The Real Me During Cancer Treatment

I have a yearly tradition, usually it falls on Memorial Day weekend, to buy flowers for all my pots, plant them, and put them tastefully throughout my yard for that little burst of color. Then Greg and I are slaves to the pots for the rest of the summer because they have to be watered every day. The funny thing is how consistent this experience is from year to year. Almost every year I go to Home Depot for the flowers. I have the perception that they are cheaper there--I've never really checked around much to see if my perception is reality. Usually someone comes with me on the flower selection day--this year it was Rachel, Parker, and Kate--and every year the person or people who come with me get burned out before I'm done and end up going home, and then Greg comes and picks me up when the flower selection process is complete. Rachel drove the other kids home this year, and again Greg had to come get me later. Then, I never have enough time to plant all the flowers in one sitting, so the flower planting always ends up taking several days. There are lots of things I hate about this tradition, and yet the tradition continues. Every year I think, "Next year I'll just go by myself so I won't have to worry about my kids getting bored," or "Next year I'll buy fewer plants so I can plant them all at once," but somehow it never happens. It's tradition. Saturday was the day I did the plant shopping. I loved it, but it did take almost all day, and so far two pots have been planted and all the other flowers are patiently waiting.
So it was Sunday today and I went to church as I always do on Sunday, but I had some thoughts that came to me that I wanted to share on my blog today. I think every one's getting the wrong idea about me. People seem to have the impression that I'm strong and positive and heroic. I want to be more honest with you so you get the real picture of what I'm like. I do have some good days, some positive days, but I am mostly at the mercy of all the drugs I'm taking to combat cancer. The steroid I get with my infusion particularly takes me on a ride emotionally. I feel optimistic on treatment day and the day or 2 after, but when the steroid goes away, the optimism goes with it. On Thursdays and Fridays my mood alters drastically and those days I feel old, tired, and worthless. On those days in my mind it doesn't matter if cancer treatment works because I have so little to offer my family, my friends, or the world anyway. I cry a lot. I see life happening around me but feel very detached and separate from it. I am distant from my husband and disconnected from my kids on the down days. This feeling comes like clockwork every week, and deepens as I get further into the treatment schedule.
The side effects aren't only emotional. Besides losing my hair, which was way more traumatic than I ever thought it would be, I have mouth sores, indigestion, extreme heartburn and excess stomach acid, extremely hard bowel movements which result in a very sore bottom, a burning sensation in my hands and feet, and big sheets of skin peeling off of the bottoms of my feet. This is in addition to a strong aversion to food most days and difficulty swallowing and drinking.
All that said, hearing about other people's struggles during treatment and their more extreme reactions, I know I am very fortunate to feel as good and as strong as I do. But if there is someone else who is doing cancer treatment reading my blog, I wanted you to know I am not stronger than you are, or more optimistic. Cancer treatment is bleak. It's lonely. Get and MRI or a Pet Scan and you realize right away, you can bring a loved one with you to the appointment, but you have to leave them in the waiting room and do the test alone. To me those tests were symbolic of the entire treatment. Friends and family do all they can to help, but when it comes down to it you are alone. All you have is your own strength, your own stamina, your own will, and your own faith.
Being in the midst of treatment I don't know all the lessons I still have to learn, but here are some ways I've changed so far. Cancer has made me humble. I realize I am small and weak and insignificant in so many ways. Cancer has opened my eyes to the struggles and sorrows of the world around me. I honestly didn't recognize how many people suffered from illness and poverty and countless other afflictions until I stepped into their company. Now I will never be back where I was before even if I make a complete recovery. Cancer has made me realize how necessary the Savior is in our lives. We can't do it without Him even if we're having such a great life we don't recognize our need. It says in the scriptures that at some point every knee will bend and every tongue confess that Jesus is the Savior, and having cancer has made my knee bend like never before.
I wanted everyone to know I am not special or heroic. I talked to Joetta Stott at church today and heard that her daughter-in-law had a severe reaction to her first chemotherapy infusion and had to be hospitalized. She didn't do anything different than I did, but every person undergoing chemotherapy is at the mercy of the treatment. We just get what we get and try to keep putting one foot in front of the other until the course we've been prescribed is over. I hope that first treatment is the biggest bump in the road for her.
I appreciate the support all of you offer to me, and I am sorry if I am less responsive and creative in expressing my appreciation than I used to be. I don't mean to imply from what I've said above that your help is pointless. I love having a friend at treatment and going to lunch means less time thinking about and preparing food, which is a big help. Dinners and house cleaning takes a burden off me and gives my family a sense of routine and normalcy. Notes of encouragement and comments on my blog help me realize I am not alone and that my friends haven't grown tired of the whole ordeal. Earrings from Bethany are just a very happy and unexpected surprise! Clean and folded laundry several times a week makes living at home like living in a fine hotel! I am very grateful to my personal network of family and friends offering an endless outpouring of support. Although I am alone in treatment, I am not alone in daily life. Please know I acknowledge and appreciate everything each of you do.