The Load Out -Stay- Jackson Browne
Don't you love it when you go to a great concert and the band or performer keeps the energy flowing after the last set with just one or two more songs. When you thought it was all over it really wasn't. It seems that my blogging activity is not really over. This story has an encore. The songs just won't stop coming and the words just build up in my head. Rather than continue the cancer blog I will be moving on to yet another with a more open theme. Basically, no theme at all. It's just going to go where my mind takes me.
Feel free to join me - on yet another journey. I'd love to have you come along. Invite your friends or if you really think the whole thing is more painful than enjoyable, invite your enemies.
Shuffle All - Random thoughts in music
Sharing my journey
A journey through breast cancer treatment - staying positive.
Sunday, 14 June 2015
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
The time is gone, the song is over
Time - Pink Floyd
There comes a time when everything must come to an end; when we must move on to a new phase and take what our experiences and make them part of ourselves and our past. It is now time for me to bring to an end this blog and this journey.
Going through a health or life experience changes us; adds to our character and history. It makes us more of what we are. It does not however, define us. It only becomes one part of our larger being. With every life experience there comes a time when that chapter of our life ends or diminishes in focus. I look back on the many experiences I've gone through and remember that at the time I was going through it, it became my focus and in some way defined me at that time but eventually only added to my story, my resume, my life journey.
When going through a cancer journey you must release control. No one chooses to have cancer. It is thrown upon you. You have to let go of responsibilities to allow your energy to flow to healing and strength. You have to allow yourself to be vulnerable; let others take charge and care for you. You will need others to help you through the fight. To do that you have accept the journey that you are on and fully immense yourself in the experience. Let's face it - you can't get on an airplane and pretend you are still at home. You have to step into the reality and let the pilot, stewards, ground crew and air traffic controller get you to where you are going. You have to accept any possible annoying habits of all those others in the plane with you. Putting up a fight or walls just sets the ground for the start of a tougher trip; no support from your fellow passengers and at worst, grounded in another airport. You have to step on the plane, sit back and find comfort in your seat, positive energy from the people sitting around you and trust that the people in control have valued experience and knowledge to get you there.
The nurses, doctors, friends, family, organizations, volunteers are all there for you. Your job is to let them in and allow them to give their strength and power to the fight. Yes, even the chemo drugs are there fighting for you. They are all part of the team carrying you through. You have to give each of them permission to take the lead and trust their knowledge and expertise. Live and love the pain, discomfort and side effects. You are no longer fully in control. You have to release your grip on that control and surrender to their love and care. It's scary at times but also very freeing in particular when you are used to running your own show.
You have to allow those you love to learn from these experiences as well. You can't protect them from it. Yes, children, no matter how young, will be affected by this. We can't fully shield them from it and pretend it didn't happen. It becomes part of their life experience as well.
The journey itself is life and my cancer experience was only one portion of that - a little side trip. I will take that experience forward and the lessons learned to the rest of my life journey. I will continue to go in for check ups, and tests. I will carry the scars. I've won my badges. But the cancer period is over - I'm done with of letting others take control. I'm ready to once again take my strength and power to help others in their life journey. I'm ready to take control again. I am proud of the person I have become and what I've learned through the past 18 months. I fought cancer but my focus of the time is not on that, rather what I gained in that same time period. I gained a better understanding of balance and priority, more time with my kids (a gift). I organized, sorted and purged throughout my house, learned basic Spanish and the art of stained glass, spent hours hiking many of the trails in my city, learned a new sport (dragon boating), wrote a blog, volunteered, mastered the art of spontaneous napping, and spent valuable time with family and new and old friends. It was a great year and a half.
The tense has changed. I am no longer going through cancer treatment, rather I went through cancer treatment. I am no longer experiencing but have experienced. It feels good - like coming home.
As I end my journey, I give thanks to so many - too many to name. To my doctors who became my guides; the nurses who became my hosts; and to you who became my travel companions, my strength, my sturdy walking shoes. Thank you for sharing the journey with me.
It's time to unpack the bags and put the camera away; put the photos in a scrapbook for a glimpse now and then; start a new journal. Time goes on. The next chapter has begun. I hope you all have enjoyed the journey, learned a bit in the process and had a laugh or two. Remember, someday we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny. (Rosilita - Bruce Springsteen)
There comes a time when everything must come to an end; when we must move on to a new phase and take what our experiences and make them part of ourselves and our past. It is now time for me to bring to an end this blog and this journey.
