We are
coming up (way too quickly) on what has always been my favorite time of the
year. The next 6-8 weeks are just awesome. They are full of hope
and spirit and wonder and love and friendship (and good food) and amazing
memories. Christmas music is playing all around us - yes, I'm one of
those that will have it on in my car *all the time*. Charlie Brown's
Christmas, Rudolph, Frosty and Santa Claus are television specials that I have
on DVD, but MUST be watched on television, interrupted by commercials for stuff
I don't need and advertisements that make me cry with their sappy
sentimentality.
Yes. This is my favorite time of the year.
It hit me this weekend that this holiday season will be special. They all are - honestly, I'm like a little kid when people start putting their lights up and I can finally put my tree up. But, this year? Yeah - it's going to be very emotional. I saw my first Christmas commercial this past weekend - it was a Folger's commercial where the son comes home from West Africa and his sister greets him at the door. They make coffee, waking Mom and Dad up from their sleep, and Mom and Dad come down into the kitchen just in time for the heart-warming moment where sister tells brother that he is her Christmas gift.
***tear***
I've seen this commercial a bazillion times. And, just about every time, it makes me tear up. This year, though? Woah. I wasn't prepared for the emotional reaction.
It makes sense, when I think about it. The past 8 months have been kind of a blur - the rediagnosis came on so quickly, and we went from "What's for dinner next week?" to "When's my next chemo?" in what seemed to be a heartbeat. I/we never had time to really deal with the emotional turmoil that accompanies any kind of diagnosis like this.
This has been on my mind lately. I remember that in 2008, during my original battle, the physical fight came first. And, while that was hard, I think it was even more difficult to deal with the emotional battle once I was done actively fighting. I think it's a mentality that a lot of folks don't give much thought to.
The physical battle is something you have to dedicate everything to. You have to shift your entire life to accommodate the schedule, the doctor's appointments, the chemo and recovery, etc. You go into fight mode, and (for me), I didn't allow myself to feel the emotions associated with the diagnosis. Once I was done actively fighting (meaning, I was done with chemotherapy), I had to get back to real life and to figure out what that meant for me.
I have heard it referred to as PTSD, and while I don't want to take away from anyone else's situation (when I think of PTSD, I think of those that have been in combat), I do think it's fairly accurate.
To some extent, I'm going through the same thing again. Now that I'm done actively fighting (no more IV chemo.....hopefully, ever again), I'm trying to get back to life. I'm trying to balance my full-time job, the kids, the house, our finances (which are struggling at best right now, even with the generous help of others), mounting medical bills that are piling up, and just learning where I fit back into things. There have been some issues at home that have popped up that have been brewing for a while, and we are trying to figure those out. The emotional toll those are taking is overwhelming and undeniable.
There is also always this fear of recurrence. Now that it's happened, I'm much more aware of how fickle the cancer can be, and how prevalent the worry is in my mind. Every twinge, every cough, every ache leads to the inevitable question.....what if? I try not to let it rule my life, but how do I make sure that I'm balancing the understanding and awareness with making sure I don't let it rule my life.
I realize I'm babbling. Sorry. This wasn't where I planned to go with this when I logged in, but there you go.
I really don't think that many people consider this when they look at a patient who's in remission, or who's no longer actively fighting. There is an expectation on the part of everyone (including the survivor) that life will just fall back into place, right where you left off. If you were working when you were diagnosed, you should be able to go right back to work full-time. You should be able to pick up housework, shuttling kids, and helping with homework as usual.
Friends, family, the medical community - I don't think most people realize how hard it is for us as survivors to try to find where we belong and how we fit back into the "normal" world. A cancer diagnosis fundamentally changes who you are, how you look at the world, how you view yourself, how you view others.
Hell - I don't think the survivors realize how hard it's going to be.
My re-diagnosis this time around made me really evaluate my life, and what I'm doing with it. Who am I? How has this changed me? How has this changed my relationship with (quite honestly) everyone? Where do I want to be? How do I want to spend whatever time I have left here? What kind of person do I want to be remembered as? How do I want to be viewed by others? How can I make sure that I live life the way I want to, not the way others expect me to?
Lots of questions, and not a whole lot of answers.
**********************************************
I've been doing a LOT of thinking lately. I'll have a thought, and it will progress into something else, and eventually, it's three hours later and I still don't have any answers. I'm trying to figure things out, and it isn't easy. Blogging helps. Lets me work through things in my mind.
I'm looking forward to next week....we will be spending the holiday with friends, and I'm hoping to take the kids to a parade on Friday night. I'll probably put up the Christmas tree, and decorate the house. I love watching the kids put ornaments on the tree - Kevin ends up putting them all in the same spot on the tree, and I try to redistribute them slowly, without him noticing. I am usually unsuccessful, as he notices everything. Julia loves talking about the ornaments....whose they were, where they came from. It's awesome.
