In Spite of Hell and High Water

Posted on November 22, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

 

Well it’s been another eventful week here at the old homestead. We’ve had a couple of doctor visits because mom was supposed to get her hip x-rayed after her latest fall to make sure she didn’t have a fracture, and the sewer backed up in the basement.

Thankfully – and yes, I am thankful, when the sewer backed up, the only things that came into the basement was soapsuds (because I was using the washing machine) and musty old leaves. The guy who snaked out the sewer said if it had flooded again, well, there wouldn’t have been any reason to be thankful.

So, yeah, I’m definitely thankful.

I’m also happy that mom’s hip isn’t fractured and she’s on the mend. I think she’s finally learned that she needs to use her walker at all times until she gets her strength back and that she hasn’t lost any independence by using it.

I’m not writing about being thankful because of the holiday coming this week, because I don’t believe in only taking one day aside to acknowledge thanks to God or anyone else. I find this especially true after the year I’ve had. I have found multiple reasons for being thankful and I express it on a daily basis. Sometimes it just pours out of me because I am overwhelmed by the love and support I’ve constantly received even in the midst of death, cancer and my almost constant exhaustion.

This has been a hellish year. I can’t think of a year in my life that was worse. Perhaps that’s because so much has been hoisted on my shoulders. When I was a child and undergoing abuse, I had no responsibilities, except to go to school and behave my teachers. I didn’t have to worry about cooking meals, paying bills or any of the things adults have to concern themselves with on a daily basis. I should also add that some of the particulars of my childhood are a blur, so while I remember what happened to me, some of what I endured exists in fog. While those years were tough, and no doubt, truly the worst of my life – because the scars from that time still affect me – I can honestly say this year has come close to surpassing that time. But I am made of strong stuff. Being an abuse survivor has helped me endure this experience as well, because when you’ve survived something like that and are tested to that degree, you receive a certain confidence or perhaps it’s a belief that you can get through things, no matter what.

Does that mean it’s been easy? No. But it does mean that I had the resolve not to fall apart. I’ve come close to it or at least felt so overwhelmed that it seemed inevitable, but in those moments, my determination or perhaps pure cussedness came to the surface and I got through it somehow.

There were times I truly felt like the personification of the poem, “Invictus,” by William Ernest Henley, but I suspect that every person on a cancer journey feels that same way at times. My mom likes to quote this poem, so it’s something I’ve grown up hearing and repeating.

In case you’re unfamiliar with this poem, here it is:

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

The truth is, I think all of us have unconquerable souls or selves. We are all stronger than we realize and sometimes it takes something like cancer to make us aware of just how powerful we really are. Of course, as you know, I haven’t been alone. There is strength in numbers and my friends continue to bless me with their love and support. So that even in the midst of my father’s death, my mom’s cancer and everything that these events have entailed, I’m OK.

Perhaps in the end, being thankful is a way of being defiant in the face of so much turmoil. It would be so easy to just fall apart, but in the end, I’d have the task of having to get up and get myself back to where I am now, and who has the energy to do that? To be honest, falling apart sounds like a luxury at this point and it isn’t time for such things. So I call doctors, and use a wet vac and do whatever I need to do to keep things going for mom and me.

Life does go on and we all have the choice to let things conquer us or conquer them ourselves. Do I think I’ve beaten mom’s cancer? Of course not, but I’ve beaten the despair that almost destroyed me when she was diagnosed. Do I still have moments of sadness? Of course I do. I’m human, but they pass and the truth is, they always will. Some say happiness is fleeting, well so is grief. It’s all fleeting really. Everything passes sooner or later, so you might as well find whatever joy you can to help yourself get through it.

I want to add a special thank you to everyone who reads this blog whether you leave comments, write me personal messages or not. I appreciate you taking the time to read my words. Please remember to be thankful every day and that means even on the bad days. We are all of us blessed in so many ways and so often, we don’t even realize it. You are blessed with being alive, with your families, friends and loved ones, with whatever gifts you have, with your strength and most of all for being your own unique wonderful selves.

I hope I’m not sounding saccharine or sentimental, because I truly hate that sort of thing. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I definitely have a cynical, sarcastic nature. But if there’s anything I’ve learned from this hellish year, is that I am blessed. I wasn’t aware of it so much before, but I am now. I have been changed, for the better I hope, so yes, I am definitely thankful.