Going through a health or life experience changes us; adds to our character and history. It makes us more of what we are. It does not however, define us. It only becomes one part of our larger being. With every life experience there comes a time when that chapter of our life ends or diminishes in focus. I look back on the many experiences I've gone through and remember that at the time I was going through it, it became my focus and in some way defined me at that time but eventually only added to my story, my resume, my life journey.
When going through a cancer journey you must release control. No one chooses to have cancer. It is thrown upon you. You have to let go of responsibilities to allow your energy to flow to healing and strength. You have to allow yourself to be vulnerable; let others take charge and care for you. You will need others to help you through the fight. To do that you have accept the journey that you are on and fully immense yourself in the experience. Let's face it - you can't get on an airplane and pretend you are still at home. You have to step into the reality and let the pilot, stewards, ground crew and air traffic controller get you to where you are going. You have to accept any possible annoying habits of all those others in the plane with you. Putting up a fight or walls just sets the ground for the start of a tougher trip; no support from your fellow passengers and at worst, grounded in another airport. You have to step on the plane, sit back and find comfort in your seat, positive energy from the people sitting around you and trust that the people in control have valued experience and knowledge to get you there.
The nurses, doctors, friends, family, organizations, volunteers are all there for you. Your job is to let them in and allow them to give their strength and power to the fight. Yes, even the chemo drugs are there fighting for you. They are all part of the team carrying you through. You have to give each of them permission to take the lead and trust their knowledge and expertise. Live and love the pain, discomfort and side effects. You are no longer fully in control. You have to release your grip on that control and surrender to their love and care. It's scary at times but also very freeing in particular when you are used to running your own show.
You have to allow those you love to learn from these experiences as well. You can't protect them from it. Yes, children, no matter how young, will be affected by this. We can't fully shield them from it and pretend it didn't happen. It becomes part of their life experience as well.
The journey itself is life and my cancer experience was only one portion of that - a little side trip. I will take that experience forward and the lessons learned to the rest of my life journey. I will continue to go in for check ups, and tests. I will carry the scars. I've won my badges. But the cancer period is over - I'm done with of letting others take control. I'm ready to once again take my strength and power to help others in their life journey. I'm ready to take control again. I am proud of the person I have become and what I've learned through the past 18 months. I fought cancer but my focus of the time is not on that, rather what I gained in that same time period. I gained a better understanding of balance and priority, more time with my kids (a gift). I organized, sorted and purged throughout my house, learned basic Spanish and the art of stained glass, spent hours hiking many of the trails in my city, learned a new sport (dragon boating), wrote a blog, volunteered, mastered the art of spontaneous napping, and spent valuable time with family and new and old friends. It was a great year and a half.
The tense has changed. I am no longer going through cancer treatment, rather I went through cancer treatment. I am no longer experiencing but have experienced. It feels good - like coming home.
As I end my journey, I give thanks to so many - too many to name. To my doctors who became my guides; the nurses who became my hosts; and to you who became my travel companions, my strength, my sturdy walking shoes. Thank you for sharing the journey with me.
It's time to unpack the bags and put the camera away; put the photos in a scrapbook for a glimpse now and then; start a new journal. Time goes on. The next chapter has begun. I hope you all have enjoyed the journey, learned a bit in the process and had a laugh or two. Remember, someday we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny. (Rosilita - Bruce Springsteen)
Thursday, 16 April 2015
I'm special, so special, I've gotta have some of your attention. Give it to me.
Got Brass in Pocket - The Pretenders
There have been many specialists helping me through my journey. It's pretty easy to logically name those that you might expect to be involved but as you continue through treatment, there's always something that gets thrown out of whack requiring some specialist care. In general, the list looks something like this in roughly this order:
Chemotherapy treatment reeks havoc with your body and God knows all that's happening in your body with those chemical cocktails that you receive. And just how long does it remain in your system? Some of the drugs can affect your nails and nail growth. I was fortunate not to have my nails turn black as can be a side effect of one my particular drugs. However, now my nails are brittle and slow to grow. The odd pattern of their growth results in infections in my toes and my body heals slowly from infection so I'm now on my second round of antibiotics and have had half my toe nails cut out. There are no pedicures in my near future!
