This blog is possibly a form of therapy for me. I’m not too hot on opening-up, so the anonymity of the www allows me to vent my emotions in a way that I haven’t been able to or won’t mention to anyone else. It’s been a rough 18 months, so here goes …
Just before Christmas in 2006 I had a phone call to say my mother was severely ill. Two days later and we were making plans for her funeral. Within days of her death my wife collapsed at home with a heart-attack. Her previous complaints of neck and shoulder pains suddenly began to make some sense. Fast-forward to 2008 and she was finally diagnosed as having a permanent heart condition. After a bitter fight and desperate appeals to consultants she has been given a basic pension at 47. She continues to suffer from considerable difficulty.
My own diagnosis of Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma in the midst of the above (September 2007) was therefore a spectacularly bad stroke of luck. OK, parents do die and partners can become ill – although not normally all at the same time. I’m not writing this to pull at the heart-strings of readers, but more to explain the backdrop to our own circumstances. My wife’s heart condition can be contained, we hope! My own cancer might yet decide to take on a further new life of its own.
My own condition started with abdominal pain which my GP quickly decided was an ulcer – all diagnosed without examination or eye contact. Three months later and in frustration I managed to hitch a ride to A&E in an ambulance when the pain went beserk. I felt better the next day, but they weren’t keen to let me out – now I know why!
I’ve read the various Blogs and experiences of others on here. It’s a funny thing, cancer. It scares the hell out of people around you. The whole experience is full of bitter disappointments and gentle surprises. I’m shocked by the abrupt evaporation of some of my so-called friends, but I’m delighted by others who recognise that I don’t need tea & sympathy (not too much, anyway) just someone to listen and take the mick out of me & my condition in equal measure.. I’ve got family who’ve been great and others who have yet to visit at all. Cancer is a great leveller. Enough from me …
FormerMember
As ever, wise and considered words from you Penny. Thanks! Sometimes I think we all need a little bit of dark in our lives, if only to find the light more readily.
I love it, the same term I use. Dark Places. I'm a caregiver and I told my husband one day recently (he's the breadwinner), that I too could get into some dark places. He looked at me with total understanding. It is happening TO him, but it is happening to me too, just in a different way. All I can tell you is I try to confront them head on, these dark places and reconcile them, quickly and get out! I don't want to be there. I don't know why, if I feel I'll be swallowed up by them or embarrassed that I'm thinking about myself instead of him, I don't know. But its like guerilla warfare! I scoot in quickly, shoot em up a bit and leave. :) Try to spot my fear and deal with it so it doesn't draw me in again or create anxiety. I want to stay totally focused as best I can on my husband's recovery and these things pull me from that and so I try to 'handle' them so they are a done. It doesn't always work that simply of course. Sometimes I have to scoot in more than once and tackle it piecemeal. Just do the best I can. Sounds like you are doing just fine with all that you have encountered. Hang in and stay strong, but forgive yourself if you feel weak, do it quickly and get back at it as best you can.
On your friends. Its an old saying as you know. You find out who your friends really are in times like these. I found that it for most it was just a lack of confront. Not knowing what to do, feeling their own mortality and becoming afraid. I forgave them all and accepted that it is them and not me (or my sick loved one). In doing so, it helped to draw in really wonderful new friends and some of the old ones inched back in. Sometimes though honestly, its better to have a smaller, very understanding group. Otherwise you get a lot of thoughtless things said in a meager effort to "help". Its a thinning of the herd, I know. But the ones you are left with are the strong ones who will actually be of service to you. :) Quite frankly, its their loss to not be a part of something very profound in your life and finding new meaning to their own. Too bad for them.
I too have NHL though mine is follicular Bcell stage 4B, was diagnosed in August 2003. These last 2 yrs must have been such a whirlwind for you, so much to have to go through. Hope things are looking up for you now. You don't look that bad with no hair, I was luck when I had my chemo, my hair only thinned out. When I had radiation I had one small bald spot at the back of my head. It didn't bother me as I couldn't see it, but I am sure that those walking behind me must have had some thoughts about it. In the past 5yrs I have had three cycles of chemo and one cycle of radiation treatment. When I had radiotherapy they had to agree to give to me in one week as I get claustrophobic and couldn't stand the though of having a mask on my face, not even for a few minutes. I was a really stubborn patient..lol... :-)
Good to talk to you the other night. I have very romantic views of New Zealand so each time we 'chat' I can imagine that I'm actually out there in the midst of great nothingness. (It would also be a good place to have one's final moment!) Sometimes I feel that imagination is all that's left - especially on dark, dank winter days such as today.
There's another New Zealander on here - Joan Donaldson, I think her name is!!
Just a quick note to say hi and hope all is well. I will put some pics of NZ on my site, most will be from my visit to the North Island earlier this year. It's a beautiful place.