Posted in Abuse, breast cancer, Cancer, Caregiving, Coping, Death, Friends, Mom, Survival | Tagged , , , , | 9 Comments

Navigating Ostriches

Posted on November 15, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

 

It’s been another tough week, which explains why I’m a week late writing this post. First of all, I had some computer problems and those are never fun. Then nurse practitioner at mom’s endocrinologist’s office made me feel like a complete failure because mom’s glucose levels aren’t good. This was all going on while I was suffering from a hormone surge – sorry men – that was so intense I felt like I was on the verge on a nervous breakdown and finally and most importantly, mom not only broke her toe, but has an abscess on it.

So I’m late, but for good reason.

Now thankfully, the computer is working better than before and my hormone levels have stabilized. Sadly though, mom is not doing well. Her toe is great, but she had another fall, and as I said in my previous post, every time she falls it kills me a little bit inside. Mom is OK, except for being sore and feeling like she’s failing, which kills me too, because obviously no one wants to think of their parents as failing or falling for that matter. However in this instance, I don’t think failing had anything to do with her fall, as much as her own stubbornness and continued refusal to accept that she has limitations.

I know it’s tough. I remember when I first heard that I had a chronic illness and would have to learn to live with that limitation. I was only in my twenties, so it was a tough thing to hear and accept. My illness relates to the abuse I endured as a child, so in truth, I had never felt particularly healthy or strong. I remember lying in bed as a child in just awful pain and thinking it was the growing pains my parents and others used to joke about. No one took me seriously when I was hurt or limping around, so for me it just seemed normal to always be in pain, and I wrongfully assumed that everyone around me was in pain to.

So when I found out in my twenties that my pain was not normal and would worsen in time, that was pretty hard to hear.

My mother never took an interest in my condition. I have books about it that she’s never asked to read and often when I would mention something, she barely paid attention to anything I said. I know this, because she often asked me questions that proved that she hadn’t heard me. This of course hurt, but my mom’s indifference to my health issues is nothing new.

Please don’t think badly of her, because mom is kind of an ostrich in the way she deals with things. Her indifference wasn’t because she didn’t loved me, but because it was too much to deal with and like an ostrich, she put her head in the sand and hoped it would go away. This is how she dealt with her breast cancer when she felt the first lump, my dad’s alcoholism – until the night we had to barricade ourselves in my bedroom because he was going to kill us, and my abuse and health issues.

It also means she’s had her head in the sand about her diabetes, which is why she has neuropathy in her feet and keeps falling. The chemo drugs can cause neuropathy or make it worse, so finally this is one time where she can’t pretend it’s not happening.

Just the same, she just asked me for a piece of candy, and no, my head isn’t in the sand, it’s shaking a very definitive “no.”

Though she’s generally a strong lady, she can also be quite fragile when she feels overwhelmed. You see, mom was abused as a child too, so while I don’t excuse her for sometimes being indifferent to me and my problems, I understand it.

Perhaps I can help you to understand it too. You see, there’s a lie many abuse survivors tell themselves. I’ve done it, mom does it and I know many others who have as well. We tell ourselves that we’ve suffered through the worst and that life will be easier from now on.

If only that were true, but sadly, it isn’t.

Just the same in mom’s mind, she was automatically supposed to have a happy marriage, a healthy child and no breast cancer.

I wish it had worked out that way for her.

In addition, my mother has some childish fancies, one being that life is supposed to be fair. So when something unfair happens, she either gets enraged or puts her head in the sand. Now she’s trying to do it about her cancer recovery and it’s not working, not that it ever has before.

She was in the kitchen with her walker and decided to walk to the garbage can without it and fell. She’s been priding herself on taking a few steps without it, and now I see that I can’t applaud her for doing that anymore because I don’t’ want to encourage her and risk more falls.

This occurred on top of dealing with the nurse practitioner from hell and my pc troubles that already made me feel like I was on the verge of cracking up because no matter what I did I was getting error messages. I began to back-up everything in preparation to do a system recovery, when I called my friend Carl and poof everything was fine. And of course this occurred when during the worst hormone surge I’ve ever had in my life.

But as I said earlier, my hormone levels have finally stabilized and my pc is fine. In fact, it’s running like new. Thank you to my dear friends Carol, Diana, Joelyn and of course Carl, for being there for me throughout the week.

You are all blessings and I love you.

Mom is on new meds for her diabetes and her levels are already improving, and I’m adjusting her diet to help that along. Her toe is healing and I’m starting to feel normal again, so things are starting to look up again. So why is it I feel like following in mom’s footsteps and putting my head in the sand?

