Still Learning

I learned something yesterday. Actually, two things.

Since the thoracentesis, I have not been nearly as breathless as before. Thus, I thought I could handle shopping at Aldi. (You see, before the thoracentesis, when I was very breathless, I had shopped at Walmart, and it completely wore me out.) So, I did, and guess what? Though not out of breath, I became very fatigued, to the point that I had to rest all afternoon. This was a surprise since in my previous cancer experiences, I did not get fatigued so easily until after I started treatment.

And the second thing, which perhaps I had simply forgotten: Shopping not only wore me out physically, but mentally as well. I was too tired to do the paperwork I had planned to get done. I kicked back in my recliner and dozed or played easy solitaire games.

I will say that this is discouraging because I wanted to get more things done before my treatments begin.

But this morning I was able to deliver the sermon I had prepared, and I am grateful for that.

Part Fifty-Six: Getting It

            For years I didn’t get it.  In fact, I thought all the relays and pink ribbons were, well, over the top.  I sure didn’t have any interest in breast cancer.

            And then I got it.  Triple negative, stage 3b breast cancer, that is.

            Cancer, no matter the type, is a big deal.  It is the disease everyone hopes not to get.  It is scary and dark and all-consuming.  And it is far more common than I ever knew.

            It still boggles my mind every time I drive into the full parking lot at OCSRI.  More mind-boggling is what waits inside.  People sitting as they wait to speak to an insurance expert, standing in line as they wait to check in.  People sitting in the lab waiting room.  People in the radiation waiting room.  And upstairs, the huge chemotherapy treatment room full of people.  This is one cancer care facility in the city of Tulsa.  One.  Multiply the numbers of cancer patients by some unknown factor that represents all cancer treatment facilities—you may choose in the city, in the state, in the United States, or in the world if you wish—and you start to think about how many people have cancer.

            The other parts about cancer I never got before were how hard it is.  How much cancer patients need the loving, practical support of family and friends.  How endless treatment seems.  How it changes lives physically, emotionally, and spiritually. 

            I never imagined, nor would I have chosen, that I would get cancer.  Now I cannot imagine life without it.  Yes, I am nearing the end of my treatments:  only fifteen more to go.  Then I will enter the ranks of cancer survivors who heartily hope they will never be cancer patients again.  Having cancer has been hard on my whole body.  It has caused all kinds of emotions, both positive and negative, to surface at unlikely times.  It has pushed me deeper in my faith.  I am a better person because of it.

             Now I get it.

            

Part Twenty-Four: Two-Hour Time Limit

            This past week has been one of learning more about energy:  how much do I have, how will I spend it, and what activities spend it more quickly than others?  Honestly, over the years I have grown rather smug in my personal energy knowledge, but as with most things in life, there is always more to learn.

            If you are one of the boundless-energy-blessed people in the world, more power to you!  You may not even realize that you have so much energy.  Try counting your blessings every time you take a walk, do an errand, clean your house, get out with friends, work a job, enjoy a favorite hobby, or go on vacation.  Okay, enough for lists. 

            If your energy or mobility is waning, be grateful for what you still have—and use it and try to gradually increase it—but respect your new limits.  Okay, enough for unsolicited advice.

            My new energy package for outings seems to have, in general, a two-hour time limit.  With great joy, I exercised that limit on Sunday, attending church for the first time in a month.  It was wonderful to worship and to fellowship, even though I needed to maintain a handshake-free and hug-free zone to protect myself from germs. 

            During that time in church, I learned a few more things about energy usage.  First, the obvious:  walking and standing.  Oh, the joy of walking in the familiar north entrance down the hall, and into the sanctuary, talking with people along the way.  Oh, the relief to sit down on the cushioned pew and the discovery that the intersecting corner of pew back and side is a perfect place to support a weary body.  Yes, I gratefully slouched in the corner.  And once I sat down, I was not about to get back up:  I stayed put all the way through the service until the closing hymn.  As much as I like to sing hymns, I couldn’t get through a whole one.  Evidently, singing takes more energy than I thought, as does reading aloud.  And it was probably a good thing to have the hour of sitting in worship soaking up the singing, the readings, and the message before walking over to the coffee connection room to enjoy some more fellowship time.  Conversations take energy, too.  But all of these energy-takers are joy-givers.

            Back at home, I’ve learned to do a couple little things and then rest in the recliner for a while, maybe even doze, before getting up to do more.  I do what I can when I can—and that changes day by day, depending where in the chemo cycle I am. 

            I have more to write, specifically about yesterday’s treatment day, but I think it is time to move from computer chair to recliner.  And then maybe do something about my dirty dishes in the sink before the Neulasta pump delivers its medicine starting at 5:52 p.m.  After that, I’ll feel worse and recline some more, maybe listen to some praise worship and hymns.  For the next few days, I’ll stay in the house, having temporarily lost energy for outings, and look forward to some more two-hour time limits next week.