mental-health

My Cancer Journey: Riding the Chemo Express

Posted on by kwundrow

December 5th

T – 24 and I am on the ride. My cancer treatment consists of two parts. The first is radiation and the second, chemo. It’s chemo lag day, at least that is what I’ve named it. I soaked in my second serving of chemo three days ago and as predicted by those in the know, I am feeling it. Chemo will do its best to kill the tumor, but the downside is that it takes its toll on the body.

The effects of my first serving of the chemo were hardly noteworthy. I barely noticed anything different than the radiation effects. This second serving is markedly different. It has left me feeling like I just got over the 24-hour flu with its chills, aches, nausea, and fatigue. My activities take place in short bursts of energy followed up with fatigue. The only upside has been the weekend pass Deb has granted me. In her role as resident in charge, Deb has ordered me to take the day easy, watch TV, and allow her to wait on me, hand and foot. This order is one I can manage. For now, I will take small comfort knowing I have survived my first two legs of the Chemo Express.

I boarded The Chemo Express two weeks ago and I am now destined to ride it to the end. Only two days ago, I was at the top looking down into the loop. Today I am in the loop, upside down, and waiting to head back down to the bottom. As my car starts back up the track on Monday, I know full well that the scariest part of this ride still lies ahead. The climbs will get steeper and the loops will get tighter, but I have no choice other than to hang on and let Deb and my friends be my seatbelt.

There is no way that anyone can or should go through this alone. Though there is a team of medical people standing by, it is the nonmedical stuff that can be the toughest. With every passing day, I will have missed another event or lost the taste of another one of my favorite foods.  This ride is tough in so many ways, but it’s survivable. Every day, I hear from friends asking what they can do to help. I wish there was an easy answer, but there isn’t. I appreciate all the messages of encouragement, the prayers, and offers to drive me to treatment. In truth, I’ve had so many offers of a ride, I may have to extend my treatments to get them all in. And here’s a thought, once I lick this thing, can I continue to take advantage of the taxi service?

I understand the “what can I do” inquiries, I’ve been there too, just now I’m on the other side. Please know this, everything you do, from sending an email, to checking in, or the offer of a meal, is important to me. They build my resolve to see this through the rough spots, to stay on the ride to its end. It’s incredible how strength exists in just saying the words.

The best thing you can do for a person dealing with cancer is to be there. You do it with every effort you make, with every prayer you offer. Whether you really get to drive me to treatment or not, know that the offer alone was all I needed. Knowing that you would sit beside me on the Chemo Express is all that’s needed to guarantee I won’t fall off.

Early Morning

Posted on by kwundrow

We were recently in Aruba with another couple for a week of sun, warmth, and relaxation. I had been given the task of securing our cabana on the beach each morning. Due to the popularity of our beach, you needed to be there by 6:30 in the morning if you were to get one of the much sought after cabanas. This was an easily accepted task for me as I tend to have a hard time sleeping past 6:00 anyway. For the first three days, I arrived right around 6:30 am and along with the other early cabana claimers, would find an open one, plant a coupe of stake holder chairs with towels, and then head back to the condo where by this time, everyone was up and moving.

For our last day on Aruba, we were undecided as to whether we would spend our last hours on the beach, or use them to grab a little last sight seeing. For reasons unknown to me, I awoke just before five am that morning, and lying awake next to my sleepy spouse, decided I would take our chairs and head down to the beach earlier than usual to claim a spot on the off hand chance that beach time would win out over sight seeing. As I stepped out onto the street that separated our condo from the beach, I couldn’t help but noticed the stillness of the predawn hour. Save for the waves lapping the beach, there were no other sounds. The city was still asleep. Where the morning before there had been a fewer runners and an occasional vehicle, this morning it was too early even for that. I was alone.

At face value, loneliness is not generally a welcome companion, but this loneliness had such a different feel. I wasn’t lonely, I was simply alone. The beach, softly backlit by the street lamps of the empty boulevard behind me, was deserted at this hour. Having staked out my claim, I began to walk the water’s edge as the ocean crept up the sand beach and lapped at my feet. Realizing that going back to the condo would be too early for my sleeping roommates, I decided to enjoy my alone time. I headed back up the beach and out to the silent street. I decided to walk the ocean front, soaking in the quiet of the city. As I walked, I eventually found myself at a small diner, the only open business along my entire walk. The thought of a hot cup of joe in this cozy diner suddenly was very appealing. As I entered, I found myself as the only other patron in the diner. At that point, had there been even a small crowd, I am sure I would have left, but as it was just the two of us and the waitress, I grabbed a seat. By the time my coffee came, I had struck up a conversation with my fellow diner, revealing where we were from and what had found us here so early in the morning.

