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My left breast is beginning to swell and is tender and warm to the touch, a side effect I knew about, and after treatment, I get
little twinges...I can't really call them pains, they're not that strong, but uncomfortable twinges. I don't have much appetite...I get
hungry but don't feel like eating, so I force myself to eat a snack. The book encouraged smaller, more frequent meals rather
than three large ones, and I've tried to follow that regimen.
I've noticed several side effects, aside from the ones they've told me about. For whatever reason, I get really grouchy after
treatment, and I get a headache. Charlie told me I was downright nasty Tuesday night. I apologized and told him I wasn't aware
of it, and maybe this is just stressing me too much...but that's a lousy excuse. Things that don't normally bother me, do now. I
find myself screaming at the cats, or screaming at Charlie, and I don't like it. The one person who has been right by my side and
done whatever he can for me doesn't deserve to be screamed at. I'm going to make a conscious effort not to do that. The cats
just flatten their ears and go away...they don't deserve it either. Last night I made a definite effort not to raise my voice, and not
to get angry. There's a lot of anger...and still a lot of tears. I have to resolve both, but I don't know how because I'm not sure of
where it's coming from.
Sometimes I feel like a sleepwalker....any moment I'll wake up...I look at me in the mirror and see a healthy, slightly overweight
woman looking back. Clear eyes, healthy skin, *most* of her own teeth, healthy hair(even if it is silver gray).....why am I at this
place? I don't *look* like I have breast cancer, I don't *feel* like I have breast cancer, but the cold hard facts are, I do. I'm
working very hard at not behaving like a patient, or a martyr.
Very few people know, because I can't deal with the constant questions, the "poor Linda, have you heard?" mentality. I'm
keeping my routine as close to normal as possible. I'll throw in a few loads of laundry while I'm home alone. I really don't feel
right about Charlie doing all the work and holding down a full time job...I need to do some of it.
Today will be treatment number 4. According to the papers I carry with me, the fatigue will peak in about a week, and stay
steady, and may hang around 4-6 weeks after treatment. That's the one thing I find annoying...the fatigue, I can deal with the
loss of appetite because I could stand to lose a few pounds (heck of a way to lose them!); I'm a goer and doer, not a sitter
around.
If you all don't mind, I'll post again next Thursday.
November 13, 1998...
 On Thursdays, they take pictures to ensure they're doing the radiation in the right area, and to keep the treatment accurate. It
takes a bit longer than normal treatment, because they take a picture, develop it, see where they are, make the appropriate
adjustments and give me the first half of my treatment. Before doing the second half, they repeat the picture process, but on the
second half, they tape the measuring device to the treatment area to check the dosage. I'm sporting very bright blue marks now.
I have to remember to not wear anything with a low v neck or I'll have to start explaining why I look like a street map. I now
own several "tie dye" bras...one or two in orange and white, and one or two in blue and white. This stuff doesn't come out of
clothing. If I use enough bleach to get it out of the bra fabric, it'll melt the elastic and I might as well go braless at that point. So
I'm sporting retro underwear. I'm a little tired today. I go home and wrap up in a quilt and *try* to take a nap. With 7 kittens
and 3 adult cats jockeying for position on my lap and my right shoulder, it's a little difficult.
Friday, Nov. 6
They redraw the marks darker for the weekend, so they'll have something as a guide come Monday afternoon. My next stop is
the Community Health Center next door to have my blood drawn. Apparently when you're a cancer patient, you bypass the
front waiting area and walk directly back to the phlebotomy section. The woman taking the blood is excellent...minimal bruising,
very little pain. We're going out to dinner tonight with some friends, so I'm going to try to take a nap when I get home.
I'm not very hungry, and when I am hungry I don't feel like fixing anything to eat, so I'm keeping carrots and fresh fruit available
so that I can snack on the "good" stuff, although hot fudge sundaes with chocolate fudge ice cream is the "creme de la creme" of
snack foods. I've noticed that soon after I eat, I'm tired. I think my body is trying to do too many things at once. Digesting food
and repairing itself. I'm going to bed early tonight.
Monday, Nov. 9
Well, the weekend was a total loss and seriously stressful. Our main sewage line blocked completely. After trying to fix it
ourselves for a day, we called in professionals. We became *very* familiar faces at McDonald's and Wendy's. I felt obligated
to buy something every time we visited. Blech! This morning the problem was finally fixed and we're back to normal. Charlie
tried to keep it light, but I told him I'd lost my sense of humor and didn't think anything was funny and I start crying. Poor guy,
he's trying to keep me sane.
