A Circle of Emotions
Cancer plays so many cruel games on its’ victims.
The diagnosis, the words, “We’ve found cancer,” is the shock and rock of a lifetime. The world goes numb, we don’t really hear any of the words after those, because, really, what is there left to say or hear?
Once it’s penetrated your mind, the doctor visits begin, the therapies are planned and treatment begins…more shock and thoughts that this can’t be happening to you or your loved one. But most of us in this phase, think it over and over in our minds and we decide that we will be the one who beats this beast. We’ll be the success story. We’ll be the one called the ‘survivor.’ So we’re positive about our outcome…we have to be, otherwise what’s the use of trying?
Our will to live is so important when we’re fighting this stuff. We watch our loved ones push past the nausea. We watch them fight to put a few bites of food in their mouth because, we, the caregivers, have read the book that says, protien and fluids are so important during treatment, so “EAT.”
We keep the good vibes going and we say how good they look or that they don’t look like they have cancer. We urge them to take a walk or to get some fresh air, because they’ll feel better.
It’s all a state of mind in cancer world.
And then the beast gets serious and the rules change. Next thing you know, you’re sitting by the hospital bed and all you can do is watch and wait. Cancer is running the game now…..Sitting and waiting and worrying… Even the doctors look concerned.
It’s like being in the middle of a hurricane. The winds blow you one way and you keep your feet planted and you think you’ve got it figured out. Then the eye of the storm surrounds you and there’s a short but welcomed calm, but don’t be fooled, the back end of the storm isn’t far behind and sometimes it’s even more vicious.
Our emotions take the biggest hit. We worry, we don’t sleep, we hang on every word from the doctors and we worry some more. We use every bit of adrenaline our bodies can produce and we hope. And then there’s a change, a rally. Our loved one some how finds the strength to fight another day. The doctors can’t really explain it and you don’t really care because you see life rising to face the beast once more and that’s all that matters.
Now you’re emotions make a u-turn and you also rise to the occasion.
How many times can the patient do this and how many times can the caregiver do this?
As many times as we need too…is the short answer.
And we go back to saying “You look so much better today.”
And the adrenaline starts to pump again.
August 24, 2011 @ 8:21 pm
I like to think my positive attitude contributed to Jim’s positive attitude during his 5 year battle. He always had amazing strength before cancer and it never seemed to waver during his fight. I will admit to growing weary keeping the hope in the forefront all day every day…at least publicly. In private it was another matter but when I wasn’t alone the good face appeared and I never let him think I was without hope…because I wasn’t. Giving up hope was giving in to the cancer and I refused to do that sustained only by the little bits of bright news that would come to us occasionally. All the bloodwork is looking good was music to our ears and I remember the elated drives home with the knowledge that today cancer was not winning. I know you are sharing all your thoughts and knowledge of caregiving at Hopkins and I hope other hospitals don’t depend soley on the “professionals” to treat cancer. We caregivers have so much knowledge to pass on to them and we are so willing to pay it forward. Once again, Laurie, thank you for lending you voice.
August 24, 2011 @ 6:16 pm
I remember feeling excited and hopeful when something good happened during my husband’s cancer illness. His doctor would remind me that yes the day’s incident was positive but he still has cancer. I would get deflated and then find a way to cope for another day. It was bearable if I found one thing to thank him for or something he did that I was grateful for.
Al is right. What you wrote today is the essence of what we go through and would do all again for our loved one. Thank you for writing it.
August 24, 2011 @ 4:41 pm
Laurie, you should print hundreds of copies of today’s blog and distribute it throughout the entire oncology practice at Hopkins. You have captured in a clear, concise way what it is like to be a caregiver. Perhaps as the residents embark out into the world, they will have embraced the understanding that your message conveys.
Thx Mo….”a feeling grew into a hope” How powerful!!!
August 24, 2011 @ 7:22 am
Your words move me deeply and make me wonder.
Is it harder for the patient or the caregiver? Sometimes I think it is indeed harder for the caregiver, because he or she clings to hope more tightly, while the patient may come to terms with the slim chances of survival it is almost impossible for the caregiver to… give up.
August 23, 2011 @ 8:00 pm
The first couplet in one of my poems is, “A feeling grew / into a hope.” That’s what we have to do with our feelings, keep knitting them into hope.