Spoiler Alert: Having Cancer Sucks!!!
All the wisdom you need is right there in the title.
And yet... it's taken me almost four months to really feel the weight of it. Having cancer seriously, really, honestly, f***ing sucks. (I'm trying not to swear because swearing causes cancer).
But I'm sitting here at almost 1 am totally buzzing. Because I just unloaded a load of you-know-what onto Ty when he dared try to offer encouragement as I griped about all of the physical changes I'm dealing with for the umpteenth time... and I realized ya girl gotta process all of this somehow.
So now, I write.
Let's start at the very beginning. A very good place to start.
When you read you begin with "A, B, C" when you....
Just kidding. But seriously, go watch The Sound of Music so that song doesn't stay stuck in your head forever. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go watch The Sound of Music so you can know how it feels to have that song stuck in your head forever.
ANYWAY. Back to my very thrilling cancer novella.
It all started when I had what I thought was food poisoning on Christmas day 2022. I was throwing up, stomach pain, the whole 9 yards. Then for the next little bit I started waking up in the night with some pretty awful stomach pain. So I made a doctor appointment, gave them the scoop, and they put me on omeprazole. Just one little over-the-counter pill once a day, 30 minutes before eating in the morning. Told me to come back in 3 months if I wasn't able to come off it. No problem.
But guys, the things is... it's so much easier to pop a pill that's "solving the problem" than it is to make another appointment, pay $1000+ for an endoscopy, yada yada. So, what did I do? I refilled the prescription. Multiple times. And I went on my merry way.
UNTIL, I went on a quick 5-day trip to see family and forgot my meds. I started to feel pretty crappy, and had to buy the weird Canadian version, which worked okay. But I was definitely happy to be home and get back to my daily dose of 40 mg of All-American protein pump inhibitor (PPI medication. look it up.)
So... yes, the pill was solving the problem, but it was official. It had been almost a whole year, and I still couldn't come off it without symptoms resuming. So naturally, I tucked it in my back pocket and kept on doing nothing about it.
As we moved through Thanksgiving, Christmas, and came into the new year, I felt a pretty strong tug to give some extra attention to my health in 2024. I was feeling exhausted all the time, even when I slept 8, 9, 10 hours in a night. So, I made an appointment for an annual physical. Thankfully, my doctor was invested enough to send me for further testing when I told them I was still needing the Omeprazole every day. So, I took my referral and scheduled the endoscopy I'd been trying to avoid for the past year. We have a high-deductible health plan, and I really wasn't excited about the large chunk we'd have to pay for this small surgical procedure.
But, I genuinely wasn't concerned about finding any major health issues. I thought, if anything, I had an ulcer. And the thing is, I didn't think ulcers were a big deal. My grandma told me she had one that healed on its own. And Ty was diagnosed with esophageal ulcers in college. I mean, in fairness, it was incredibly painful and super suuuucked for him for a couple weeks there. But as I recalled that experience, they gave him some pills, and he healed pretty quickly. If he can heal with a couple pills, so can I. No biggie!
The day of the procedure came and Ty and I had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn and have a neighbor take our kiddos to school. But all told, it was a pretty Zen visit. It kind of felt like an early morning date. The thing I felt the most anxiety about was the mandatory pregnancy test, because those always freak me out a little bit. But it was negative, so all good.
Fast-forward, I get the whole spiel about the anesthesia, and that this procedure would be pretty quick and painless. And as promised, before I knew it, I was gazing at Ty through fluttering eyelids in recovery. But then the tides changed.
The funny thing is, I was so oblivious to the implications of this conversation when I was in it. But looking back, the doctor was visibly concerned, and giving me all the hints that this might not be the "quick fix" I was gunning for.
Doctor: So, as I got in to look around in your stomach I saw that you have a large ulcer, probably 3-5 cm in size. Do you take a lot of ibuprofen?
Me: Hmmm, maybe like once a month if that. So, no.
Doctor: Are you sure?
Me: ...Yes. Pretty sure.
Doctor: Okay, I just wanted to check because with the location of it, it's a spot where pills could get stuck and cause damage.
Me: Ah. Okay!
Doctor: Well let me show you a pictu.... oh, I guess I didn't get a good picture of it. I was too busy biopsying it.
Me: Oh, gotcha. (Inside thought: Wasn't the whole point of this to get a look at what's in there? No pics? What kind of doctor is this guy? Oh well.)
Doctor: Anyway, I've rushed the biopsy results, so we should get those in the next couple of days. Hopefully it's just an ulcer, but we just want to make sure it's not something worse, like cancer. We'll be in touch.
Me: Okay cool! Thanks, Doc. [Concludes there's no way it's cancer, ceases to think about it or be in any way concerned].
That night, I had a couple fleeting "What if" thoughts, but I honestly wrote them off and quickly put them out of my mind.
The very next day, just before 11 am, I got a call from the same doctor. I felt myself tense up as I registered who was calling. He called me himself... not good. He told me that the results he'd rushed were miraculously overnighted--something he hadn't seen happen before... good? But also, not good. Then he laid it on me.
The results were positive for cancer.
As I look back, I realize that I was honestly in shock at the start of all this. D-day, February 29th, I found out I have adenocarcinoma in my stomach. Gastric cancer at 32. Some serious BS.