I am very fortunate to live in a country and a community where all these specialists are available. All have them have been excellent in providing me with personalized care and compassion. They also provide me with important reminders to slow down and let my body recover as it is important to allow the treatment that are providing to be most effective. So when I told the podiatrist that I was going to ask him a stupid question, he already had the answer ready before the question was posed and I will heed his response - NO. Which translated means - 'no, I should not try to get back into running or even think about kicking a soccer ball'. Seems logical but sometimes you need to knock these things into me before they really sink in but I can't blame that on the chemo,
There have been many specialists helping me through my journey. It's pretty easy to logically name those that you might expect to be involved but as you continue through treatment, there's always something that gets thrown out of whack requiring some specialist care. In general, the list looks something like this in roughly this order:
- GP - Family Specialist
- surgeon
- medical oncologist
- radiation oncologist
- oncology pharmacist
- general pharmacist
- physiotherapist
- massage therapist
Chemotherapy treatment reeks havoc with your body and God knows all that's happening in your body with those chemical cocktails that you receive. And just how long does it remain in your system? Some of the drugs can affect your nails and nail growth. I was fortunate not to have my nails turn black as can be a side effect of one my particular drugs. However, now my nails are brittle and slow to grow. The odd pattern of their growth results in infections in my toes and my body heals slowly from infection so I'm now on my second round of antibiotics and have had half my toe nails cut out. There are no pedicures in my near future!
I am very fortunate to live in a country and a community where all these specialists are available. All have them have been excellent in providing me with personalized care and compassion. They also provide me with important reminders to slow down and let my body recover as it is important to allow the treatment that are providing to be most effective. So when I told the podiatrist that I was going to ask him a stupid question, he already had the answer ready before the question was posed and I will heed his response - NO. Which translated means - 'no, I should not try to get back into running or even think about kicking a soccer ball'. Seems logical but sometimes you need to knock these things into me before they really sink in but I can't blame that on the chemo,
Thursday, 26 March 2015
Head and shoulders, knees and toes
Head and Shoulders, knees and toes - Unknown
It started with my head. When I had my mastectomy I took the opportunity when under the knife to have another bump removed. It was a sebaceous cyst on the crown of my head. My hair covered it but required a lot of explanation to hair stylists. It was actually painful at times and always required it's own dose of sunscreen. I had it for over 10 years and frankly was tired of it. But it wouldn't leave without a fight. After the surgery, the wound split open. I spent 6 weeks going for biweekly care at the ambulatory clinic. I was happy when it was finally healed and I could shower letting the water flow freely over my head.
By the time the head healed I was well into my radiation therapy. All went well there but just after it finished a wound opened up on my chest along my surgery incision line. A bit of a stretch but this is the shoulder section of the song. Again, back to the ambulatory clinic for biweekly care. That lasted 3 months. I joked at the time that I wondered where the wound would move to next imagining a large, open wound on my thigh.
Not two weeks after my sign off with the clinic, my right big toe started acting up. Possibly an ingrown toe-nail - based on my own self diagnosis. At first I thought it was nothing - might give me a week of discomfort but nothing further. But by week two I couldn't wear any footwear other than open toed sandals. Fortunately it was February and I was Vancouver so that was actually possible and common to see. Another two weeks of foot soaks and I was able to slap on any shoe I wanted. I'm done I thought. But no - it wasn't ready yet - it moved to my left foot. It is a great excuse NOT to get back into running but really? With no place to go next, I take it as a sign that the healing is moving through my body.
Any illness is a whole body experience. It can't be fully isolated as it affects every part of your being - from you head to your toes. I take it as a sign that all negative flow is slowly exiting my body, making it's grand exit through my left, big toe. I just wish it wouldn't take it's time doing so.
It started with my head. When I had my mastectomy I took the opportunity when under the knife to have another bump removed. It was a sebaceous cyst on the crown of my head. My hair covered it but required a lot of explanation to hair stylists. It was actually painful at times and always required it's own dose of sunscreen. I had it for over 10 years and frankly was tired of it. But it wouldn't leave without a fight. After the surgery, the wound split open. I spent 6 weeks going for biweekly care at the ambulatory clinic. I was happy when it was finally healed and I could shower letting the water flow freely over my head.
By the time the head healed I was well into my radiation therapy. All went well there but just after it finished a wound opened up on my chest along my surgery incision line. A bit of a stretch but this is the shoulder section of the song. Again, back to the ambulatory clinic for biweekly care. That lasted 3 months. I joked at the time that I wondered where the wound would move to next imagining a large, open wound on my thigh.
Not two weeks after my sign off with the clinic, my right big toe started acting up. Possibly an ingrown toe-nail - based on my own self diagnosis. At first I thought it was nothing - might give me a week of discomfort but nothing further. But by week two I couldn't wear any footwear other than open toed sandals. Fortunately it was February and I was Vancouver so that was actually possible and common to see. Another two weeks of foot soaks and I was able to slap on any shoe I wanted. I'm done I thought. But no - it wasn't ready yet - it moved to my left foot. It is a great excuse NOT to get back into running but really? With no place to go next, I take it as a sign that the healing is moving through my body.
