My fear and depression is real
Today is September 11, 2008... and it was the 7th anniversary of the September 11th attacks. I can honestly still feel the terror I felt that day... its something that shook me to my foundation. Though I didn't know anyone personally who died in those crashes... I felt the pain as deeply as if I did. Its difficult to describe, but I mourned for months... maybe even years... the senseless deaths of innocent people.
Last night I was dreading today... I had heard about all the street closings (there was a memorial service at the Pentagon today) and anticipated that morning rush hour was going to be horrible. I went to bed early -- like I do these days -- thinking that I would have to really get it together for the morning, if I wanted to get to work on time. (that's very important these days, ya know...)
...and then, anxiety kicked in.
So of course, my anxiety got the best of me and I spent the entire night running back and forth to the bathroom. I stopped counting by the 10th trip. I woke up feeling miserable but since that's not entirely unheard of right now, I figured I'd make it through.
nope.
Six more trips to the bathroom this morning... before 7 am. I had to accept that it was a bad night and it was starting to be a bad morning... and maybe, just maybe, working from home was the option to utilize. (I am grateful that I have the option to work from home during this time.) So, I did... and then I had to battle guilt with myself for another hour.
I hate being sick. The guilt, the pressure, the pain...
I do not understand why I feel so guilty for being sick. But I swear, I really do. I feel like my illness is just a big ol' imposition on every body's life. And before I get fussed at... I know I shouldn't feel that way but I do. As much as I try to encourage everyone around me to do a little something for someone else... I have so much difficulty asking or accepting help from others.
I am working on it.
I realized... slowly... that my neck, throat and ear were really achy. But I didn't think much of it because well... all of me aches (especially the part that's been propped on the "white throne" a lot lately). That is, until I started reading more about having cancer... and I read something that said that infections could delay your chemotherapy treatments. And delaying chemo is a very bad thing.
Seems that doctors (amazing people that they are) not only figure out what drugs to prescribe to you to kill all the yuckiness inside, they also put it on a schedule that is best for your body and best to eliminate the cancer. However, infections put a slow-down on the process because, they have to be taken care of prior to the chemotherapy. Long story short... I have 7 days until my next treatment... and anybody who has ever had an infection knows... its typically 10 days before the antibiotics run their course.
That's a problem.
So... is my ear, neck, throat pain an infection? Or my over-active (and sometimes hostile) imagination? Dunno. I called my oncologist (first mistake) and by the time the nurses called me back, they were under the impression that I had been to my primary care doctor and wanted to know what drugs he had prescribed.
I had no idea I could even do that -- call a different doctor for a different problem. (sounds silly now, but I didn't know that)
After talking with the very nice (if not very patient) nurse, she realized that I was self-diagnosing myself and I was freaking out because I didn't want anything to slow up or otherwise derail my chemo schedule. (I need Fred and friends to be gone... on time) She asked me to do one small thing.... take my temperature and call her back. She mentioned to me that one of my cancer drugs gives me flu-like symptoms -- which I know to be true because that's how I've been feeling since last Thursday -- so while it was important, I didn't need to alarm myself unnecessarily either.
I limped around the house looking for a thermometer only to realize that I couldn't read the darn thing. And its not because I don't know how... but I couldn't see the mercury line. (seems that lately my vision has been even less clear than normal and I don't see much very clearly anymore... but I ain't telling nobody that)
I laid back down and tried to figure out how to handle this latest minor dilemma. I have a neighbor (Hey Vera!!) who is also a DC Sistagirl and she made me swear that if I ever needed her that I had to call her (she is not a mind-reader, thank you).
Y'all know what happened right?
I didn't call.
But I had a lot of good reasons why.
My folks had just gone out for a moment and rather than upset Vera and make her think that I was dying or something... it could wait until someone came home and could help me.
Do not... throw rocks at the screen right now.
However, by the time my folks came back home, the Tylenol had kicked in and I wasn't in pain anymore... so I took a quick nap.
I have decided that tomorrow when I go to work, I will find a new thermometer (one that I can read easily) and take my temperature then. If its high -- which I don't think it is -- then I'll walk around the corner to Dr. K's office and see if he can write me a prescription for something.
I have to learn to be more responsible for my new condition.
Today's lesson is... skip hugging and kissing folks. Keep antibacterial gel with me always. And be much more careful who I sit near on the train. Folks are germy messes. Eww.
I think about death every day now. That is my confession.
Before I came to a logical conclusion that I was being a big baby... I had more thoughts about my own death. I know that you don't want to hear this, but this is as honest as it gets for me. I think about dying every day now. And it is not the same as the way that I thought about death when I was battling depression. I don't think of it in the way of... say, planning my funeral... but more in terms of what if questions.
What if, after all this money and time and drama... I end up dying because of breast cancer? Will I still think its worth it? What if... I forget that one person who meant something to me in my life and I don't reach out to them and I die... will they understand, forgive me and believe that they were special in my life? What if... I don't die but I don't get better... and I end up a shriveled sick mess... am I strong enough to live a life without full use of my whole body?
...and so forth. I know that we all end this life with death. And I know that death doesn't have to be a sad or somber experience. But I know that knowing something logically is vastly different from trying to plan your 40th birthday celebration and wondering where you're going to be physically because cancer decided to stop at your house one day a few months prior. I do not feel that I'm going to die from this. Let me be clear. I honestly don't.
Know that I love you. I need you to know that.
I'm saved. I have no doubt that when I die, Jesus and I will have a good long chat in heaven. I am not so worried about me -- but about the people I would leave behind. I guess I should say that my thoughts circle around making sure that everyone around me, everyone I know, everyone I love... KNOWS that I love them. Knows that I care for them. Knows that they are fully enmeshed in my heart.
Every day, I think about people I haven't seen or talked to in years and wonder if it's appropriate to call them up, or email them and just say hey... I wanted to let you know that you mean something to me. One person who is on my heart... Ednita T. :) Girl, I miss you. Just had to get that out there.
But honestly... it seems disingenuous to say that I have feelings and emotions for thousands of people I have crossed paths with in my life. But that is how I feel. I guess I'm assuming that people even think of me years later... that's sort of arrogant, huh? If it is arrogant, then that's my name today.
Go in peace all the families and concerned citizens who found today a little harder than yesterday to get through. Tomorrow, we all have another chance to make it better.
I love you. (and I'm not just saying that)
