It's 8pm on a Saturday. Yesterday I stood for the first time. Today I walked up and down a flight of stairs. The nausea is gone. The headaches are minor. I have no cognitive malfunctions. Everything feels wonderful because I do not feel horrible. It's negative positivism, but it's working well enough for me.
The good started at around four this morning. That was when the morphine wore off. As I felt the warmth dissipating in my veins, I braced myself for the slow and creeping head nastiness that usually returned an hour after the injection. But it didn't. I checked the clock twice. It was almost three hours after my last morphine, and I felt no pain. It occurred to me maybe, just maybe, I was getting better. That was enough to make me feel better still.
I walk around a lot now, and I like to make small talk with the nurses. I try to be pleasant without being abnormally so. I don't want people to see me as weak. Nor do I want to be seen as a cliche of a impossibly optimistic cancer-fighting patient. (Last night on the phone my father said, 'you're gonna keep fighting this kid,' and it was so tv movie of the week it made me a little nauseous. I feel like a terrible person for writing this. This is a consequence of going to grad school for writing--every thought is up for evaluation, no matter how personal. You might think I'd try to give myself a break. But since I'm writing my way through this, I can't.
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Good morning. It's great that you are feeling well. What an ordeal for you and in another way for Trudi. I am glad that this phase is over. Home today. The dogs will be glad, too.
ReplyDeleteA couple of thoughts. It's impossible to avoid cliches in such times. Mostly we haven't encountered life and death issues, so we fall back on what we have heard and seen. And of course, they are cliches because on some level they speak to us. Still, especially for those of us who read, it's hard not to be self-conscious.
So here's the Jazzercise mantra/cliche that I like: challenge yourself;don't hurt yourself.
I don't much resonate to the model of fighting illness, or when people say, "he has such a will to live," and things like that. There is an aspect of blaming the victim--he didn't want to live? he didn't fight hard enough? He liked being sick? Still, there is something of grittiness and determination that the metaphor does capture and that are qualities one does need to get through, perhaps. I think mainly what people mean, is don't despair; don't stop doing the things that are helpful, even when they are rotten.
A friend of mine witnessed a mugging/purse-snatching, and was about to intervene, when the mugger showed him a gun, and said, "don't be a hero, buddy." Everyone survived, minus a wallet. Not a bad outcome. I often think about this.
Which brings me to one more thought: weakness and strength. Sometimes we are in need and have to show it, and it's not only forgivable, it's how others know to help us. Experiencing and voicing fear and pain are not weakness. Strength comes from what you make of the fear and pain. Terry used to say about the kids when they were small, "no brains, no fear." (In your case, unusually, it is known from actual observation that you have a brain; generally we just guess.) Anyway, what i am getting at is that one does not want the desire to avoid being seen as weak to interfere with the real ability to be strong.
Well enough of all this for the moment. My cliche self-consciousness has clicked in, so i am just going to send love and say enjoy sleeping in your own bed tonight. P
So glad you are up and about.
ReplyDeleteI sometimes think cliches are a bridge that is easily crossed to another person; can be like a testing of how strong a bridge is, how safe and how much of myself do I really want to show to someone else. Opening up is truly a risky business.
My yoga teachers say push your edge, but don't hurt yourself. If you are not breathing (you are holding your breath) you are not doing yoga. And also not being aware of yourself and the moment.
And that's my Sunday sermon. Wish I could send you some of the beautiful weather we have here though my memories of Louisville are of soft green leaves and beautiful flowers.
Happy you are going home; happy you are feeling and pleasurable absence of pain.
My love to you and Trudi.
Kate