You gain some and you lose some when you've got cancer. You gain time, since you're laying around. It's a terrific opportunity to catch up on reading or those movies or a series like The Wire that you'd always meant to watch. The days can crawl by. You certainly gain knowledge and perspective.
But you can lose plenty too. For some it's weight and for others it's friends. It's often both.
You can't predict how someone will react when they hear you have cancer. A lot of people will feel sorry for you and offer help. Others will be faced with their own mortality and promptly freak out. You won't hear from them for a while, if at all. They'll avoid contact with you because it makes them feel uncomfortable. They'll wait until you're better to reconnect. At least that's what they're telling themselves.
Others won't really care at all. It's shocking and it stings, but it's true. The reasons for that differ from person to person, but the blame can be laid squarely at their feet. Maybe they're self-absorbed. Maybe they didn't like you that much in the first place. Maybe it's something else entirely. Regardless, it's not your fault.
You find out who your true friends are real quick.
The good news is that you'll be truly surprised by who comes through. Casual acquaintances, co-workers or neighbors you barely knew, friends of friends you've never met -- they will continually surprise and humble you with their love, support and encouragement. All of which will come from a very positive place.
Those are the people to dwell on. Those are the people you need to send the thank you cards and emails to. They're the ones that can help you get better.
As for the other half, "The ones who love us least are the ones we'll die to please," Paul Westerberg once sang and it's true. Focus on the people who are supporting you and forget those who aren't. Energy is a precious commodity when you're undergoing treatment, and it's best to focus that in a postive way.
As for the others? Fuck 'em. Write them off without any guilt.
Showing posts with label recovery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label recovery. Show all posts
Monday, December 5, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The B Team
While hospitals do offer round-the-clock care, it sure isn't consistent. I had great care across the board during the day. But after 5pm you get the B team, and that's being generous. You'd think that they'd mix the newbies in with the veteran nurses to help them get a grasp on things but you'd be wrong. I saw a number of nurses that night, and the one who knew what she was doing left around 11pm. After that you're in the hands of rookies and idiots.
Morning couldn't come soon enough. Once it did, the doctor came in to see me. He looked at my scar, which was held shut with some serious metal staples. I looked a little Frankenstein-y. He asked how I was doing and had me do a few exercises/movements to make sure everything was working properly and sent me on my way.
I hadn't done a whole lot of moving in the past 24 hours, so it was a little strange getting wheeled back into the world. The sun seemed really bright. It was surreal seeing all the people walking around. I got in the care and went home.
Morning couldn't come soon enough. Once it did, the doctor came in to see me. He looked at my scar, which was held shut with some serious metal staples. I looked a little Frankenstein-y. He asked how I was doing and had me do a few exercises/movements to make sure everything was working properly and sent me on my way.
I hadn't done a whole lot of moving in the past 24 hours, so it was a little strange getting wheeled back into the world. The sun seemed really bright. It was surreal seeing all the people walking around. I got in the care and went home.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
The Douche Crew
My wife figured out how to extend the lounge chair into a mini bed and we settled in for the night. The irony of all this is that they come in every twenty minutes or so to make sure that you're still alive and/or give you another pill. Still, we managed to get a little sleep.
Then the weather turned shitty. The National Weather Service, who had done a crap job the week before in regard to issuing a severe storm warning that resulted in some serious property loss, made up for it and overcompensated by issuing a tornado warning. A tornado warning means that one's been sighted and you should find cover immediately. If you live in the Midwest, all this means is that everyone should leave the house as soon as possible and stand in the middle of the street to watch the storm roll in with the neighbors.
Unless you're in the hospital. Their policy was to get everyone away from the windows and keep them there until the Weather Service cancelled the warning, which could and often does last for hours. The nurses and orderlies dutifully herded and wheeled everyone into an interior hallway. It looked like a M*A*S*H* unit -- IVs all over the place, people with all sorts of bandages, beeping machines and beds lined the hallway. I was doing okay enough to walk, but it was still tremendously uncomfortable.
The cherry on the sundae was the three very loud, very dumb frat boys who talked about stupid shit the entire time. I didn't expect a dissertation on the ramifications of Voltaire's Candide but sweet Christ were they trying. And since one of them worked there, we couldn't really say anything. All I could do was watch the TV as the menacing green blob slowly moved to the east and we were finally allowed to go back to our rooms. It probably lasted a couple of hours, but Dane Cook and Friends made it seem like an eternity.