Perhaps being an ostrich isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Posted in Abuse, breast cancer, Cancer, Caregiving, Coping, Friends, Mom | Tagged , , , , , | 11 Comments

Falling Down and Getting Back Up

Posted on November 3, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

Mom fell the other day and let me tell you, every time it happens, it kills me a little bit. She’s had quite a few falls since having chemotherapy, because the cocktail they gave her can cause neuropathy in your extremities, which may or may not affect everyone who takes it. However, for someone like my mom, who already had issues with peripheral neuropathy, it’s bad; really bad, which means it’s bad for me too.

So please excuse me for not posting my blog on the usual day. My head has not been in a good place. Plus I’ve been trying to get back to doing my job, which means I need to get back to a regular writing and working schedule, which might mean that until I figure something out, my posts won’t be as timely as I want them to be.

By the way, and much more importantly, mom is fine. She has a badly bruised toe, but it’s not broken; just purple.

She fell on Saturday, well to be honest her first fall happened on the Friday before. I remember once in junior high, a teacher asked us which one of our senses would we be willing to do without. I remember selecting “touch,” because by then I’d already survived physical and sexual abuse and was living with chronic pain as a result. So the idea of living without touch sounded glorious.

Now I see the importance of touch, because mom can’t feel her feet. Her Friday fall occurred because she didn’t see a medicine bottle on her bedroom floor and slipped on it. She thought she just kind of slipped down and wasn’t aware of the bottle until I pointed it out to her. It wasn’t a bad fall and she was strong enough that she was able to get up with just a little assistance from me. When she was doing chemo, I had to call 9-1-1 because she was too weak to get up and I couldn’t lift her. So I tried to concentrate on that instead of the fall. Mom is stronger than she was before, and that is something to celebrate. I told mom to do the same, because this is extremely frustrating for her. Mom was always the dynamo who rarely got sick. Mom was the one who completely enclosed the second-story porch of our old house with zero assistance. Growing up, and even throughout most of my adult years, I fully believed she could do anything.

I think she believed it too.

Now those beliefs are fading into disillusion, and I’m fighting it because once you begin a cancer journey, you have to keep fighting forward and beyond every obstacle.

The second fall happened outside of the beauty parlor. My dear friend Sue was in town to help us with a few errands and one of them included mom and I getting our hair done. Such vanities have become important since mom’s hair started to grow back. I guess it made her feel good to have a reason to go and for me, it gave me an excuse to get some much-needed pampering.

I had gotten out of Sue’s van and had placed mom’s walker on the sidewalk. Sue had mom on the other side of the car and walked her over to the curb. This is essentially the same way we’ve helped mom up the stairs since the chemo; one person in front of her with the walker and one person behind, who stands there in case she loses her balance. This highlights just how weak she’s been, and it’s something we’ve done many, many times before with no problems at all. In fact, the Sunday before she’d been able to get up the stairs without any assistance at all and was quite proud of that.

So anyway, Sue got mom on the curb with no problem and mom grabbed the handles of her walker. (I bought her one of those ones that has four wheels, a seat and a basket in front where she can place things.) Then suddenly, she lost her balance and I could see this look of fear on her face. She started backing up, which is what she always does when she loses balance. Seriously, she did it once on an escalator and I had to catch her in midair. Killed my back, but she didn’t get hurt and hell yes, I am that strong.

I have the biceps to prove it.

Just the same those biceps failed me on Saturday.

At first I thought Sue caught mom as she began to walk backwards off the curb. Sue’s pretty strong too, and it seemed that she’d somehow gotten mom propped up on the front of the van, but mom’s face didn’t have a look of relief on it, she suddenly started falling again. Sue and I were able to slow her fall down, so thankfully she didn’t land hard, but just the same she fell.

Thankfully she’s OK, but I can’t shake the feeling that I failed her. I suppose this is a feeling all caregivers have at one time or another. We want to make things better and the truth is that sometimes, despite all of our best efforts, we can’t.

In Native American storytelling the journey is usually more important than the destination, and this is how I view this journey. I have no idea what the destination is, outside of my mom being completely healthy and OK, but the journey there is the thing. Each step we’re taking together has begun with measures of fear and uncertainty, yet somehow we have managed in spite of that.

My cousin Barbara is a nurse, and she said that some of mom’s neuropathy symptoms may improve as the chemo drugs leave her system. It will take months to know for sure, so until then, it’s mom and me, going step-by-step on our cancer journey; sometimes falling down, but always getting back up.

