Shades of gray

     Before I started on this journey, I didn’t want to give much thought to breast cancer. I tried to support research in small ways, but didn’t care to dwell on the disease. The reality is: breast cancer is scary. A shocking 12 percent of women will have breast cancer in their lifetime. That’s one in eight. We’re catching it early and treatments are better, but still.

     In my family alone, adding first cousins on both sides of my family, I have eight female first cousins, including myself, and three of us have had breast cancer. Adding in cousins by marriage and sisters-in-law on my side of the family, four out of 21 of us have had breast cancer, still significantly higher than 12 percent. One of my cousins was diagnosed the same month as me.

     I’m keenly aware that people might not want to linger on my blog reading about this topic. I’m also keenly aware that sometimes I don’t have anything positive to write about. When I first started on this journey a local friend, who’s been on this journey herself, told me I’d meet many angels along the way (and I have -- both in the form of friends and medical staff). She also wrote that at times the journey would be “dark.” 

      I didn’t understand the dark then, but I do now.

      For me, the effects of chemo feel cumulative, making the recovery from each treatment a tad lengthier. Here’s what I’ve experienced after chemo: I don’t feel like myself. After the steroids wear off, I’m cranky. Nothing tastes good. I have no motivation. I’m boring. I’m so boring to be around, I’m bored with myself. And whether that’s the chemo or the cumulative effects of visiting so many doctors, I don’t know, but it’s depressing. The dark, dank, wet weather after my last chemo didn’t help. I choose to not add to my cocktail mix by taking anything for depression. I’ve found that a week after chemo, I’m starting to feel like myself again.

      Last week, I visited my internist to have my blood pressure checked. The appointment was emotional. I’d been stressed for a couple days because I had to see yet another doctor. I was experiencing what I’d call ‘performance anxiety’ about my blood pressure. The tears came as soon as the nurse, a gentle male, took my blood pressure. The numbers were good. Low.

     I started sobbing.

     “What medications are you on?” he asked me.

     “Nothing other than the ?!?! they’re giving me in chemo.”

     He asked a few more questions. I answered curtly and then apologized, explaining that the chemo was making me cranky.

     “Oh, you’re not being cranky,” he said softly.

     I looked at Ron who sat in the nearby chair.

     “Oh, she’s cranky,” Ron said. 

     We both chuckled.

     The best way I can describe the extremes of my crankiness is that at times if you walked in on me, you might think I have Tourette’s.

     But extremes can bring about transformation. For one, in preparation for my next chemo -- which will hopefully be my last ever! -- I’m planning better. For starters, I’ll have a stock of my favorite comedians to watch (Eddie Izzard, Ricky Gervais, Steve Carrell). I’ll also have my foods of choice -- mashed potatoes and rice at the ready.

    My last chemo round resulted in a huge emotional transformation that has resulted in positive change in our household. I’ll share it in my next post.