Then the weather turned shitty. The National Weather Service, who had done a crap job the week before in regard to issuing a severe storm warning that resulted in some serious property loss, made up for it and overcompensated by issuing a tornado warning. A tornado warning means that one's been sighted and you should find cover immediately. If you live in the Midwest, all this means is that everyone should leave the house as soon as possible and stand in the middle of the street to watch the storm roll in with the neighbors.
Unless you're in the hospital. Their policy was to get everyone away from the windows and keep them there until the Weather Service cancelled the warning, which could and often does last for hours. The nurses and orderlies dutifully herded and wheeled everyone into an interior hallway. It looked like a M*A*S*H* unit -- IVs all over the place, people with all sorts of bandages, beeping machines and beds lined the hallway. I was doing okay enough to walk, but it was still tremendously uncomfortable.
The cherry on the sundae was the three very loud, very dumb frat boys who talked about stupid shit the entire time. I didn't expect a dissertation on the ramifications of Voltaire's Candide but sweet Christ were they trying. And since one of them worked there, we couldn't really say anything. All I could do was watch the TV as the menacing green blob slowly moved to the east and we were finally allowed to go back to our rooms. It probably lasted a couple of hours, but Dane Cook and Friends made it seem like an eternity.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
J-E-L-L-O
I woke up in my room and the first person I saw was my wife. What a warm relief that was. She was smiling the brightest, warmest smile and things were instantly better. Words truly fail me. It was such a comfort to see her as soon as I came to.
We spoke for a bit and I talked to my folks. Though my mom did her best to hide it, I knew she'd been worried sick. I'm sure it was a relief for her to see that I'd not only made it through but had all my faculties. Had I been thinking, I would've yelled something in Spanish or in a made-up language, but the anaesthesia had the upper hand. The nurses came in to make sure I was okay and to get me started on what would be a night full of IV drips, injections and pills.
My head was bandaged up but I could see with both eyes. One of the first things I wanted to see was a hospital menu. It was mid-afternoon and I hadn't eaten since the night before. I was ravenous. I probably would have even eaten a slice of Sandra Lee's Kwanzaa Cake and asked for seconds. The nurse brought me a menu and suggested I take it easy since anaesthesia can make some people nauseous. I got spaghetti and meatballs and some red Jell-O.
The Jell-O arrived first. A lot of people make fun of Jell-O, saying it's strictly for honkies, Jell-O shots and after-funeral lunches. And they're right. But it's also pretty goddamn delicious when you haven't eaten in sixteen hours.
After that I talked briefly with one of our former customers from our bakery for a bit and just rested. I was happy to learn that I'd be getting a morphine drip. I, like most Americans, had heard great things about morphine and was looking forward to it and all of its wondrous narcotic properties. Sadly, all it did was dull the pain.
Which was surprisingly minimal. You'd think that getting your head cut open would make the top three on the Holy Shit That Hurts list, but I was more sore from the screws in the halo than the divot in my skull.
After the spaghetti (which also tasted as if Jesus Himself had made it) I rested and tried not to move too much so I wouldn't disturb the IV. My bed was almost supernaturally comfortable. Though the matress was thin, it had these pumps that'd continually adjust to support your body in whatever position you were in. I could also control the TV (I think -- morphine's a hell of a drug. At one point I'm sure I thought I could control Prince Charles and/or the weather in Peru) from my bed. It was pretty sweet. If it wasn't for the whole sickness/surgery thing, I'd get one for home.
We spoke for a bit and I talked to my folks. Though my mom did her best to hide it, I knew she'd been worried sick. I'm sure it was a relief for her to see that I'd not only made it through but had all my faculties. Had I been thinking, I would've yelled something in Spanish or in a made-up language, but the anaesthesia had the upper hand. The nurses came in to make sure I was okay and to get me started on what would be a night full of IV drips, injections and pills.
My head was bandaged up but I could see with both eyes. One of the first things I wanted to see was a hospital menu. It was mid-afternoon and I hadn't eaten since the night before. I was ravenous. I probably would have even eaten a slice of Sandra Lee's Kwanzaa Cake and asked for seconds. The nurse brought me a menu and suggested I take it easy since anaesthesia can make some people nauseous. I got spaghetti and meatballs and some red Jell-O.
The Jell-O arrived first. A lot of people make fun of Jell-O, saying it's strictly for honkies, Jell-O shots and after-funeral lunches. And they're right. But it's also pretty goddamn delicious when you haven't eaten in sixteen hours.