Posted in breast cancer, Cancer, Caregiving, Coping, Friends, Mom | Tagged , , , , , | 10 Comments

My Mother’s Breasts

Posted on October 25, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

Click here to read my tribute to my mom for Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

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The Rude Awakenings of a Chronic Insomniac

Posted on October 19, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

I think one of the more difficult, if not surprising aspects of this journey has been the realization that not everyone you know is going to treat you particularly well. Of all the things I’ve dealt with in the last few months, this has been the one thing that I keep revisiting. I think that’s because it’s so completely unexpected to have certain people in my life, who know what mom and I have been going through, choose to either gossip about us or say some pretty rude things directly to our faces.

Really, it’s not that I think we’re special or deserve special treatment, because obviously I am not the only caregiver in the world, just as my mom is not the only cancer patient. Just the same, if there was ever a time we needed a soft place to land, this is definitely it.

There was the friend who was nasty to me the night before my mom’s first chemo treatment, and then subsequently blocked me from all her social media sites to punish me when I told her she was being a lousy friend. And there was also the friend who likes to make everything a contest – including health related issues – who said to me, “Aren’t you glad you mom didn’t get a skin infection like I did,” as if that in any compares to anything that mom has gone through.

Those are just two examples, and by no means the only ones.

But there is one that I have to share and address because I want you to see how low some people in my life have been willing to go:

One of my friends told me that someone associated with me was wondering if I had gotten close to my dad to get his money. I have to add that the person who told me this has since said they forgot they forgot the particulars of this situation. But it really doesn’t matter, because the damage has already been done.

So consider the next few paragraphs as damage control.

First of all, I visited my dad in the nursing home on a regular basis until my mom became ill and required my full-time care. I did my best to visit him after that, but there were times when I had to trust that the nursing home staff was taking good care of him, and focus exclusively on caring for my mom. I had no one else helping me with her, and she didn’t want anyone else, so I had no other choice.

Second, what money? Even if I was low enough to try to get close to my dad in order to manipulate him into giving me something, there was nothing to give. When my mother and I were forced to put him in the nursing home because he’d become a fall risk and the apartment he was living in refused to let him stay, we had to sign all of his money over to the state, because we couldn’t afford his nursing home care. So whatever he had at that point was gone. There was no will. There was nothing.

What has been said about me is almost laughable, but I’m not laughing. Those words and the judgment behind them have stung me to the core. Obviously, this person has a pretty low opinion of me, and clearly they don’t know me in any real sense. More importantly, unless they grew up with me and was there to watch and see everything I experienced, then there is no possible way that they could begin to understand the complexities of the relationship I had with my father. It was a complex relationship and there were times when the safest choice I could make was not to be around him.

I loved him and sometimes I feared him. It was, what it was and I have nothing to feel guilty about. My father left a mark on my life, and because of that it ruined any chance of us ever having a normal father/daughter relationship. He never got upset with me when I kept my distance and I never felt guilty about it.

After my dad had the stroke that would eventually kill him, I visited him at the hospital as much as I could. My mother wasn’t able to go because she was too weak from her chemo treatments and was she still very susceptible to getting an infection. I had to be completely gowned and gloved to see him, but I was there. But I had always been the one who was there for him throughout the years. When I was a kid there were times when my dad got drunk and he’d cry his heart out. My mother would be fussing at him and he would just sit there crying like a little boy. I was only a child at the time myself, but just the same I’d wet a washcloth and wipe away his tears. I’d say, “Don’t cry daddy,” and he’d hug me. I can’t tell you how many times this happened, because this scenario played itself out a few times over the years. Nevertheless, my kindness never caused my father’s abuse to end, but just the same I was the one who was there to wipe away his tears when he needed me to be. I don’t know why. I’m no martyr. I guess it just felt like the right thing to do.

Just the same, my father always remembered how I had tried to comfort him. Even years later when most of his memories had faded, he always remembered how I used to wipe away his tears. So there I was in the hospital, and I was the one offering him comfort just as I had so many years before. My father knew I was there that day, and he knew I was there with him on the day he died. I’m the last person who ever told him that he was loved, and I’m the person who told him that it was OK to go to sleep and that I’d be there to take care of mom.

He heard me and breathed his last breath just a few hours after I said that to him.

So for someone to try to intrude on my lasts days I had with my father disgusts me. I’m not too happy with the person who told me about this, but I’m glad they told me, just the same. I always like to know where I stand with people, so in essence they were doing me a favor. Because now I know I have another cancer in my life that needs to be removed.

This is going to be a tough one to let go, but I eventually will.

Now clearly I am not the only person who has gone through something like this as part of their cancer journey. I’m sure my followers who are going through their own cancer journeys could add their own stories about similar experiences. In fact, please do.