Any illness is a whole body experience. It can't be fully isolated as it affects every part of your being - from you head to your toes. I take it as a sign that all negative flow is slowly exiting my body, making it's grand exit through my left, big toe. I just wish it wouldn't take it's time doing so.
Tuesday, 17 March 2015
Woke up, fell outa bed, dragged a comb across my head
A Day in the Life - The Beatles
It was a sign. Once the comb actually did it's work - well, at least tried to - I knew that I had crossed a barrier. It was time for a hair cut.
I booked an appointment with my usual hair stylist feeling somewhat embarrassed to walk into the salon with already extremely short hair - although hair with no style whatsoever. As I sat there relaying my story to the stylist (who had apparently also lost her hair to breast cancer a number of years back) I felt a relief; a crossing over. I was shocked to see the amount of hair on the floor while still sporting enough on my head to style. I felt great!
One year ago - almost to the day - I was watching my hair fall to the floor. I was pulling out hand falls - no, not 'pulling' but catching handfuls before they fell on my lap. I was entering a new phase and becoming a cancer patient.
I am now back in the real world - hair cuts are part of that (my apologies to the follically challenged). I'm not hiding behind the physical signs of cancer. When I walk into the chemo clinic I don't look like a cancer patient and I walk in there with more confidence.
It was a sign. Once the comb actually did it's work - well, at least tried to - I knew that I had crossed a barrier. It was time for a hair cut.
I booked an appointment with my usual hair stylist feeling somewhat embarrassed to walk into the salon with already extremely short hair - although hair with no style whatsoever. As I sat there relaying my story to the stylist (who had apparently also lost her hair to breast cancer a number of years back) I felt a relief; a crossing over. I was shocked to see the amount of hair on the floor while still sporting enough on my head to style. I felt great!
One year ago - almost to the day - I was watching my hair fall to the floor. I was pulling out hand falls - no, not 'pulling' but catching handfuls before they fell on my lap. I was entering a new phase and becoming a cancer patient.
I am now back in the real world - hair cuts are part of that (my apologies to the follically challenged). I'm not hiding behind the physical signs of cancer. When I walk into the chemo clinic I don't look like a cancer patient and I walk in there with more confidence.
Tuesday, 3 March 2015
Hey! Don't come around here no more
Don't Come Around Here No More - Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
I am slowly being released from care from my various care managers. It brings a wonderful feeling of relief and a further sign of my recovery progress. My week isn't completely structured by medical appointments and I can begin to move back into a normal routine.
Last week I said 'goodbye' by to my surgeon and his office staff. They were probably the first involved in my cancer care once the lump was discovered. They carried me through the ups and downs always with a smile and sense of humour. I will miss the regular check-ins with them and their caring personalities.
Yesterday I got the send off from the ambulatory clinic. These are the nurses that cared from my wounds following surgery. Twice a week for almost 6 months they cleaned and dressed my wounds encouraging me each visit with the very slow but advancing recovery. These nurses are very caring. They have the time to spend with each of their patients and often get to know them very well through the ongoing treatment. They are a vital service to help to maintain the health of individuals who need ongoing care and to keep those individuals out of the hospital. I left their offices with a hug. That doesn't happen every day.
Despite being happy not to have my week revolving around these ongoing appointments it is a bit scary to be released from their care. Through ongoing check ups with them I had someone watching over me. It provided me with some re-assurance that if there was any unusual progress in my healing that they would pick up on it. Let's be honest, it's nice to have someone watching over you.
Now I'm being pushed out of the nest; ready to go solo once again. I think I'm ready to spread my wings a bit.
I am slowly being released from care from my various care managers. It brings a wonderful feeling of relief and a further sign of my recovery progress. My week isn't completely structured by medical appointments and I can begin to move back into a normal routine.
Last week I said 'goodbye' by to my surgeon and his office staff. They were probably the first involved in my cancer care once the lump was discovered. They carried me through the ups and downs always with a smile and sense of humour. I will miss the regular check-ins with them and their caring personalities.
Yesterday I got the send off from the ambulatory clinic. These are the nurses that cared from my wounds following surgery. Twice a week for almost 6 months they cleaned and dressed my wounds encouraging me each visit with the very slow but advancing recovery. These nurses are very caring. They have the time to spend with each of their patients and often get to know them very well through the ongoing treatment. They are a vital service to help to maintain the health of individuals who need ongoing care and to keep those individuals out of the hospital. I left their offices with a hug. That doesn't happen every day.
