continued from Chapter 4: part 2
Once we got that, " where-will-Pat-live?" madness out of our systems, our minds switched back to normal and we became more thoughtful and reasonable and eased up on the intensity of our daily lives. We learned we could value each day without going into dramatic overdrive.
We continued to say I love you, although not twenty times a day. And our kisses were more spontaneous and tender rather than acts of desperation. Slowly the good even tempo of our lives returned and we did what we had been doing anyway. We appreciated and loved one another.
We tried to keep the frightening thoughts locked inside, but the “cottage on the lake” caper released some of the strain. We recognized that our lives were changing and we were not completely in control, or at least our future together wasn’t.
We talked and thought and talked some more and slowly our needs were taking some form. It meant making choices, adding some important new flavors to our lives and discarding the stale.
It also meant in our case, loving one another unconditionally. We thought we had been doing that all along but we hadn’t really learned. Giving up that tired old marriage game, having the last word, was an example of that.
It also meant making sure there wasn’t any loose baggage to sort through with the children. No one gets through their children’s adolescence without some sort of unfinished business, and Hal made time to encourage the kids to close the gap if they had some lingering unfinished business.
Slowly we gained more control over our feelings and the initial shock subsided. We were able to sort things out each day so that there was never a major obstacle kept on the back burner to work through at a later time. We knew we had got through another day without physical pain or symptoms and we valued the chance to keep everything up to date.
We were relived that our conscious confrontation with mortality hadn’t left us opting for selling everything of value to take a world cruise, or roaming the countryside searching for Ashrams or faith healers or “miracle” clinics. It was almost a pleasant surprise to find that we weren’t about to change that much.
We were anchored to our reality and to one another and the flotsam in our lives was being quietly and simply cast aside. One positive outcome of getting a proverbial kick in the teeth is that you value the same life that you took for granted a while ago. We also had something else we had taken for granted in the past-we recognized we had been given the gift of time to tidy up any loose ends, whether either of us lived one month more or a complete life span.
We questioned how to “fight” this invisible enemy, which literally remained concealed and formless for months after the operation. We were constantly aware that this thing was still inside Hal’s body, but it was giving us some breathing time. Hal felt so well he couldn’t really believe he was carrying as ticking time bomb around inside him.
That little voice helped me when I let it. I believe in quiet contemplation to keep my life centered, but I was casual and undisciplined about how often this would happen. I began to set aside some time most days to sit quietly, keeping my thoughts stilled, to let my inner feelings come forward. This was a time of learning and I needed to keep my mind receptive to absorb as much as I could.
Everything I read and heard told me that a positive attitude can benefit the immune system. Adherents of self- help and positive thinking insist that everything to do with cancer hinges around the immune system and the job is to keep it humming.
continued in chapter 4: part 4
Showing posts with label coping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coping. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Friday, July 6, 2007
chapter 4: part 1 Planning your Life
continued from chapter 3: part 6
We felt enormous relief once we squared away our business affairs and without realizing it, we had closed the last loophole that permitted any backward looks.
The next question seemed to be--what do we do with the rest of our lives? The reality was that we didn’t just sit down and efficiently plan out what we’d do. We didn’t have any astounding revelations: sell everything and take a trip to the Rain Forest. Whip off to Mexico and have a shot at the peach pit “cures.” Sail around the world. Was there something we really ought to try?
I asked new friends in the support groups what changes cancer had made in their lives. Almost all returned to their usual habits although we agreed we sensed subtle changes in our attitudes about day-to-day living. We were much more aware of everything happening around us and valued each day.
One support group couple, Evan and Rachael had booked a cruise with friends before he was diagnosed; Evan insisted on following through after his colostomy and bladder removal, and they had a wonderful time. They were one of the few couples that continued to take trips, although they sometimes had to seek out treatment for a temporary medical problem.
Another support group friend, Matthew took the boldest step; he was running a successful business but when bladder cancer hit him in his mid-thirties, he found that he no longer wanted to eat and breathe company matters and sold out to begin a less stressful part of his life. When I last saw them he and Norma were trying to decide whether or not to have a child despite the uncertainty of their future. No one has a guarantee in life, but they were reminded of that more forcibly than most people.
We tried to settle back into our previous relaxed lifestyle, but now we were acutely conscious of time passing. It’s as though layer after layer of veils had parted before our eyes and we no longer saw time in measured blocks that we took for granted. Now we felt a need to live each moment, to “get on with life.” That sounds fine but what the hell does it mean, anyway?
We were happily married, we lived a quiet, home-loving life but nagging away at us was the thought that we should be making more of an impact on our world. We were sorting out ways to make our lives more meaningful, just as though we had never done that in the past. That really was the point but we thrashed and floundered about before we realized we really did have it all.