My writing colleague and friend, Linda Wastila wrote an amazing story about another kind of betrayal that can take place as part of cancer recovery in her story, “The Comfort of Friends,” which I hope you will read.

The bottom line to all this; cancer is the ultimate dividing line. You will either see the best from the people around you, or you will see the worst. I’ve had some pleasant as well as negative surprises in the past year. I will be fine. In fact I am fine, just the same this has been a rude awakening.

So if anyone is out there listening, I’m awake. Now if only I could get some sleep.

Posted in Abuse, breast cancer, Cancer, Caregiving, Coping, Death, Friends | Tagged , , , , | 11 Comments

Breast Cancer Awareness Month Guest Blog Posts

Posted on October 11, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

Recently I’ve had the honor of being asked to write some blog posts for Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Even though I have these posted on my “Other Writings,” I wanted to give these special attention just because it is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

The first post is on the Boobie Wednesday site which I became aware of on Twitter. The ladies that host this website don’t just support breast cancer awareness during one month of the year, but throughout the year. Each Wednesday this month, they are featuring a guest blog about breast cancer awareness.

To Be Boobless or Not To Be Boobless, That is the Question (Breast Reconstruction or Not, It’s Up to You)

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The Pirate Bounty might seem like an unusual place to write a blog post about Breast Cancer Awareness, but even pirates and their ladies need to know about this issue. The site owner is a really great guy and he asked me to write this post and I’m very proud of what I wrote.

Show You Care By Becoming Aware

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I hope you enjoy these blog posts, and please whether you’re male or female, take the time to educate yourself about breast cancer.

 

Posted in breast cancer, Cancer, Caregiving, Depression, Friends, Survival | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

The Captain Kirk or Mr. Spock Aspects of Caregiving

Posted on October 5, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

Cancer…hopefully not the Final Frontier. These are the continuing voyages of a Cancer Caregiver. Her ongoing missions of caring for a cancer patient through painful and frightening treatments, to seek out hope when hope seems futile, to boldly push herself in ways she’s never pushed herself before.

Throughout so much of this ordeal, I have waged a constant war with myself to remain proactive vs. reactive. Sometimes I win and sometimes I lose. Since this war will be ongoing, this is a struggle that I, like many cancer caregivers and those who have received a cancer diagnosis, must face.

Certainly, when I first heard the word “cancer” in relation to my mom, my reaction was definitely reactive. At that point, there really was no other reaction possible. I was in shock, and so was she. Mom and I started crying in the doctor’s office and we’re not usually criers, but cancer has a way of stripping you down to your barest emotions.

I can think of no time in my life that felt worse than those first moments or the days that can afterwards. Mom and I were open, raw wounds and the only thing that helped was the comfort from friends, the reassuring words of the medical staff and God’s good grace.

Foolishly I thought when we got through that tough time that things would start getting better, because that’s how people think. We want an escape hatch. We want to believe that beneath every hardship there is a blessing just waiting to be realized. Sometimes that is true, but other times it’s not. Cancer is a cruel taskmaster and it will overtake every aspect of your life, if you let.

That’s where being proactive comes in.

Now naturally there have definitely been tears and moments of fear ever since those first horrible days, but somewhere during the course of all this, I realized that I couldn’t allow myself to remain in that raw, wounded place. I knew there was no way that I could expect to get through the months of uncertainty, fear, surgeries and treatment; meaning I would be completely useless to mom, if I didn’t find some way to be proactive.

I guess this begs the question; but what does proactive mean, or better, what does being proactive mean to me?

Well, I think being proactive means that instead of just reacting emotionally to a situation, that you find some way of reacting logically to a situation. It’s the difference between being Captain Kirk or Mr. Spock. Both have their purpose, as well as their strengths and weaknesses, but sometimes it’s better to lean on the side of Mr. Spock.

I never saw Mr. Spock as only cold and indifferent as much as being contained and controlled. Am I like this all the time? Of course not. When I’m talking with friends who allow me to vent or I’m alone in my room, I sometimes turn into Captain Kirk and allow myself to let my emotions rule me for a bit. However when I’m in the hospital talking to a doctor or nurse, or taking care of mom, I’m definitely Mr. Spock.

It’s about checks and balances really. When Captain Kirk was going off the deep end, there was Mr. Spock to bring him back to earth, or whatever planet they were on, and when Mr. Spock needed to be reminded that he was half-human, there was Captain Kirk with a ready smirk.