I can't negate that there were some incredible blessings and tender mercies inherent in this experience. I've shared about them and will write about them again another time. Because seriously, right now I'm pissed! I need a second to just feel this and acknowledge all of the crappy things I'm having to deal with as I navigate this illness. Because, I've gotta be honest, it's been a suck-fest in a lot of respects.
I know I joke and kid a lot, but this has been a huge blow. I think one of the hardest things about this is how it's impacted my identity. It's really affected how I see myself, both literally and figuratively.
Literal self-image sucker punch examples:
About 3 weeks into my chemo regimen, I lost more than half my hair in one day. Since I was told I "might see some thinning", I was shocked by it. Intuitively, I knew I didn't want to look like Gollum, so I shaved it that very night. I cried a little that day on the phone with one of my best girlfriends, but besides that I shed nary a tear at that time. It definitely helped that Ty did it with me. I felt all of the love and support day-of.
It's only been in the weeks since as my hair has failed to make any kind of comeback that I've been battling feelings of grief, seeing photos and videos of myself with me long beautiful hair and missing that part of my appearance. On the bright side, my cousin's 5 year-old complimented me on the "twigs" on my head, so there was that. Surprisingly, I opted to shave it off again.
I've also been dealing with my weight fluctuating a lot. My eating capabilities are shockingly unaffected by the cancer, which is a huge blessing, because I can eat. But also... emotional eating. Not only is it one of my weak areas to begin with, but add into it this "last supper" mentality that creeps in when you know you're getting 3/4 of your stomach removed, and it's very easy to get carried away. Intermittent overindulgence in food is something I've struggled with for many years, and have outrun (quite literally) with good habits like going to the gym regularly. But guess what doesn't happen when you feel awful during chemo? You guessed it!! Going to the gym. So my weight going up, and my muscle mass is going down. Cue Laura feeling really weird and uncomfortable in her own body. Like seriously, this time last year I was doing 75 hard and working out 90 minutes every day. This "waaahhhh, I'm too sick to work out" feels like the lamest joke. So I try intermittent fasting.... weight goes up even more. *throws hands up*
But at the end of it all, I have the consolation that God has given my a trial I can't eat my way out of, because I'll only have a tiny pouch of a stomach come July 1st. So there's that I guess. Then I have all 4 rounds of chemo to help me trim down after I recover from that. I'll let you know how many stars I give the cancer diet when I'm done.
ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?!
OHHH, I almost forgot. My face has been breaking out intermittently to the point that after my fourth round of chemo, it looked like I had road rash on my cheeks and forehead, and herpes around my mouth. Not actual herpes, just annoying red spots that won't go away. So I went to the dermatologist for it, and they gave me two creams to put on my face twice a day and an antibiotic to murder all my remaining gut flora. But hey, at least the rash is gone. Now I just have red scarring and hyperpigmentation on my face. Oh, and bonus points for the fact that one of the creams I'm applying topically to my face is Metronidazole gel, which happens to be a widely used vaginal cream. So much so, that it says "vaginal gel" on the tube. So every time a medical person calls me to verify what prescriptions I'm still using, they ask me if I'm still using my vaginal gel. Yes, Gayle, yes I am.
 |
| My face in the thick of it |
But truly. This is a really hard time. I look in the mirror and the image I see staring back at me doesn't register as me. My one saving grace is that I had bomb-looking eyebrows tattooed on before those started falling out. (Did I mention my brows and lashes are down to bare bones? So great). I just avoid mirrors as a rule.
I can joke all I want. It's all thinly veiled grief and bitterness at how this illness is tearing my body up, and how much it's showing. But if the jokes help me get through this and hobble toward healing, I'll keep making them. (And, please, keep laughing. They're so much more fun that way!)
I think part of the struggle today is that I'm wrapping up some final tasks at work before I take a leave of absence indefinitely to take some time for healing. I've really enjoyed my job. I got to work for my best friend, helping people get into therapy, and helping my family get some cheddar into our savings account. And I'm not gonna lie, I was good at it! And I was feeling really good about that outlet and contribution to the world and to our finances. But I know deep down that continuing to work as I'm in treatment will not give me the space I need to slow allllll the way down and actually heal.
And that, my friends, for someone who has always derived alarming amounts of self-worth from being a mover, shaker and go-getter, is a very tough pill to swallow. I have to strip my life down to bare bones. I have to prioritize what matters most, and let the rest go. For who knows how long. For me, this is acutely painful.
I'm the person who tries to do it all, and hates to slow down. Like for real, I don't even watch TV because I can't sit still that long. I've got an episode or two of Spongebob in me before I fall asleep, or get up and do something else. Thinking of being in recovery mode for weeks, and months, is somewhat unfathomable to me. I've never had to do anything like this.
But as I move forward toward surgery, I'm starting to digest (ha!) the reality that this cancer is my body pulling the e-brake. It's not sustainable to pour all of my energy into a multitude of unprioritized tasks. In this season of life, I only have enough gas in the tank for what matters most.
My health. My spiritual wellbeing. My relationships.
I'm still in the early stages of conceptualizing what this "slowing down" might look like moving f
orward, so wish me luck. Say a prayer for me. Please, send some good, healing vibes my way. Because: 1) It helps 2) My life literally depends on figuring this out so.... no pressure 3) If you've made it this far through my late-night rant about my cancer woes, I know you're in this with me. So, from the bottom of my heart: Thank you!!!
Now, I'm going to go find out how to solve a problem like Maria.
Until next time!
XO Laura
Comments
Post a Comment