I was
reading today that, one year and eight days ago, Michael Phelps won his 8th
gold medal in Beijing. It dawned on me that this meant that, one year and eight
days ago, I was lying in a hospital bed, trying to recover from an infection
that was raging throughout my body. I was
so determined to stay awake to watch him win this medal - I have never been a
huge swimming fan (d0n't tell my husband - he lettered in high school and still
holds records there); truthfully, I've never been a huge fan of the Olympics -
I enjoy watching the opening ceremony, but beyond that, I'm happy with a
medal-count check every day or so. And, since the Greg Lougainis incident, I
struggle to watch swimming. However, I wanted to feel somewhat normal while I
was lying in bed fighting some unknown infection (while also fighting cancer)
and this helped me feel somewhat normal. Because of the time difference
(Beijing is 15 hours ahead of AZ), and because of the several-times-nightly
blood draws, temp and BP checks, etc. that kept me awake, I could actually
watch it as it happened, instead of catching it on the multitude of reruns, as
everyone else would have to do.
Thinking about this today got me thinking more about where I was a year ago. I was about halfway through my treatments and starting to truly feel the effects of the chemo. If my memory serves me right (and, it may not....), I had started feeling the neuropathy by now, and the exhaustion was complete and utterly draining by now. My nausea was controllable but awful, and my hair was still falling out pretty rapidly. Overall, this wasn't a good way to spend the 32nd summer of my life. But, I am grateful for it. And, I am grateful for what I have, where I am now, etc. This hospital stay was tough physically, but it was also really rough emotionally because it was the first slap in the face that all of our planning for the chemo schedule was completely out of our control and that I still had to let the cancer and chemo have the reins on this part of the journey. I think that this hospital stay was the first time I really truly understood those things, and that I accepted them.
And, this brings me to the next topic. Tonight, the kids and I attended and worked an alumni vs current volleyball team game for GCC. Kim used to play for Glendale Community College, and the school and team have been unbelievably supportive of Kim and her family during her battle. Kim has asked me to attend these outings as an advocate, and I do what I can. Admittedly, tonight was tough since I had the kids with me, and Kevin (being three) doesn't want to listen. *sigh* Anyways, it got me thinking about how I really feel, being the one advocating for the cause, while Kim is lying in bed, dying. Because that's what's happening. The cancer has now spread throughout her body and it's uncontrollable. They are still maintaining, but I think it's only a matter of a few short weeks before the inevitable occurs. I heard things tonight that made me cringe, and thank my lucky stars that my doctor pushed me to go to the specialist, that Dr M pushed me to get the colonoscopy, and that my husband pushed me to go through with the test.
However, along with this gratefulness comes a sense of "why me" and a sense of guilt. I feel horrible standing there with Nan (Kim's mom), living life and being there with her and doing what I know she wishes Kim could do. I feel awful telling my story and knowing that I will have a happy ending, while Kim and her family won't. I feel horrible that her kids will have to grow up not knowing their mom, while I have the freedom to yell at my son a hundred times tonight for not listening to me (by the way, any help on this would be much appreciated - I need to get him to listen on the first try.....don't laugh at me...).
I mentioned this to Randi, one of Kim's good friends and someone that I have gotten to know a bit over the past couple of weeks. Randi has had her own fair share (more than, truthfully) of heartaches and pain, and talking with her, I felt able to tell her my guilt, my shame, my fear at being there tonight. She understands, and helped me to see that my being there is what Kim wants, what her family wants, and what I should be doing.
However, it's still so hard to see Nan there, talking with family and friends, answering the inevitable questions about Kim and her condition/prognosis. I feel a sense of surrealism in these situations, as if I am watching the scene from outside my body. It's almost as if I am acting in a play, and watching a taped version, because I inevitably critique myself after these events. Was I too pushy? Did I overstate my in-remission status, and did that upset Nan or anyone else b/c I'm where they want Kim to be? Did I do enough to tell people about the cause? Could I have done anything differently to be kinder, gentler, more compassionate to her family?
And, there's the anxiety I feel with being around the family. I know that comparing Kim's condition and mine is like the apples & oranges theory. Ours were the same cancer in name, but the similarities pretty much end there. Mine was caught early enough. Her's wasn't. They are both aggresive forms of colon cancer - that much is true. But, I was lucky that mine was caught before it had spread any further. She wasn't as lucky. I wonder if these are things that her family is thinking about when they see me - are they wondering why I am here instead of Kim? Do they wish our situations were reversed? I love her family - they have opened their hearts and their inner circle to me in ways that I couldn't imagine have been easy. They have given me a place within their support system to not only provide Kim with assistance, but to get help myself. It's a wonderful blessing to be considered a friend of theirs, and I will be forever grateful. But, I can't help but wonder what will happen if/when Kim passes - what kind of thoughts will they be thinking about me? How will this change their view of me? And, how will that change my view of myself? Is my being present at these things a blessing, or a curse for them?
I don't think I have the answers to any of these questions yet. I have to see what happens and go with it. That's what I've done so far, and that's all I can do now. Like the first portion of this journey, I have faith that I will have the strength to get through this and to endure.
