The Merits of the Case

Here I am, once again, up in the wee hours and unable to sleep (thanks steroids!). I’ve been up since 2:30 a.m., out of bed since 3:30 a.m., but I’m not exactly being super-productive. I know, I know. That’s not the point…but I feel like I should be doing something with this time. I’m trying to look at it as found time rather than lost sleep. It's not really working. [7:30 a.m. update: I went back to bed at 5:30 a.m., tried desperately to go to sleep, watched the light in my room get brighter as the sun rose, then finally gave up on sleep altogether at about 7:00 a.m.]

So far this weekend has been playing out about like the weekends after the previous treatments, but with slightly more bone pain than last time. Friday evening I felt nauseous and exhausted. By Saturday the nausea was gone, but I didn’t really move from the couch all day yesterday. And the lack of appetite is still hard to deal with. I find myself having to force food down. I get hungry, but nothing sounds good. I’m living on chicken noodle soup and toast and protein shakes, none of which I can taste, and they’re all getting old.

Yesterday I spent a lot of time reading. Not reading for class, which is what I should have been doing, but just reading fiction and blogs and wandering around the internet. WhyMommy posted about the recent death of cancer fighter Jane Tomlinson. What an amazing woman! She was just one year older than me, was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1990, and it was diagnosed as incurable in 2000. Despite the diagnosis, she went on to run marathons and a full Ironman, among other things, during chemotherapy. That blows my mind. I can’t even imagine going for a walk these days, and she completed an Ironman. The quote I keep seeing attributed to her is, “Death doesn’t arrive with the prognosis.” I love that…it’s the perfect ode to the importance of finding life and yourself after a cancer diagnosis.

Another woman who is doing that in spades is Kris Carr. Kris was diagnosed with and is living with incurable cancer. Instead of sitting back and letting it take over, she took over and wrote a book and made a documentary about her search for a treatment called Crazy Sexy Cancer. It aired on The Learning Channel on August 29th and I heard her interviewed recently on an XM radio show. (I missed the TV show and there is no plan for it to air again. If any of you happened to Tivo it and still have the recording, would you be willing to make me a copy?) She’s incredible and inspirational and a living testament to the power of positive thinking and to taking life by the reins.

I also read an essay somewhere about the burdens of cancer, but I can’t find it now. I think it was on a blog, but unfortunately I’ve lost it. The author wrote about the guilt that cancer patients have to deal with…guilt at putting their family and friends through the pain of watching their loved ones deal with this awful disease. The words struck me, because that’s one of the things I’ve thought a lot about recently. I’ve watched and listened and observed how this affects my husband, my kids, my siblings, my parents, my extended family, my friends and my neighbors. I think that maybe one of the hardest parts of this is dealing with the knowledge of what I’m putting them through. How will this affect my kids down the road, for example? Will they carry this experience deep within them for the rest of their lives? How do I help them get through that? How do I reassure my mom and dad that I am going to be okay, when I don’t know myself if I’m going to be okay? (Because I know for sure that it would be much harder to watch your child go through this than to go through it yourself.) These are the thoughts that run through my mind at 4:00 a.m.

WhyMommy also wrote yesterday about her desire to do something. I think that many cancer patients and survivors must feel this way...I know that I do. There is something about dealing with this situation that makes you want to help. Like WhyMommy, when I’m feeling good I spend a lot of time trying to figure out what it is that I can and will do with all of this. I haven’t figured it out yet, but I’m sure that I will. Right now I feel like the thing that I can do is to show people what cancer looks like and that it’s okay. If all of this running around with big earrings and no hair can help just one person to feel more comfortable and less horrified at the thought of what cancer looks like, then all my angst and discomfort with the situation will have been worth it.

Randy and I are supposed to attend a cancer benefit on Monday night. I sent my mom out this weekend as a personal shopper to get me something to wear, and I’m planning to go dressed to the nines and bald. I have no idea if I’ll actually be physically up to attending, but I’m going to try. And I think that might the perfect place to display my head for all to see and to show people…people who are there to support research for this disease…what it looks like.

There are some amazing, inspirational cancer survivors and fighters out there. And it seems that each time I come across another story, I feel more and more lucky. I’m sitting here with these dangerous, poisonous drugs coursing through my system and I feel like I dodged a bullet. There are people living with so much more and going through so much more than I am. What’s a little temporary hair loss and nausea? By Christmastime I’ll have hair and, more importantly, I’ll have my life. I am one of the lucky ones. I get all the benefits of a changed outlook and a new lease on life…and I get to live that life.