Obviously this is a simplified way of looking at either of them, but since sometimes Kirk was called on to be logical about things and sometimes Spock forgot himself and allowed his human side to take over. But this works for me, which is really what this is all about, because it’s about doing whatever I need to do to remain sane.

It would be so very easy to lose it right now since the amount of stress involved in going through this process as either patient or caregiver can be beyond overwhelming. There are ways through it and this is mine. It works for me, but it may not work for anyone else because there is no right way and there is no wrong way. For me, there is Captive Kirk sometimes going off the deep-end, but always finding his way back to save the day, Mr. Spock remaining steadfastly logical even if everything is crashing down around him, and a frightening journey into unknown regions, experiences and triumphs.

Posted in Cancer, Caregiving, Coping, Friends | Tagged , , , , , | 10 Comments

In the Land of Zombies and Sleepwalkers

Posted on September 30, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

So it’s been a few weeks since mom’s last radiation treatment and my dad’s death, and I can honestly say I feel like I’ve been run over by several buses and stomped on by an elephant. I think the tiredness and stress of everything we’ve endured finally hit me. I’d been walking around like a zombie for the longest time and in some ways, I still am. So much of my life has been about doing what’s needs to be done to help mom, even to the point of sometimes ignoring my own needs. Now suddenly there is nothing before us but a doctor’s appointment here and there, periodical testing and the future.

For me, it feels like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and I guess that makes sense because after so many months of endless fear and stress you kind of get to a place where that becomes normal. You adjust to things that none of us should have to adjust to, and that is part of being a strong, resilient person.

Now suddenly, you have to learn to let that go, and it’s not as easy as it sounds. Let’s face it, other people have been told their non-terminal and somehow the cancer that the doctors said was gone comes back. I don’t know the statistics, and perhaps I should take the time to find them, but my point is, that I’m existing in an apprehensive place. No, that doesn’t mean I’m full of anxiety or constantly looking for boogiemen around every corner, but I’m definitely going through my own sort of recovery. I want to believe what the doctor’s say so that mom and I can let go and move on, but I also want to be aware of certain awful possibilities. In addition, I’m still not able to sleep, but I have begun to do something on most days that had been helpful. Yes, I’ve started taking naps.

And I have to add that naps are a blessing.

No big deal I know, but really, right now for me it is, because for months now I’ve been subsisting on five hours of sleep a day. I have no idea how I’ve been functioning like this, but somehow I have. Certainly it is part of the reason why I feel like a zombie, except I’m not stumbling around looking for brains to feast on. The truth is, I’m not sure what I’m stumbling around looking for; certainly my mother’s continued recovery is on the list, but I know there’s something else.

I guess I’ll figure it out as I go, but for now, I’ll just think of myself as a zombie who feels apprehensive about the future, but will settle for a nap and some wine ice cream.

Image by Jeremy Enecio

Posted in Cancer, Caregiving, Death | Tagged , , , , | 6 Comments

Depression Happens

Posted on September 20, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

Whether any of us want to deal with or not, depression is part of this experience. I don’t mean chronic debilitating depression that can occur with or without a life-changing event because it results from a chemical imbalance. No, what I’m describing is that certain sadness that lingers and can overcome you because you’re mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted.

This type of depression begins as soon as either you or a loved one receives a cancer diagnosis, and it rises and rushes in like a tide or subsides and then flows back until it comes back to smack you full force just when you think things have settled down.

At least that’s been my experience.

I’ve been running on fumes for months and amazing pretty much everyone in my life as well as myself. If it wasn’t for adrenaline I would have collapsed into a heap of nothingness ages ago. But now that mom has gone through the horrors of chemotherapy and radiation treatments and we are finally able to just be at home and relax, we’re both kind of down. I’m sure exhaustion is part of it. How could it not be? We’ve been physically and emotionally taxed for months with little letup, so sooner or later we had to hit a wall. And now it’s here.

Thankfully I have some experience with depression. Odd statement I know, but one of the things I’ve learned to help me get through it is to remember to do something outside of my normal activities. When you’re depressed it’s like being caught in a rut. If you do the same thing every single day and if you feel depressed while doing it, there is no way to be anything but depressed.

I hope that makes sense.

There are other reasons to feel down or let down during this whole experience. For instance, there are those friends who are going to let  you down, and I don’t mean those times when they can’t be available to be there for you, because that’s expected, we all lead busy lives. I mean those friends who either desert you or refuse to show you one bit of compassion. It’s really easy to just plain lose it emotionally and if the people in your life aren’t going to be understanding of that and refuse to see that you just aren’t being yourself right now, then that’s a problem. I have a couple like that in my life right now. I won’t go into details because I don’t want to keep giving these situations power, but there have been levels of selfishness, pettiness and downright controlling behavior that has made me see the  need to consider who my friends are and who is best for me to spend my energies on right now.