Thinking about this today got me thinking more about where I was a year ago. I was about halfway through my treatments and starting to truly feel the effects of the chemo. If my memory serves me right (and, it may not....), I had started feeling the neuropathy by now, and the exhaustion was complete and utterly draining by now. My nausea was controllable but awful, and my hair was still falling out pretty rapidly. Overall, this wasn't a good way to spend the 32nd summer of my life. But, I am grateful for it. And, I am grateful for what I have, where I am now, etc. This hospital stay was tough physically, but it was also really rough emotionally because it was the first slap in the face that all of our planning for the chemo schedule was completely out of our control and that I still had to let the cancer and chemo have the reins on this part of the journey. I think that this hospital stay was the first time I really truly understood those things, and that I accepted them.
And, this brings me to the next topic. Tonight, the kids and I attended and worked an alumni vs current volleyball team game for GCC. Kim used to play for Glendale Community College, and the school and team have been unbelievably supportive of Kim and her family during her battle. Kim has asked me to attend these outings as an advocate, and I do what I can. Admittedly, tonight was tough since I had the kids with me, and Kevin (being three) doesn't want to listen. *sigh* Anyways, it got me thinking about how I really feel, being the one advocating for the cause, while Kim is lying in bed, dying. Because that's what's happening. The cancer has now spread throughout her body and it's uncontrollable. They are still maintaining, but I think it's only a matter of a few short weeks before the inevitable occurs. I heard things tonight that made me cringe, and thank my lucky stars that my doctor pushed me to go to the specialist, that Dr M pushed me to get the colonoscopy, and that my husband pushed me to go through with the test.
However, along with this gratefulness comes a sense of "why me" and a sense of guilt. I feel horrible standing there with Nan (Kim's mom), living life and being there with her and doing what I know she wishes Kim could do. I feel awful telling my story and knowing that I will have a happy ending, while Kim and her family won't. I feel horrible that her kids will have to grow up not knowing their mom, while I have the freedom to yell at my son a hundred times tonight for not listening to me (by the way, any help on this would be much appreciated - I need to get him to listen on the first try.....don't laugh at me...).
I mentioned this to Randi, one of Kim's good friends and someone that I have gotten to know a bit over the past couple of weeks. Randi has had her own fair share (more than, truthfully) of heartaches and pain, and talking with her, I felt able to tell her my guilt, my shame, my fear at being there tonight. She understands, and helped me to see that my being there is what Kim wants, what her family wants, and what I should be doing.
However, it's still so hard to see Nan there, talking with family and friends, answering the inevitable questions about Kim and her condition/prognosis. I feel a sense of surrealism in these situations, as if I am watching the scene from outside my body. It's almost as if I am acting in a play, and watching a taped version, because I inevitably critique myself after these events. Was I too pushy? Did I overstate my in-remission status, and did that upset Nan or anyone else b/c I'm where they want Kim to be? Did I do enough to tell people about the cause? Could I have done anything differently to be kinder, gentler, more compassionate to her family?
And, there's the anxiety I feel with being around the family. I know that comparing Kim's condition and mine is like the apples & oranges theory. Ours were the same cancer in name, but the similarities pretty much end there. Mine was caught early enough. Her's wasn't. They are both aggresive forms of colon cancer - that much is true. But, I was lucky that mine was caught before it had spread any further. She wasn't as lucky. I wonder if these are things that her family is thinking about when they see me - are they wondering why I am here instead of Kim? Do they wish our situations were reversed? I love her family - they have opened their hearts and their inner circle to me in ways that I couldn't imagine have been easy. They have given me a place within their support system to not only provide Kim with assistance, but to get help myself. It's a wonderful blessing to be considered a friend of theirs, and I will be forever grateful. But, I can't help but wonder what will happen if/when Kim passes - what kind of thoughts will they be thinking about me? How will this change their view of me? And, how will that change my view of myself? Is my being present at these things a blessing, or a curse for them?
I don't think I have the answers to any of these questions yet. I have to see what happens and go with it. That's what I've done so far, and that's all I can do now. Like the first portion of this journey, I have faith that I will have the strength to get through this and to endure.
Comments:
Heat said...
While
I'm sure Kim's family all want Kim to live and be healthy, I can't imagine that
they would want you to change places. I don't think they wish ill will upon
you, and while I'm sure they wish Kim's story was more like your story, they
really can't begrudge you for that.
I have worked hard (and continue to work) not to feel guilty about things that are not in my control. I teach children who live in complete poverty. It is not my fault they live in those conditions, and it is not my fault that I didn't. I will not feel guilt about it. I will do what I can to make their lives better. I will advocate for the poor and underserved. But I will not feel guilty.
Also ... it's funny how events are connected to hospital stays ... I remember laying in my hospital bed when Jordan Sparks became the new American Idol, and I laid and cried that Jordan got to be American Idol and I got to have cancer. (That still hits a tender part — I can't even type it without tearing up. Funny. I can talk about every other thing that happened to me while walking the cancer path without feeling sadness, but I can't talk about American Idol.)
Anyway, I hope that maybe that was a little bit helpful.
I have worked hard (and continue to work) not to feel guilty about things that are not in my control. I teach children who live in complete poverty. It is not my fault they live in those conditions, and it is not my fault that I didn't. I will not feel guilt about it. I will do what I can to make their lives better. I will advocate for the poor and underserved. But I will not feel guilty.
Also ... it's funny how events are connected to hospital stays ... I remember laying in my hospital bed when Jordan Sparks became the new American Idol, and I laid and cried that Jordan got to be American Idol and I got to have cancer. (That still hits a tender part — I can't even type it without tearing up. Funny. I can talk about every other thing that happened to me while walking the cancer path without feeling sadness, but I can't talk about American Idol.)
Anyway, I hope that maybe that was a little bit helpful.
August
22, 2009 at 12:46 PM
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