After that I talked briefly with one of our former customers from our bakery for a bit and just rested. I was happy to learn that I'd be getting a morphine drip. I, like most Americans, had heard great things about morphine and was looking forward to it and all of its wondrous narcotic properties. Sadly, all it did was dull the pain.
Which was surprisingly minimal. You'd think that getting your head cut open would make the top three on the Holy Shit That Hurts list, but I was more sore from the screws in the halo than the divot in my skull.
After the spaghetti (which also tasted as if Jesus Himself had made it) I rested and tried not to move too much so I wouldn't disturb the IV. My bed was almost supernaturally comfortable. Though the matress was thin, it had these pumps that'd continually adjust to support your body in whatever position you were in. I could also control the TV (I think -- morphine's a hell of a drug. At one point I'm sure I thought I could control Prince Charles and/or the weather in Peru) from my bed. It was pretty sweet. If it wasn't for the whole sickness/surgery thing, I'd get one for home.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
The Wind at Your Back
It's a cliche, but you really can't fight cancer by yourself. It truly does take a team. Not only of doctors, nurses and support staff, but friends and family. Their love and support can truly make a difference in ways you can't expect or even imagine.
But the most important person on your team, and one not everyone's lucky enough to have, is someone that's your advocate. Someone who will fight for you when the doctors are going down the wrong path. Someone to tell well-wishers that you've had enough for the day and need to rest. Someone who insists you need to rest. Someone to complain to. Someone to cry with. Someone who will make that midnight run for popsicles. Someone that will sit with you as you writhe in bed with a roaring fever from the fucking chemo.
In my case, that person was my wife.
More cliches: marriage is a journey. Marriage is a union. Blah blah blah. Yeah, it's those things, but it's easy to be happy and content and in love when things are going good. That's the easy part. That's coasting. The real test is when the shit not only hits the proverbial fan but keeps hitting it. That's when you find out what both you and your partner are made of.
I was extremely lucky. I married someone who's smart, strong, caring, empathetic and has a strong bullshit detector. Over the course of my treatment, all those attributes came into play. There were peaks and valleys. People I didn't expect anything from came through in ways that were unbelievable. Others I thought I could count on failed spectacularly. My wife was there for every small victory as well as every little defeat.
Not everyone has that. Keep that in mind the next time you hear about someone who's sick. A serious illness in not only a downer, it's a fucking grind for all involved. It gets old. It loses its novelty. The phone calls and cards slow to a trickle after a few weeks, but the illness is still there. Often worse than before. Having an advocate; a partner who stands by you is worth their weight in gold. They deserve just as much recognition for all the bravery you're saluted for as you do. Maybe more.
And so do your team of supporters. Their goodwill, positivity and smiles -- often the simplest things -- make a bad day bearable and a good day outstanding.
But that's a topic for another post.
But the most important person on your team, and one not everyone's lucky enough to have, is someone that's your advocate. Someone who will fight for you when the doctors are going down the wrong path. Someone to tell well-wishers that you've had enough for the day and need to rest. Someone who insists you need to rest. Someone to complain to. Someone to cry with. Someone who will make that midnight run for popsicles. Someone that will sit with you as you writhe in bed with a roaring fever from the fucking chemo.
In my case, that person was my wife.
More cliches: marriage is a journey. Marriage is a union. Blah blah blah. Yeah, it's those things, but it's easy to be happy and content and in love when things are going good. That's the easy part. That's coasting. The real test is when the shit not only hits the proverbial fan but keeps hitting it. That's when you find out what both you and your partner are made of.
I was extremely lucky. I married someone who's smart, strong, caring, empathetic and has a strong bullshit detector. Over the course of my treatment, all those attributes came into play. There were peaks and valleys. People I didn't expect anything from came through in ways that were unbelievable. Others I thought I could count on failed spectacularly. My wife was there for every small victory as well as every little defeat.
Not everyone has that. Keep that in mind the next time you hear about someone who's sick. A serious illness in not only a downer, it's a fucking grind for all involved. It gets old. It loses its novelty. The phone calls and cards slow to a trickle after a few weeks, but the illness is still there. Often worse than before. Having an advocate; a partner who stands by you is worth their weight in gold. They deserve just as much recognition for all the bravery you're saluted for as you do. Maybe more.
And so do your team of supporters. Their goodwill, positivity and smiles -- often the simplest things -- make a bad day bearable and a good day outstanding.
But that's a topic for another post.
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