This weekend is the Undy 5000 - I'm sure it's going to be super-emotional. 5 years ago, I was in a wheelchair, three days out of chemo. This time, I've beaten cancer again, and I'll be celebrating with Team Mission: Remission. I have a good sized team, and I think we will represent you all proudly. I can't wait to post pictures.
Yes. This is my favorite time of the year.
It hit me this weekend that this holiday season will be special. They all are - honestly, I'm like a little kid when people start putting their lights up and I can finally put my tree up. But, this year? Yeah - it's going to be very emotional. I saw my first Christmas commercial this past weekend - it was a Folger's commercial where the son comes home from West Africa and his sister greets him at the door. They make coffee, waking Mom and Dad up from their sleep, and Mom and Dad come down into the kitchen just in time for the heart-warming moment where sister tells brother that he is her Christmas gift.
***tear***
I've seen this commercial a bazillion times. And, just about every time, it makes me tear up. This year, though? Woah. I wasn't prepared for the emotional reaction.
It makes sense, when I think about it. The past 8 months have been kind of a blur - the rediagnosis came on so quickly, and we went from "What's for dinner next week?" to "When's my next chemo?" in what seemed to be a heartbeat. I/we never had time to really deal with the emotional turmoil that accompanies any kind of diagnosis like this.
This has been on my mind lately. I remember that in 2008, during my original battle, the physical fight came first. And, while that was hard, I think it was even more difficult to deal with the emotional battle once I was done actively fighting. I think it's a mentality that a lot of folks don't give much thought to.
The physical battle is something you have to dedicate everything to. You have to shift your entire life to accommodate the schedule, the doctor's appointments, the chemo and recovery, etc. You go into fight mode, and (for me), I didn't allow myself to feel the emotions associated with the diagnosis. Once I was done actively fighting (meaning, I was done with chemotherapy), I had to get back to real life and to figure out what that meant for me.
I have heard it referred to as PTSD, and while I don't want to take away from anyone else's situation (when I think of PTSD, I think of those that have been in combat), I do think it's fairly accurate.
To some extent, I'm going through the same thing again. Now that I'm done actively fighting (no more IV chemo.....hopefully, ever again), I'm trying to get back to life. I'm trying to balance my full-time job, the kids, the house, our finances (which are struggling at best right now, even with the generous help of others), mounting medical bills that are piling up, and just learning where I fit back into things. There have been some issues at home that have popped up that have been brewing for a while, and we are trying to figure those out. The emotional toll those are taking is overwhelming and undeniable.
There is also always this fear of recurrence. Now that it's happened, I'm much more aware of how fickle the cancer can be, and how prevalent the worry is in my mind. Every twinge, every cough, every ache leads to the inevitable question.....what if? I try not to let it rule my life, but how do I make sure that I'm balancing the understanding and awareness with making sure I don't let it rule my life.
I realize I'm babbling. Sorry. This wasn't where I planned to go with this when I logged in, but there you go.
I really don't think that many people consider this when they look at a patient who's in remission, or who's no longer actively fighting. There is an expectation on the part of everyone (including the survivor) that life will just fall back into place, right where you left off. If you were working when you were diagnosed, you should be able to go right back to work full-time. You should be able to pick up housework, shuttling kids, and helping with homework as usual.
Friends, family, the medical community - I don't think most people realize how hard it is for us as survivors to try to find where we belong and how we fit back into the "normal" world. A cancer diagnosis fundamentally changes who you are, how you look at the world, how you view yourself, how you view others.
Hell - I don't think the survivors realize how hard it's going to be.
My re-diagnosis this time around made me really evaluate my life, and what I'm doing with it. Who am I? How has this changed me? How has this changed my relationship with (quite honestly) everyone? Where do I want to be? How do I want to spend whatever time I have left here? What kind of person do I want to be remembered as? How do I want to be viewed by others? How can I make sure that I live life the way I want to, not the way others expect me to?
Lots of questions, and not a whole lot of answers.
**********************************************
I've been doing a LOT of thinking lately. I'll have a thought, and it will progress into something else, and eventually, it's three hours later and I still don't have any answers. I'm trying to figure things out, and it isn't easy. Blogging helps. Lets me work through things in my mind.
I'm looking forward to next week....we will be spending the holiday with friends, and I'm hoping to take the kids to a parade on Friday night. I'll probably put up the Christmas tree, and decorate the house. I love watching the kids put ornaments on the tree - Kevin ends up putting them all in the same spot on the tree, and I try to redistribute them slowly, without him noticing. I am usually unsuccessful, as he notices everything. Julia loves talking about the ornaments....whose they were, where they came from. It's awesome.
This weekend is the Undy 5000 - I'm sure it's going to be super-emotional. 5 years ago, I was in a wheelchair, three days out of chemo. This time, I've beaten cancer again, and I'll be celebrating with Team Mission: Remission. I have a good sized team, and I think we will represent you all proudly. I can't wait to post pictures.
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