And so began our crazy period.
to be continued in chapter 4: part2
We felt enormous relief once we squared away our business affairs and without realizing it, we had closed the last loophole that permitted any backward looks.
The next question seemed to be--what do we do with the rest of our lives? The reality was that we didn’t just sit down and efficiently plan out what we’d do. We didn’t have any astounding revelations: sell everything and take a trip to the Rain Forest. Whip off to Mexico and have a shot at the peach pit “cures.” Sail around the world. Was there something we really ought to try?
I asked new friends in the support groups what changes cancer had made in their lives. Almost all returned to their usual habits although we agreed we sensed subtle changes in our attitudes about day-to-day living. We were much more aware of everything happening around us and valued each day.
One support group couple, Evan and Rachael had booked a cruise with friends before he was diagnosed; Evan insisted on following through after his colostomy and bladder removal, and they had a wonderful time. They were one of the few couples that continued to take trips, although they sometimes had to seek out treatment for a temporary medical problem.
Another support group friend, Matthew took the boldest step; he was running a successful business but when bladder cancer hit him in his mid-thirties, he found that he no longer wanted to eat and breathe company matters and sold out to begin a less stressful part of his life. When I last saw them he and Norma were trying to decide whether or not to have a child despite the uncertainty of their future. No one has a guarantee in life, but they were reminded of that more forcibly than most people.
We tried to settle back into our previous relaxed lifestyle, but now we were acutely conscious of time passing. It’s as though layer after layer of veils had parted before our eyes and we no longer saw time in measured blocks that we took for granted. Now we felt a need to live each moment, to “get on with life.” That sounds fine but what the hell does it mean, anyway?
We were happily married, we lived a quiet, home-loving life but nagging away at us was the thought that we should be making more of an impact on our world. We were sorting out ways to make our lives more meaningful, just as though we had never done that in the past. That really was the point but we thrashed and floundered about before we realized we really did have it all.
And so began our crazy period.
to be continued in chapter 4: part2
Monday, June 25, 2007
chapter 2: part 4
cntinued from part 3
Phoning the Cancer society was a good start. I called the office nearest our house and explained Hal’s condition to the kind voice on the phone and told of my worries, that we were new at this and that we needed to talk to other people in this predicament. What resources were available to us? The woman on the line described various support groups including the one nearest to us, and promised to mail all the information we needed to get started.
"There now," said the inner voice, " You’re beginning to take charge."
A big envelope stuffed full of pamphlets arrived two days later. I felt such relief that someone had responded to my need. I studied everything. There were casual drop-ins, formal paid self-help classes, one-on-one buddy services. Hal was curiously content to leave the sorting-out to me and agreed that he would follow any course I thought was right. He focused on the thought that if he returned to work then he would remain well. Unspoken was the understanding that he would work at staying well and I would do any fighting necessary to help keep him there.
This was the beginning of our new team effort. After sifting through the pamphlets and consulting Hal with a synopsis of what I’d read, I arranged for us to join a casual Wednesday afternoon drop-in group of cancer patients who met to encourage one another. They had an informal staff leader and it was very low key. It turned out to be an excellent place to start the journey back.
We got a kick out of walking the several city blocks to the meeting on the twelfth floor of an office building. That simple act gave us a feeling of control. We were directed into a large sunny room with about nine people there; we were greeted by everyone and invited to have refreshments. Punctually, the leader brought the group to order and the format was: each person introduces himself, tells a little about his cancer and what he’s doing with his life, and so on. Not one person in the room looked sick. I was the only caregiver in the room that day. That’s what we’re called, caregivers. It was made clear that I was there to support and if I needed support myself, then find another group. I was there for Hal. Period.
Some members had been in remission for months, even years, but kept returning to give and gain strength from the group. We met James, a man in his mid-thirties who had the upper lobe of his left lung removed five years back and was told then that his time was limited. He lost his fiancée over this, but he feels good and he’s alive with continued positive results from his periodic check ups.
There was Sylvia, a woman in her late sixties, who was the only survivor in the world of her particular type of cancer, diagnosed seven years previously. She made her living writing crossword puzzles and children’s’ books and the morning after her surgery, she claims she sat on the edge of the bed and worked steadily on her latest book. The doctors came in to tell her the grave news. She positively twinkled when she continued, “Nonsense, I’m too busy finishing my book.” No matter what happens, she could die tomorrow and chances are it would be of old age. I got the impression that being feisty is an asset.
When Hal described his condition, several people murmured, “Mary. You’ve got to talk to Mary.” She was one of the members, not present that day, who also had secondary cancer of the liver. That is something that’s hard to earn at first; the original site is the main cancer and forever takes precedence, and anything after that is the secondary site. Thus, Hal had colon cancer.