Despite being happy not to have my week revolving around these ongoing appointments it is a bit scary to be released from their care. Through ongoing check ups with them I had someone watching over me. It provided me with some re-assurance that if there was any unusual progress in my healing that they would pick up on it. Let's be honest, it's nice to have someone watching over you.
Now I'm being pushed out of the nest; ready to go solo once again. I think I'm ready to spread my wings a bit.
Saturday, 21 February 2015
Because I'm trapped
Trapped - Jimmy Cliff (but in my mind Bruce Springsteen sings it best)
I find myself in a state of in between - somewhat out of control. It is very frustrating.
I'm off work to obtain treatment but not under such intensive treatment that I can't function day to day. I'm sort of a drop in at the chemo clinic. I don't require any major nursing. It's like going to the gas station. They just insert the needle and they 'fill me up'.
My treatments are every three weeks and immediate side effects are minimal so you'd think that would give me 3 weeks less one day to get involved in something or maybe travel a bit. Well, not really since I have biweekly appointments for bandaging, the odd medical test or doctor appointment and ongoing physio. So, I don't even have a week that's clear. Chemo appointments are given to you, they don't work around your schedule.
My mastectomy surgery was 6 months ago yet I continue to visit my surgeon and clinic for treatment related to the side effects of that. Clinic appointments are twice a week. So I'm done, but not quite yet done. I'm half baked.
That means I have to stay around town and find creative ways to spend the time and energy I have. Volunteering might work. Well, yes, and no. Since I can't commit to a specific time period to volunteer and I am still in treatment, my options become limited and I am not the ideal volunteer but I can find some options that work though.
I hear from everyone 'you look great' which makes it feel to me like I'm better - after all I look good. But is that 'you look good considering that you have gone through a year of treatment' or is it 'you look just like you did before cancer took control of things' - in other words 'you look like you've recovered'? Which makes me continually question where I fit in that equation - under treatment or recovered.
Since I've always been a big walker, I can lots of time on my feet now wandering the streets and trails so I feel very healthy. But when I joined the gym to get into a regular routine and work the other muscles in my body I quickly learned that walking only isn't a good measure of fitness and health. There are lots of body parts that have been ignored this year and it's now their turn for recovery.
I spend a day doing what ongoing daily tasks and am pleased with my energy level. Wow, I'm much better but then once I sit down, I crash. It's inertia working - while in movement it's easy to continue but then once you stop, it all catches up with you.
The Ties that Bind (Bruce Sprinsteen) me to the cancer discovery will slowly loosen their grip but in their own time.
I find myself in a state of in between - somewhat out of control. It is very frustrating.
I'm off work to obtain treatment but not under such intensive treatment that I can't function day to day. I'm sort of a drop in at the chemo clinic. I don't require any major nursing. It's like going to the gas station. They just insert the needle and they 'fill me up'.
My treatments are every three weeks and immediate side effects are minimal so you'd think that would give me 3 weeks less one day to get involved in something or maybe travel a bit. Well, not really since I have biweekly appointments for bandaging, the odd medical test or doctor appointment and ongoing physio. So, I don't even have a week that's clear. Chemo appointments are given to you, they don't work around your schedule.
My mastectomy surgery was 6 months ago yet I continue to visit my surgeon and clinic for treatment related to the side effects of that. Clinic appointments are twice a week. So I'm done, but not quite yet done. I'm half baked.
That means I have to stay around town and find creative ways to spend the time and energy I have. Volunteering might work. Well, yes, and no. Since I can't commit to a specific time period to volunteer and I am still in treatment, my options become limited and I am not the ideal volunteer but I can find some options that work though.
I hear from everyone 'you look great' which makes it feel to me like I'm better - after all I look good. But is that 'you look good considering that you have gone through a year of treatment' or is it 'you look just like you did before cancer took control of things' - in other words 'you look like you've recovered'? Which makes me continually question where I fit in that equation - under treatment or recovered.
Since I've always been a big walker, I can lots of time on my feet now wandering the streets and trails so I feel very healthy. But when I joined the gym to get into a regular routine and work the other muscles in my body I quickly learned that walking only isn't a good measure of fitness and health. There are lots of body parts that have been ignored this year and it's now their turn for recovery.
The Ties that Bind (Bruce Sprinsteen) me to the cancer discovery will slowly loosen their grip but in their own time.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)