Monday's are usually the days patients see their oncologist, but mine won't be in until tomorrow. I'd rather see her than her
associate, so I'll wait until Tuesday. The visit is routine, in case I'm having problems that the doctor needs to know about
immediately. I'm not experiencing anything they hadn't told me about already. I can tell the treatment area is becoming a lot
more tender as treatment progresses. I hurt a little more, and I'm getting tireder faster. When I see the doctor tomorrow I'm
going to ask her why my left heel feels tender several hours after treatment. I wonder if it's the nerves running down that part of
the body. She'll tell me whether it's related to the radiation.
I've got the routine down pretty good into week #2.....undress, put on silly hospital gown, climb on table and slide...I'm 5'2" so
I'm having a problem staying close to the back rest. My butt starts sliding down and I have to scooch back up. I usually wear
sneakers so the bottoms act as a brake. The two technicians make sure the sheet doesn't extend past my knees, otherwise, I'll
be laying at the bottom of the table and they'll be radiating empty space.
Tuesday, Nov 10
They took some additional dosage measurements, and I mentioned seeing the oncologist. The technicians checked her schedule
and she had a new patient to admit...it would be another hour. I decided to go home and see her another day. The man who
gets treatments before me seems to be getting a little stronger. The first time I saw him, he was bundled in a blanket and had
two people walking him out to the person who brought him, now he's able to move more on his own and has one person walk
him out. It can get confusing in there and you can get turned around easily, even though there are signs everywhere.
I'm really tiring quickly now. It's a chore to drive home, and fortunately for me, I'm just 10 minutes away. If it were across
town, I couldn't do it. Charlie and I go to feed Momma Cat and Himself. She's pretty frisky and friendly to Himself, and they
go trotting across the parking lot together. There's been no sign of the kittens. We figure they should be about 9-10 weeks old.
I'm getting concerned about them.
Wednesday, Nov. 11
I wasn't the first one in this morning....I had to clean up a crash in the kitchen. Apparently one or more of the kittens knocked
my dish drainer off the counter top....I had to clean up broken glass, and pick up scattered silverware and plastic junk. I started
crying, and then I just stood in the middle of the kitchen and screamed. Cats went everywhere and hid, even the ones in the
other rooms. I couldn't help it...of all the days for this to happen, it had to be the one day where I must be out and going early. I
was beside myself. Being that angry made me lightheaded. I had to go into the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror (the
only room without cats), and talk to myself. I washed up again and put new makeup on, and left. I signed in a minute after the
first person did, and found a spot to sit and cool down. Fifteen minutes later, the two regulars, the old guy and the other lady
came in one right after another. He bustled around making a pot of coffee, she got herself a cup of tea, and I stared at the wall.
They both said good morning and asked how I was doing, and I told them fine. The old guy said he'd had an accident on the
way to the Center...he'd been hit by a nurse. His car didn't have damage, hers did; he told her he was on way to radiation
therapy and the nurse got upset and asked how he was doing, was he okay and so on. He asked the lady how she was and she
said she had to get her wig permmed.....all the curl had fallen out of it...that was her big project for the day. About that time, the
technician came out, asked who was first, the very first lady who'd signed in was already back in the second waiting room and
we all pointed to her. I was out by 7:30. That part of my day was done. Now I had to travel across town to a two-hour
meeting. I hitched a ride with a coworker who was going in the same direction. By the time we arrived back here, I was pretty
beat. I think the fatigue is reaching its peak...I lasted until 2 p.m. and then had to go home. I didn't have the energy to eat
anything for lunch, so I wrapped up in my quilt and watched a little television. When Charlie came home, we fed Momma Cat
and Himself, stopped at the Price Club because I was out of cat food. Try explaining to hungry cats that you're too tired to buy
their food and they're liable to run you out on a rail.
Thursday, Nov. 12
I didn't make it into work today. I overdid it yesterday and I just can't make myself go through the motions, so I called in sick. I
back to bed and slept until 11:30 a.m. when Charlie woke me up. The look on his face when I opened my eyes broke my
heart. He asked if I was okay, and I told him yes, I was just too tired to go to work, and I'd forgotten his phone number at his
building. I've always been a very light sleeper and wake up at every little sound. What upset Charlie so badly is that I didn't stir
when he came into the house (he's the noisiest Native American I've ever met!!). When he looked into the bedroom and saw
me laying there, eyes closed, he panicked. He said I looked like I was dead, by the way I was laying and the fact that I didn't
respond to all the noise. It really scared him.
Today they took pictures again. I got there a little early and they took me in right away. They had to redo my marks because
they were beginning to fade badly. I'll be *so* glad when the day comes that I can look at myself and not see blue x's and lines
drawn down the middle of my chest, up around my collarbone, and along my side almost into my armpit. I'm beginning to hate
the color of royal blue. They were having a problem with the marking pen not doing what it's supposed to do, and one of the
tech's mentioned that she may have to start using the green one. Gosh, I could then have a retro 70's look...remember when
blue and green was all the rage in furniture and linens and clothes? I might end up with a retro 70's breast!