We learned of the anger people can show to cancer patients. One man said his next-door neighbor of many years at the cottage turned hostile when she learned of his cancer and slammed into her cottage whenever he came into view.
At the other extreme, one member refused to tell anyone and swore his wife to secrecy. He claimed he wanted this privacy and yet he came to the group to talk. Actually he sat there and mostly listened, except to complain, “No one would understand.” I wondered then and wonder now whether some of the complaints were a way of displaying anger at being the “victim” of a disease. Perhaps this causes shame.
The wonderful grapevine did its work and that night, Mary called Hal. They had a long talk and she told him about the less traditional treatment she had opted for and explained it in detail. She said she was free of the disease at present, two years later. Hal felt good after the talk but was prepared to hold off any decision making about treatment until he heard what the cancer specialist had to say.
He remained content to have me find approaches to handle his recovery; he would continue to concentrate on his job assignments.
to be continued in chapter 2: part 5
Phoning the Cancer society was a good start. I called the office nearest our house and explained Hal’s condition to the kind voice on the phone and told of my worries, that we were new at this and that we needed to talk to other people in this predicament. What resources were available to us? The woman on the line described various support groups including the one nearest to us, and promised to mail all the information we needed to get started.
"There now," said the inner voice, " You’re beginning to take charge."
A big envelope stuffed full of pamphlets arrived two days later. I felt such relief that someone had responded to my need. I studied everything. There were casual drop-ins, formal paid self-help classes, one-on-one buddy services. Hal was curiously content to leave the sorting-out to me and agreed that he would follow any course I thought was right. He focused on the thought that if he returned to work then he would remain well. Unspoken was the understanding that he would work at staying well and I would do any fighting necessary to help keep him there.
This was the beginning of our new team effort. After sifting through the pamphlets and consulting Hal with a synopsis of what I’d read, I arranged for us to join a casual Wednesday afternoon drop-in group of cancer patients who met to encourage one another. They had an informal staff leader and it was very low key. It turned out to be an excellent place to start the journey back.
We got a kick out of walking the several city blocks to the meeting on the twelfth floor of an office building. That simple act gave us a feeling of control. We were directed into a large sunny room with about nine people there; we were greeted by everyone and invited to have refreshments. Punctually, the leader brought the group to order and the format was: each person introduces himself, tells a little about his cancer and what he’s doing with his life, and so on. Not one person in the room looked sick. I was the only caregiver in the room that day. That’s what we’re called, caregivers. It was made clear that I was there to support and if I needed support myself, then find another group. I was there for Hal. Period.
Some members had been in remission for months, even years, but kept returning to give and gain strength from the group. We met James, a man in his mid-thirties who had the upper lobe of his left lung removed five years back and was told then that his time was limited. He lost his fiancée over this, but he feels good and he’s alive with continued positive results from his periodic check ups.
There was Sylvia, a woman in her late sixties, who was the only survivor in the world of her particular type of cancer, diagnosed seven years previously. She made her living writing crossword puzzles and children’s’ books and the morning after her surgery, she claims she sat on the edge of the bed and worked steadily on her latest book. The doctors came in to tell her the grave news. She positively twinkled when she continued, “Nonsense, I’m too busy finishing my book.” No matter what happens, she could die tomorrow and chances are it would be of old age. I got the impression that being feisty is an asset.
When Hal described his condition, several people murmured, “Mary. You’ve got to talk to Mary.” She was one of the members, not present that day, who also had secondary cancer of the liver. That is something that’s hard to earn at first; the original site is the main cancer and forever takes precedence, and anything after that is the secondary site. Thus, Hal had colon cancer.
We learned of the anger people can show to cancer patients. One man said his next-door neighbor of many years at the cottage turned hostile when she learned of his cancer and slammed into her cottage whenever he came into view.
At the other extreme, one member refused to tell anyone and swore his wife to secrecy. He claimed he wanted this privacy and yet he came to the group to talk. Actually he sat there and mostly listened, except to complain, “No one would understand.” I wondered then and wonder now whether some of the complaints were a way of displaying anger at being the “victim” of a disease. Perhaps this causes shame.
The wonderful grapevine did its work and that night, Mary called Hal. They had a long talk and she told him about the less traditional treatment she had opted for and explained it in detail. She said she was free of the disease at present, two years later. Hal felt good after the talk but was prepared to hold off any decision making about treatment until he heard what the cancer specialist had to say.
He remained content to have me find approaches to handle his recovery; he would continue to concentrate on his job assignments.
to be continued in chapter 2: part 5
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