One of My More Depressing Posts, but with a Happyish Ending

Well, last week I had a lot to blog about. I kept composing this post in my head (and it was pretty funny stuff, too, including a Brian Regan video about getting a new pain and just having to live with it the rest of your life). The title might have been something like "So this is my life now?" Topics would have included flesh tenderness, heart burn, reflux, my face accumulating  spots faster than driveway cement in an April rain shower, little crystalline bumps cropping up all over my bald scalp, excretory issues many and varied, and most devastatingly, taste buds on the fritz leading to the loss of solace in chocolate.

But then Val died. I couldn't bring myself to complain. Even through humor.

A late night conversation with my dear friend Suzie also gave me to know that I carry a lot of guilt with me through this ordeal. Guilt because my prognosis is so positive. Guilt because my lymph system is cancer free. Guilt because I'm a pretty okay looking bald person. Guilt because so many people have done so much for me. Guilt because I'm so frequently being told what an inspiration I am. Guilt because I have virtually no patience with my children. Guilt because every time I turn around someone has reached out in some new spectacular way. I don't feel deserving of it. How does a stage 1 lucky Her-2 cancer diagnosis qualify me for such an outpouring? And then I feel guilty for feeling guilty! Psalm 42:11 has been a mantra rolling over in my brain: "A downcast spirit is a poor witness for hope." 

I let out an ugly hiccup because of reflux and someone says, so get some Tums! I tell the doctor about trouble with constipation and he strongly recommends Senecot S over the counter. And for the flesh tenderness he says to front load with by-the-clock doses of Aleve or Ibuprofen. But I don't bother to pick up these things. I choose not to medicate in part because I'm not much into medicating, and maybe in some small way because I don't feel I deserve to. And, after all, these symptoms aren't so bad for someone who has cancer!

When I think of Shannon completely unable to get up during her initial treatments, when I think of Cami dealing with the effects of a tumor induced stroke, when I think of Cindy whose battle seems to go on and on and on, when I think of Julie braving the fight through homeopathy, I think, what's a little constipation? What's a little reflux? SHOULDN'T I SUFFER? As if, somehow it would be unfair for me to medicate away all my symptoms when others are unable to do so . . . and when Val is no longer here to commiserate with about symptoms great or small.

Well, Suzie was a good counselor to me that night. Through her I came to understand that comparing oneself to others in matters of cancer is no different than comparing oneself to others in matters of beauty or righteousness or talent or fortune. This kind of guilt is not helpful, only hurtful to my overall health. My wise friend stopped by the next day with a beautiful spring bouquet and of course Tums and Senecot S to boot. Thank you so much, Suzie!

Well, there's a chicken-and-the-egg phenomenon going on here. I'm not sure if this guilt is causing depression, or if I am depressed and therefore manifesting feelings of guilt and unworthiness. But whatever the case, I am certain there is physiology as well as psychology at play. So I have finally opened myself up to the idea of an antidepressant--something I have pooh-poohed for many years. In the video below, which I took yesterday during my last Adriamycin/Cytoxin chemo, I tell a bit about that decision, and you'll see a good example of what it's like when I'm feeling depressed. Just keeping it real, as they say!

 

But things got better yesterday, as they always do when I learn the stories of those helping me.

Marty who is tired of the ER

This is Marty, an emergency room nurse, who is thinking about switching over to the cancer center. He was shadowing Rachel, the supervisor of the infusion room, who happened to be administering my meds. He added interest to the routine. He says the pace of the ER is a bit frenetic for him after 25 years, and he's ready to make a move, so he's checking out other departments. I assured him cancer patients aren't the least bit frenetic. Remember when I took that tour of Enloe's infusion room and I was all gung-ho about cheering it up and not looking sick and morose? So much for that. I didn't know squat.

But here is a bit of news that is not morose . . . it's actually sort of exciting: Dr. Mazj and some of his staff apparently read my blog, and they have glommed on to the nick name "The Wizard of Mazj." So much so, that for his birthday party, they did a whole themed dealio where the cookies were shaped like witches and ruby slippers, a yellow brick road was laid, and staff members dressed as the tin man, Dorothy, a witch and so on! When I walked in for my appointment, they told me all about it, and said it was inspired by me. Here are a few of the decorations that were still around when I was there yesterday.

Fun!

The Yellow Brick Road to the Wizard of Mazj's office

Let's see, depression, Marty, Wizard of Mazj party. 

No witty or fitting way to conclude this post is coming to mind, 

so I guess I'll just sign off. Thanks for reading.