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 support. Show all posts
Showing posts with label support. Show all posts
Monday, December 5, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Drain the Blood
Every time I'd go in for chemo they'd do a blood draw. I'm not a big fan of needles, but I did okay. What began to scare me were the results. More specifically, my white blood cell count.
As the treatment went on, my white count got lower and lower. That's a problem, because white blood cells fight infection and disease. The lower my count got, the more important it was that I avoid infection and exposure to people who were sick. Luckily, I was undergoing chemo in late summer, so there weren't too many bugs floating around. No rampant flu outbreaks or anything like that. But I still had to wear a mask over my face when I drove home after treatment.
It came to a head in early September. I was at the tail end of chemo, but by then my white cell count was the lowest it had been, and I needed to get the doctor's okay in order to go see the Night Marchers - a band I really liked - in a couple weeks.
With cancer, your goals are often very minor ones. Being able to walk to the end of the driveway to pick up the trash cans on trash day. Taking the dogs to the end of the block, then eventually two blocks when I took them for a walk. All were small victories in the battle.
But the Night Marchers show in the fall was a huge one for me. The band's lead guitarist and singer is John Reis, who has been in multiple awesome bands that have been mathematically and ergonomically proven to be awesome by all sorts of experts. I'd been a fan of his bands for years, and when the Night Marchers -- his latest band -- came to town on their first tour, it was A Big Deal.
Unfortunately, that date coincided with my diagnosis of the brain tumor. So there was that. Still, the show was incredible and I had no worries, thoughts or concerns about the future at that point. It was a very uplifting and positive experience.
Now they were coming back. Even though I still had radiation treatment ahead of me, it was a fitting bookend to the whole cancer experience. But there was the white count to contend with.
As the treatment went on, my white count got lower and lower. That's a problem, because white blood cells fight infection and disease. The lower my count got, the more important it was that I avoid infection and exposure to people who were sick. Luckily, I was undergoing chemo in late summer, so there weren't too many bugs floating around. No rampant flu outbreaks or anything like that. But I still had to wear a mask over my face when I drove home after treatment.
It came to a head in early September. I was at the tail end of chemo, but by then my white cell count was the lowest it had been, and I needed to get the doctor's okay in order to go see the Night Marchers - a band I really liked - in a couple weeks.
With cancer, your goals are often very minor ones. Being able to walk to the end of the driveway to pick up the trash cans on trash day. Taking the dogs to the end of the block, then eventually two blocks when I took them for a walk. All were small victories in the battle.
But the Night Marchers show in the fall was a huge one for me. The band's lead guitarist and singer is John Reis, who has been in multiple awesome bands that have been mathematically and ergonomically proven to be awesome by all sorts of experts. I'd been a fan of his bands for years, and when the Night Marchers -- his latest band -- came to town on their first tour, it was A Big Deal.
Unfortunately, that date coincided with my diagnosis of the brain tumor. So there was that. Still, the show was incredible and I had no worries, thoughts or concerns about the future at that point. It was a very uplifting and positive experience.
Now they were coming back. Even though I still had radiation treatment ahead of me, it was a fitting bookend to the whole cancer experience. But there was the white count to contend with.
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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