.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)