- Liz Murtaugh Gillespie
- Nov 7, 2015
A week ago, when I got home from my sixth chemo treatment, Sean cheerfully declared: "You're halfway there!" Without so much as a flicker of a smile, I replied: "No, I'm not. I've done six treatments and have 10 left to go." He was right in one sense. I did reach the midpoint of my five-month chemo journey if time is your measure. For a moment, I thought, "Cool! I'm two and a half months into this five-month chemo shitshow." Not that I feel like dealing with another two and a half months more of this shitshow. Sure, I'll get a luxurious month "off" before I have to start six weeks of daily radiation in February. Then comes hormone therapy (years of it). And at some point in 2016, I'll most likely get my "unbreast" reconstructed. So. Much. Stuff. I'm grateful to be feeling as good as I do physically. This second phase of chemo (just one drug, taxol) is proving to be much easier on my body than the first four dose-dense infusions of the red-devil cocktail. No neuropathy (numbness/tingling in fingers and toes, and some balance issues) so far. I had some finger and toenail sensitivity and some are starting to turn yellowish. Not a big deal. The peaks and valleys of my energy level, appetite and other indicators of health and wellness are steadier as she goes these days. Except occasionally when they're not. On those days, I work a shorter day, take a nap and everything — or at least the exhausting things — don't seem like such a drag. All in all, though, I'm just so over so many aspects of life with cancer, I find myself catching glimpses of this SUPER grumpy chick when I walk by a mirror. When I take a good look, I don't see a strong woman wearing some adorable hat. I see a worn-out shadow of myself. I try not to dwell on being so tired of having to deal with cancer treatment, because I'm fortunate to have good health insurance and access to excellent care that's fueling this fight I'm slowly but surely winning. (For those of you who know me well, when I say "I try not to dwell," you know I mean, "I dwell. A lot. All the time.") So bear with me as a gripe about some things I'm sick of dealing with:
Starting most conversations with an update about how this whole cancer thing is going.
Dealing with non-cancer-related health snafus like the crown I'm in the process of getting replaced after it cracked a couple weeks ago (same tooth that needed a root canal soon after my diagnosis).
Stressing about sugar, which all the health nuts say I should avoid like the plague. Trouble is ... doing that makes me miss it so much, I feel sad and pissed. "Fuck you, cancer. I'm gonna have that bowl of Moose Tracks tonight, damn it. I deserve it!"
The pangs of guilt that follow any and all consumption of non fruit-based sweet things. (Go back to number 3 and repeat in an endless loop.)
Not having all those mythical gobs of free time to read all those books that have been stacking up on by want-to-read list.
Constant thirst. As in no matter how much water I guzzle, I'm still parched.
Dietary restrictions that make most of the scrumptious fare at PCC's deli and salad bar off limits.
Sporadic bouts of insomnia. "You have cancer. Get lots of sleep." Easier said than done.
Parenting challenges that require bucketloads of patience when Sean and I are running on fumes most days.
Not being able to exercise as often I'd like to and knowing the toll this takes on my ability to be a reasonably nice person.
Feeling sheepish about asking others to host my kids for playdates when I need the rest, and worrying that the friends who take them off our hands frequently are getting stretched thin. (Yes, I know this is silly. I worry about silly things just like I dwell.)
Knowing how stressful this all is on Sean (even if he carries it like a champ), and for us to be muddling through aforementioned parenting challenges together, all the while working loooooooooooooooooooooooong days and nights working his ass off in hopes of sparing his clients prison time.
There. I said it. Sometimes a girl's gotta gripe. Now for some things that have "filled my bucket" in recent weeks (as my son's first-grade teacher likes to say about good deeds and acts of kindness that make her happy, proud, etc.):
Filling up my chemo calendar with a different friend for each infusion (minus a few when my mom, brother and/or Sean will keep me company).
Laughing with Colleen, my Chemo Round 6 companion (see photo above), about my mid-root canal revelation: Avoid listening to funny podcasts during major dental procedures. (Man, though, that was a fun mistake to make once. There I was trying to quit laughing while my jaw was jacked wide open with an endodontist drilling away. At first, I could tell he was wondering if I was crying. Not that I could explain, "No, I'm laughing actually. This podcast is hilarious!" And what happens when you're laughing at a funeral or some place where laughter just isn't OK? Yep. You can't stop. Telling this story is fun. Next time you see me, ask me to re-enact it. If I ever do stand-up, this will definitely be one of my bits.)
The git-er-done spirit that Colleen brought to helping me gut the Gillespie Halloween pumpkin so the kids and I could carve it after they got home from school — just a couple hours after I wrapped up chemo. Made me feel like a bad ass, devoted mama — and it's because I had another badass, devoted mama by my side helping me (before unloading my dishwasher and emptying my sink.)
The "ah hah!" moment that my Chemo Round 7 friend, Karen (in the photo gallery), treated me to when she so very logically suggested I'm under no obligation to talk about the C word when I'm not in the mood. So the next time I see you, you might get some version of: "Hi, yourself! I'm doing well. Feeling good — not feeling like talking about cancer. At all. How are you?"
Early morning swims with my friend, Mary, especially last week's — when I realized that during our chats on the way to and from the pool, we never once brought up cancer or parenting challenges. Ahhhhhhhhhhh ...
Yoga. After a hiatus that lasted way to long, I got back into the yoga studio twice this past week. Once for a restorative/meditation class and once for a class that focused on stress reduction. Ommmmmmmmm ...
The dinner/bedtime help we've gotten from so many friends. Sometimes the kids have had dinner at friends' houses. Sometimes friends have had dinner with us. And they've made storytime fun for each kid. No more fusses over who has to wait for their turn with mama when papa has to work late.
Dressing up as a flapper for Halloween (see hammy photo in gallery), having a neighbor spare me of my third round in the rain (after two soccer games that soaked/chilled me to the bone) by taking the kids trick-or-treating in downtown Columbia City, then spending the evening with fantastic friends at a party where I once again got to hang back and stay warm while the kids got a second dose of trick-or-treating.
The note my friend Elise sent me about a confidence-stretching public speaking opportunity she recently tackled and how one of my blog posts gave her a boost of inspiration right when she needed one.
The "You can do it, Tyler! You are awesome!!!" sign that Sylvia made Tyler one afternoon when he was super upset about some social-emotional struggles he's going through at school.
The sweet song Tyler sang me one night that went something like this: "Chemo brain, chemo brain, you're still smart even though you have chemo brain. I ... love ... my mommy. ... Chemo brain, chemo brain."
Looking forward to Thanksgiving with Sean's folks (and the pre-cooked smoked turkey we ordered from PCC so no one has to sweat over a bird) and Christmas with my mom and brother, who will be my chemo company for my treatments on Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve.
Thanks for caring enough to read all the way through my bitch-and-brag lists ... and for all the ways you've showed up for me, in person, from afar, with emails and texts, comments on this blog and Facebook, gifts of food and fine company. Cancer may have made this year a shit sandwich for me and my family, but all of you have made it amazing in ways I never could have imagined.
