By Gates (Pam) Johnson
As you may know if you have read my previous rantings here in The Loop, I have been dealing with a cancer diagnosis and treatments since March. For some weird reason, I decided my feelings and experiences might be good fodder for my monthly musings.
People may ask, “Why do you feel the need to air your private health stuff?” I have given that question many hours of thought and came up with the following: Maybe someone who is just starting out on a cancer journey might find some insights and perhaps even comfort hearing from someone who is going through it, too.
I don’t claim to be a caregiver or over-sharer or even someone driven to help everybody. But one thing I do have is compassion. Also, I have a willingness to open up about my experiences and feelings, warts and all. Not saying that what I am going through is the same or similar to other people’s stuff. But if reading about someone else’s health junk can help, hey, why not?
I’ve gone through the fear of waiting for the diagnosis, the diagnosis itself, the initial doctor appointments, the plan, the surgery, and now the healing and year-long treatments. It ain’t a bed of roses, I can tell you that. Tears by the gallon. Sleepless nights. Fear of the unknown. And loneliness, even when family and friends are just a phone call away.
How am I dealing with that giant bag of emotions? Some days, really well; some days, a soggy tear-stained puddle. I’ve learned some useful things: This too shall pass, tomorrow will be better, just cry it out, I won’t feel bad and be sick forever, people are willing to help but I have to ask and receive the help when needed.
These are difficult lessons for a hard-headed old broad who has lived alone more years than not. People really care and want to help; they just don’t know how to or when. I’ve had to get out of the old rut of doing everything myself and ask for help when I need it.
Trust me, I have needed help, more often than I would like to admit. Funny thing, when asked, nobody has turned me down. That was an eye-opener to someone who has always considered myself to be a loner. Quelle surprise!
Long story short, I am now into the year-long treatment phase. Infusions every six weeks. Minimal side effects. That means I can start living a semi-normal life again. One of the first things I have started to do is bake, which I love.
Just last weekend, I made a chocolate cream pie, a fresh peach cobbler, and two black-bottom banana cream pies. I made Jake his favorite Russian tea cakes. Did this baking without running my energy tank empty. The nurses say if my tank gets down to 50%, I need to take a break and let it fill up again before going back at it. Another life lesson.
I also want to get back to making my Thursday night family dinners. Those have been so missed for the past few months. But I am starting to think about menus and dates. Do I want to make barbecued ribs and eat on the beautiful new deck? Baked ham with potato salad? Roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy? Have Paul make his famous fried rice on the flattop?
My grandson loves the family dinners. I think it is a great tradition. Everybody is so busy these days, but most can take a couple of hours on a Thursday night to sit down with family for conversation and a good meal.
Also thinking about having a few friends over now and again. My deck is a perfect place for a relaxed dinner. Found out a good friend from the pool and my cousin from Oregon have friends in common, so it would be fun to have them and their spouses over. Maybe Thai lettuce wraps and a Romaine, apple, and candied pecan salad. Fresh-squeezed lemonade on ice. Oh, and lemon squares for dessert. See? I’m in the planning phase.
You might notice I am a bit obsessed with food right now. Reason being that my mouth surgery has left me with low appetite and minimal taste buds. A piece of scapula bone was taken out and put in my jaw. A week in the hospital with a feeding tube didn’t help. Hoping the appetite won’t come completely back as I am enjoying losing some weight. But it is totally freaky to have minimal to no sense of taste. Most everything tastes like shredded cardboard.
I can taste a little salt and sweet, but not enough to be sure food is properly seasoned. The doctor said it might take six months for my taste to come back (it’s been six weeks since surgery), or it might never come back completely. Waiting game.
The bone graft site is on my left scapula. It’s an “X” shape with one leg missing that goes into my armpit. Twenty or so staples to close. It has been two months since surgery and the wound is almost closed. Maybe another week and a half then I can go back to the pool! It will take a lot of rehab to regain range of motion and strength.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. But I keep telling myself, this isn’t forever, this too shall pass and the long-term prognosis is good.
Another thing on my “once I’m better” list is spending a week or so on the Oregon coast. Seems like everybody and their dog are going on vacations or are having travel adventures. My daughter and granddaughter hauled five racehorses from Tampa, Florida to Shakopee, Minnesota a few weeks ago. Family and friends have tons of travel plans: Jeep rock climbing in Arizona, a trip to Rome and cruising the Mediterranean, trips to Japan and Scotland, a bunch of motorcycle excursions, and some folks are always planning their next cruise.
I just want a week at the beach. It will happen. I have to be patient.
My life for the next few weeks will be filled with physical therapy, occupational therapy, visiting nurse appointments and trips to Swedish for immunotherapy infusions. I can deal with that schedule in order to be able to say at the end of the year, “I am 99.9% cured.” At least, that is what the doctors tell me we are on track to achieve.