Let’s face it, my energies are being stretched to the limit right now, so to have someone in my life who makes me feel like I must walk on eggs to please them, or who is coldhearted and lacking of understanding of any life crises except their own, then I am probably better off without them.

Just the same, these types of people can play major roles in fueling depression in an already exhausted mind. Of course some will instantly chime in with, “but only if you let them,” and this is true, but statements like that lack the understanding of how it is when someone is emotionally and physically spent. Those protective walls that we all build around ourselves throughout the course of our lives have been pummeled and they have been weakened. So it’s easy to be vulnerable right now. In fact I can say with assuredness that you will be vulnerable right now. You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t, because facing this level illness along with your own mortality or the mortality of a loved one will hit you in a way that nothing else ever has or will again.

In other words, cancer will KO you to the very core of your being.

Then there’s that other thing about depression being the other side of anger. I think there is definitely something to that because you, me, all of us have the right to be angry right now. For some reason a cell in your or your loved one’s body became abnormal and other cells followed suit and before long whatever form of cancer occurred and here you are, suddenly forced to deal with all this with little more than your own inner reserves to get you through. Then you get to endure or watch someone you love endure surgeries and cancer treatments with all the pain, side effects and everything else. So yeah, we all have many reasons to be angry. And of course there are various forms of anger. Some might be more verbal while others quietly seethe, but either way on the other side of it is depression quietly waiting to take over.

So, if you can’t already tell I’m struggling a bit right now. I’m trying to take my own advice and break out of the rut I’ve been in lately. I’m writing this blog post, which always helps and I’m trying to get back into the swing of things on my job. Being productive has always helped me. Of course nothing is better than a friend who calls you up out of the blue and invites you to go get ice cream. That happened to me during the course of writing this tonight.

Oh and we had wine ice cream. Chocolate cabernet to be exact and it was heavenly.

That definitely made me feel better, but it didn’t completely remove my depression. Time is the only thing to take care of that. There is the time needed to heal from all the things I’ve been through lately, and time to celebrate all the large and small milestones my mother continues to make as she recovers, as well the time needed to learn how to relax again and stop being as afraid as I’ve been since this whole thing began.

Yes, time will help, as will learning how to manage my emotions and deciding which of my friends are really my friends, but chocolate cabernet ice cream will definitely suffice for now. Yum.

Posted in Cancer, Caregiving, Depression, Friends | Tagged , , | 11 Comments

Finding Laughter in Dark Places

Posted on September 9, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

(Here’s the blog post I was working on last week when I realized that I needed to write something about mom’s last day of cancer treatment.)

One of the main saving graces of this experience has been that I never lost the ability to laugh. Now of course, when mom and I first began this journey there was no humor or laughter. There was nothing but shock and sadness. I can’t even begin to describe what it felt like. We walked around like zombies for weeks as we were shuttled from doctor-to-doctor, test-to-test and the cold hard reality that yes, it was cancer began to sink in.

Like all patients and caregivers, we didn’t have a clue about what to expect about anything as words like bilateral mastectomy, bilateral lymphadenectomy, chemotherapy and radiation were hurled at us like dodge balls. But we couldn’t dodge these balls and instead we were forced to catch each one and hold on it until a medical professional took it away from us. The main difference is that none of these medical professionals was out to get us. It wasn’t like those days in gym class when those on the opposing team would hurl a dodge ball at you with everything they had in hopes of not only hitting you, but hurting you. No, the slams these balls made hurt without any effort from anyone, even when they tried to lessen the blow.

That’s just how it is when you’re dealing with cancer.

That said I would have been completely conquered if I’d allowed myself to stay in that down miserable place. What’s worse is my mother would have been conquered too, because she was relying on me to help her and be strong for her. I expressed my overwhelming sorrow in my short story “The Lie,” and for a while there all of my fiction was about how devastated I felt, but the time came when I realized that not only were my readers probably getting tired of all my tragedy, but so was I.

I’ve never been one who had a high tolerance for people who seemed caught in the tragedy or bragged about every tragedy of their lives. Perhaps it’s because I’ve had a tough life or perhaps it’s because these folks are often obnoxious. Either way, I don’t want anything to do with them.

When I used the services at the local Rape Crisis Center some years ago, the group I was in called people like that “professional victims.” Now perhaps that isn’t exactly an original label, but at the time, it was for me because I had known people like that my whole life.