I didn't get to see the doctor today, because she was off duty; her associate would have seen me and I'd prefer to talk to her. I
have to get something in writing for my Human Resources Department explaining what I'm being treated for, and how long the
treatment will be. Tomorrow, she'll be in, and I'm supposed to be able to see her then. I also have to have blood drawn
tomorrow...every Friday without fail.
Some of the patients that come here regularly amaze me with their attitudes. I've had to rethink my initial feelings and
impressions of the Cancer Center. Most of the patients have become acquainted with each other because they share some form
of a common enemy: cancer. They chat with each other, watch whatever is on television for the time they're in the waiting room,
and on Wednesday mornings, share coffee together. This past Wednesday, I was invited to join that small, select group of early
risers and have some coffee with them. I was grateful, because I've felt like an outsider here. They've all been going through
treatment for a while, around the same time of the day, so they know each other's names, and they talk about things that
someone walking by wouldn't understand. The dosage of the chemotherapy, what are they taking for the nausea, how things
are going with each other....that sort of small talk. But it's different from "normal" small talk because some of them are fighting
for their lives, and they behave as if this is just one more thing to do in their daily lives. At least, this is the impression I'm getting.
I don't know if I could discuss having to get my wig permmed as calmly as the lady did Wednesday. My biggest fear was losing
my hair. She's facing every day wearing a scarf, and can talk about something that would be terribly traumatic to me personally,
as I'm sure it was for her. They amaze me with their cheerfulness, their determination to go forward and to face each day with a
sense of humor and the ability to keep things as normal as possible when their world has been turned around.
I'm experiencing some side effects that I want to check out with the doctor today (if I get to see her). Aside from the left heel
being tender to walk on a couple hours after treatment, I notice I also get very warm for about an hour, then I'm chilled and
can't get warm again. I'm the type that runs around barefoot all year round, wears shorts in the house even in winter, and starts
wearing my winter coat in January or February, depending on the weather, when I own one. This is bothersome, but not
intolerable.
My left breast is becoming a little swollen and tender, and near the lumpectomy incision it's very sensitive. It's healing, but it's
tender to the touch. Sometimes I feel like my nerves are on top of my skin. Tess started kneading my right shoulder and I
couldn't stand it. When I pulled her off my shoulder, she started these plaintive little meows and I put her back, but doubled the
quilt so she couldn't poke through to my skin.
Folding a load of laundry, or washing a sinkful of dishes, or cooking a meal is taxing right now. I'm so frustrated because
Charlie won't let me help with certain things. He tells me not to tax myself, to sit still and get better, that this will pass and I'll be
able to do what I want soon. Fine....but what about now? I do the things I can.
The technicians ask me every day how I'm feeling, am I having problems, am I okay? I told the one technician yesterday that
I'm a little more tired lately. She asked if I worked and I told her yes and she said that it's hard to work and come to therapy. It
takes a lot out of you. I told her that was the reason why I wanted mine as late in the day as possible, so I could go home and
rest afterward. She said that it was still tiring to do.
Since I can't wear deodorant or powder in the area receiving the radiation, I've had to keep a box of cornstarch on my dresser.
I'm allowed to use that as long as it's pure cornstarch with no additives. A bright yellow box of "Argo" cornstarch greets me
every morning.
Friday, Nov. 13
Wonderful....Friday the 13th......I'm not going to say another word about it. Ahem....Today I'll have blood drawn, and I hope
to see the doctor. I feel a little more energetic this morning. I had a long discussion with myself about getting out of bed.
Common sense won....again...rats.
I've noticed, from time to time, there's this little voice, the "demon of doubt", that will whisper....."but, suppose they *didn't* get
it all, suppose it comes back, suppose you have to have a mastectomy sooner than you want to...suppose, suppose, suppose."
When that happens, this little thread of fear starts in my stomach, and I find myself doubting the doctor, the treatment and the
future. I guess this is the "down" part of going through such a diagnosis. When it happens, I have a good cry, and then tell the
"demon of doubt" that they *did* catch it in time, it *was* removed, and the radiation *will* kill whatever nasty little cells are
left over. It's amazing how insidious doubt and fear can be. I'm not a very religious person, but I find myself telling me and the
"demon" that it's in God's hands, and that I have enough faith to believe that it will be healed and I'll be okay. That makes the
voice fade for a while. I don't think I'll ever lose the fear of this happening again. It will always live in the back of my mind, in
my subconcious.