With my coffee consumed and the sun just beginning to push back the darkness, I began my walk back to the condo. Unlike my walk to the diner in a city still asleep, she was now beginning to stir. Cars were starting to frequent the street, runners were emerging from beachfront condos, and the sounds of the city began to push back the silence. A building crane over here and a truck over there each adding there sounds to the growing noise of a waking city. By the time I reached the condo, the sun was climbing out of the ocean and sunlight began to replace streetlights. My alone time was ending.

Though there doesn’t need to be a point to story telling, there is a point to this one. I write it to preserve the beautiful memory of that morning and to share the image with whoever has experienced something similar. We can choose to be lonely, or we can welcome the opportunity for alone time. In a world filled all too often with bad news and unwanted noise, the quiet of being alone might truly be inviting. Do understand, I do not dismiss the dangers of loneliness, for there can be danger when mixed with a sense of despair or hopelessness, but rather that sometimes the best times are those quiet times alone. In those times we avoid the distractions of life and find the ability to refocus on what is important.

For me, that early morning walk with just the quiet of the predawn morning as my companion, will be my favorite memory of our week in Aruba. The sound of the waves, the empty streets, and that cozy diner shared with a stranger were exactly what I needed. What a perfect ending to an island getaway. It was the relaxing last moment before I would deal with the cacophony of the world awaiting me back home. It had reminded me that I had the ability to push out the noise and refocus my thoughts. Here’s hoping you can savor your next alone time, and that like I did that morning, you can find the beauty in the quiet that surrounds you.

Insomnia

Posted on by kwundrow

The clock says its 1:30 am. As I have done each night for the past three weeks, I nodded off just before midnight, only to have my slumber cut short, coming full awake sometime around 1:00 am. This has been my pattern every night since the surgery. Once I reawake, the battle to regain sleep begins. I switch my positions from the easy chair, to the couch, and then back to the chair. It would seem logical that I should be in my own bed, but early on in the process, that bed reminded me that I wasn’t welcome there. The sling I am imprisoned in, along with its four inch attached block, refuses to let me lie with any kind of comfort in or on a bed. Just another cruel twist to this game.

I have never been one to require much sleep. Six hours is almost too long while five hours has always been sufficient, provided it isn’t interrupted on those occasions when insomnia takes over the controls. Insomnia is a strange beast. On one hand, it is a cruel game of cat and mouse as I search for sleep, while on the other hand, it can open a world of quiet solitude when I give in to it. And tonight, I have given into it.

There is a kind of enveloping calm that exists if I stop fighting the insomnia and accept it as my companion for the night. At the onset all I seem to notice is the dark, but as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I begin to see a world of shadows and in those shadows, familiar objects become unfamiliar. What looked like a person crouched in the corner, turns out to be the easy chair disguised by the shadows. As time begins to elapse, its the quiet that strikes me next. The daytime sounds, footsteps and doors opening and closing, the TV chatter and the clatter of kitchen noises, the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional ding of an appliance are all gone now in the darkness of night. But even as this quiet surrounds me, I hear the sounds that only belong to the night. A rafter, stretched in the heat of the day, now contracts in the cooler night air and lets out a creaking sound as it does so. The furnace issues a pop as it switches off and the heat duct cools. There is a silence of night, but the house isn’t silent.

I’ve given in fully now. I am not going to get sleep by demanding it, but rather by letting it catch up to me. And so I take to the night. Sometimes I walk through the unoccupied rooms of the house letting my mind see the path I must take to avoid objects hiding in the shadows that will stub a toe or hit a shin. I will stop by the window and gaze out at the houses and street all enveloped in darkness save for a streetlight or a porch light here or there. When the moon is full, I will stare in awe at the moon shadows. Tonight I am sitting here typing this piece, enjoying those sounds and shadows of the night. I know that sleep will eventually catch up to me and I will hopefully squeeze in a few hours before dawn brings back the day, but for now, insomnia and I will share the night.

I write tonight as my way of avoiding the anxiety that would creep in if I were to just lie awake worrying about the sleep I was losing. Instead of that anxiety, I have embraced the solitude and I have used the time to adjust and release all the busyness of the day. I have decluttered my brain and resolved a few issues. Sometimes, the best result we can achieve is the fight we give into.