Please don’t get me wrong. I am not a hard-hearted person by any means. I have sympathy for those going through tragedies or life crises. For me, the term “professional victim,” is reserved for that select group of folks who for whatever reason choose to stay in that place. True, there are victims—I have been one myself at various stages of my life—but there are those who choose to keep that mantle of victimhood on themselves and never move on no matter how much help is offered to them.

I used to know a woman who could turn any situation into a tragedy and herself into a poor victim of such. You could literally say (I know this because this actually happened) that it was a lovely sunny day, and she would say that the sun burned her eyes. People like this are vampiric in nature. Their constant need and neediness to stay in a place of victimhood will wear you down until you either choose to leave them alone—as I did or allow them to suck the life out of you. Granted this woman had suffered real tragedy in her life, but—and a big butt coming here—the difference between the two of us is that I chose to do the work of moving forward, while she didn’t. I can’t imagine how I would have survived my life as a survivor of abuse, let alone taking care of my mom now if I hadn’t.

I suppose you’re wondering when I’m going to stop talking about tragedies and victims and move on to the laughter. Well, here goes.

It was during one of the many days of pre-surgical testing when we were preparing for mom’s double mastectomy and we were all scared and didn’t know how to process our feelings. Mom had joked in the past about wanting her breasts gone, but this was different. She hadn’t wished cancer on herself; she was just tired of having big, saggy breasts. My friend Sue had come with us to one of my mom’s pre-op tests. The surgeon was marking the areas on mom’s breasts where the lumps had been found when Sue suddenly said the following; “Hey doc, it looks like she has the furniture disease, her chest has dropped down into her drawers.”

Corny joke yes, but it was the first laugh we’d had in a long time and it felt good to be able to do it. We have since told that joke and have received mixed responses from broad laughs to uncomfortable silences. In other words, there are those who laugh with us, those who remain silent and those who tell us that it’s just gallows humor. The third group is the worst of the bunch since they would rather dissect the situation than allow us to find whatever joy we can to get through it. Clearly, my favorite group is the first one, because really this is our experience to get through whatever way we can. I don’t believe its gallows humor at all, but just the pure joy of being goofy, along with the gift of being able to find humor in odd places.

The other time we had a big laugh was when we were bringing mom home after her mastectomy. She stood next to me as I helped her put her coat on and I suddenly noticed that her posture had improved without her breasts. We laughed then too and we’ve laughed many times since. I think the ability to laugh has helped us remain emotionally healthy not to mention that it has helped to lighten the mood at times. I should note that I’m not talking about laugher through tears, which has always sounded fake to me. What I’m talking about is laughter in its purest most wonderful form.

Now obviously, there are moments when we don’t feel like laughing because dealing with cancer and undergoing cancer treatment are scary things, but mom and I have given ourselves permission to laugh. We laugh about how mom and some of the other women we’ve met love being boob-less after mastectomy or about how the doctor’s never warned them that when they said their hair was going to fall out that it included their pubic hair as well. There are jokes about women spending exorbitant fees to have their pubic hair removed, jokes about the day they realized it had either fallen out or grown back in and so it goes.

I could say something about what happened to mom in this instance, but I would be killed.

I’m not writing this to insist that my way of getting through cancer treatment and cancer caregiving is the only one that works. Each of us has to find what works best in our given situations and with the people who fill our lives. For mom and me, humor worked, because if we had allowed ourselves to remain cloaked in tragedy it would have made everything worse. Mom’s chemo treatments were bad enough without the jokes about exploding diarrhea or baldness. They would have been that much worse if we hadn’t found some way to lighten the mood. It may be different for you. Just the same, remember that it’s OK to laugh sometimes. It can lift your spirits and the spirits of those around you, and it can help you heal. After all, doctors have found that a person’s disposition can affect how they get through cancer treatment and recovery. In other words, laughter is beneficial for you. So, if you can, try to find some way to embrace it, even as you deal with some pretty awful symptoms and overwhelming fears. Don’t allow others to stifle it or treat you as if you somehow needed their permission for your lightheartedness. As we all know, there are dark days in this journey, but for me, the key is remembering that I don’t have to focus all of my energies on them. I can chose to find light in darkness. I can choose to laugh and my mother can chose to laugh, and it’s OK. It’s like we’re both thumbing our noses at cancer and letting it know that while it has taken some things, it hasn’t taken everything and we get remain as always have been, our loveable goofy selves.

Posted in Abuse, Cancer, Caregiving, laughter, Survival | Tagged , , | 10 Comments