Charlie has agreed to share his thoughts and feelings while he's walking this path with me. I'm honored that he's willing to open
his heart and say how he feels. His only request is that it be in the same place as mine so people don't have to go from one to
the other, and someone can print both points of view once. He's a very private person...but I'm hoping his input will help those
who have loved ones making a similar journey.
November 16, 1998....
 First, I'd like to thank Tally for creating my wife's beautiful page. It depicts her as a "steel magnolia", which she is. I mean that
with loving respect. I don't know how she's doing it either, because it frightens me....the word "cancer". I wondered why her,
and what would this mean to our relationship, if the unmentionable (death) would happen. My first thoughts when we found out
the news, was basically, "Oh my God, what can *I* do because it's not *my* body, it's not *me*. I was angry, and I was
frustrated, because you just stand there and can't do....you can't kiss it and make it better. I supported her in whatever decision
she decided to make...whether mastectomy or radiation....whatever would be the best for her is what she had to think about.
Now that she's going through the treatments, there are some things that I have found out which, in a way, make it hard to
comprehend that Linda is doing this....this is happening to Linda. The fact that she's fatigued, and has slowed down some
because of her tiredness, and also the fact of her already short fuse of 2 1/2" shortening to about 1/4"; I think it's the fear and
frustration with herself that makes her this way. She sometimes is very short with me and also the cats. I feel, as a husband, that
all this too shall pass; at least I pray it will.
To the guys that might read this - there's going to be frustration, anger, and not understanding what she's going through, because
nobody can tell you everything about how it feels. In Linda's case, the tiredness, the lack of being continually able to go, go, go,
some irritability and her temper being shorter, is, I feel, all due to the radiation treatments. So you should look for changes and
expect them....and don't lose *your* temper, because it doesn't help either one of you. Don't be afraid to hold, hug, and to
help; that's what we're here for.
Linda keeps asking how I feel about having to "pick up the slack" and do some of the things she normally does....I think it really
bothers her that she's not able to carry her part of the load...I've told her that it doesn't bother me....this is what I have to do for
now. We're a team...that's the way I look at it....I have to carry her end for a while...one day she'll do the same for me. It
doesn't bother me to have to pick up after the cats, or do the laundry or clean house; my mother taught me how to do those
things anyway, so it's not a bother....baking a cake might be a "little" different, but I could do it if I had to.
During the day I think about her, and how she's doing, especially around 3:00, and I worry until I get home. I wonder if
everything went okay with her treatment; is she tireder, did she have a reaction...is she upset...It stays on my mind until I'm
home. I came home last Thursday around 11:30 a.m., and saw her Jeep in the driveway and got a tightening in my chest and in
the pit of my stomach, and I thought "Oh s**t, what's wrong!?" I came into the house, called her name and got no response....I
dreaded going into the bedroom - I could see her in bed but she wasn't moving...I didn't see her breathing and it really, really
scared me. You have to understand that Linda is a very light sleeper and wakes up at noises I can't hear. When she didn't
move, I thought the worst until I leaned over her and asked her "Are you okay? Linda? Linda?" and she opened one eye,
looked at me and said "I was too tired to go to work, and I didn't have the phone number to where you were." I was relieved
and felt like "Jeesh! Don't scare me like that!!!" My heart was in my throat. She turned on her side and started to doze off
again. As I was getting ready to go to my second job, she got up and started moving around. Since she was up and awake
before I left, I figured she'd be okay until I got home and would be ready for her treatment at 3:00.
I remember sitting in my van at a red light, watching the sunset and thinking to myself: "Why her, why my wife?" I remember
thinking "This is her triumph over her fear of this disease. If she can defeat this, she can defeat anything; she should have no fear
left, because she's conquering her worst enemy." It's as if a message was sent by God in response to my question of "Why
*my* wife. The other thing that I remember, is when we were trying to trap the cats, Linda kept seeing a wolf in the brush and
among the trees, and asked me what I thought it meant. I said it was a message, but I didn't know of what. After she got the
news about her breast cancer, she didn't see the wolf anymore.
I try to be upbeat....no, I'm *definitely* upbeat about this...because it helps Linda, and it helps me get through it. I feel she's
won...that's the only way I *can* think. Linda's beat her worst fear. You've got to live day by day..and if there's a bad day,
you've got to try to do better. There's nothing like coming home and finding your sewer backed up in your basement, discover
that you've been shorted you on your paycheck, have a sick cat, an old dog that's been ready to die for the last five years, and
getting through it and still have the ability to find some humor in all of it. Linda and I do find some humor in some of the
situations, but not all of them...the cat is feeling better, and the old dog is still ornery and old.
I don't think I'm anyone special. My wife is being treated for breast cancer - it's scary, but I'm going to be there for her when
she needs me. We have to face this together as a team. I'm nothing special - just a guy.
Charlie
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