Can I have a complain?
This is what Mari and I ask each other when one of us calls the other to complain about something we know doesn’t really merit much energy. And yet…there is a need to get if off one’s chest. Know that feeling??
So yesterday I found out that chemo must be delayed ONCE AGAIN. Argh. This time, I might not have to wait a whole week, though. I’m getting bone crusher shots to stimulate my marrow today, tomorrow, and Sunday. We’ll do an early-morning blood test on Monday and hopefully be able to resume treatment that morning.
Why is it so frustrating to be put off again and again? I’ve been thinking about this since last night. Part of it is about control. When you have cancer, it’s so hard not to feel like you have zero control over your life; what’s going to happen to you, both in the moment, and long term. But at least you have your treatment plan. You can mark the days on your calendar, plan your activities and rest days around those dates, do the shopping, the laundry and errands leading up to those dates. All the organizing makes me feel like I’m still in control of my day-to-day. When the rug gets pulled out, my sense of control is diminished. To say the least.
And then there’s the emotional energy that goes into preparing mentally for chemo day. I’m not even sure what goes into this. It kind of happens on a subconscious level. I liken it to waiting backstage for your cue. Or preparing for a job interview, or surgery, or…chemo. A big chunk of my emotional energy gets stored away as we lead up to the day; it revs on the heart-fluttery backburner of my chest and my belly. Dennis and Little J are storing, too. And then we have to wait. Where is that energy supposed to go?
Finally, there’s the fear that chemo is taking a toll on my body. I mean, of course it is. But I usually don’t have to think about that. I can kind of denyignorepretenditaway. But when the doctor who doesn’t sugarcoat anything says, “I’m sure your numbers will go up by next week,” and is really quite taken aback when they don’t, the fear creeps in. A bit. I’ll admit.
So, there. I said it. Sometimes I need to complain a little bit. As Little J says when he has to have a cry or when he has to say “butt” or “fart”, “I just had to get it out.”
Thank you for that complain. And Mari, I will be calling later and asking for another if this one doesn’t make me feel better.