Well, cancer reared its ugly head again over the past week and a half. It seems that every five or six months I get a bowel obstruction and spend the next 3-5 days hugging the toilet and begging for death to come and take me, and that’s what happened last week. That was either the fourth or fifth time it’s happened (I can usually count by hospitals that I’ve been in, but I’ve lost track). This time I battled it out at home, since I have all the same medication here that they give me at the hospital, and I was able to stay in my own bed instead of laying in a hospital hallway with no privacy, puking uncontrollably. Plus, I found reruns of ER on Prime so it was just like I WAS in the emergency room, with prime Clooney to boot!
My life is so glamorous!
The last few times I’ve had so much anxiety and fear about eating that it takes me another week or so to be able to get any solid food down. I lost about 13 pounds in the first three days, but it’s not a diet I’d recommend. I know it’s important for me to get the calories in so my body can stay strong, but I also know that certain foods can kill me, and I have a limited amount of time for things to turn around when these blockages happen, so you can imagine the swirling anxiety and crazy conversations going around and around in my head.
Sooner or later though I start to realise that the last little sip of water didn’t come back up, and a little glimmer of hope ignites. I quickly go from wanting to curse god and die, like Job’s friends advised him to do in the Bible, to thinking maybe I’ll hang on another day. Besides, if I am going to die I figure it’s wise to keep all my options open.
I hate having to depend on others to help me. I’ve always been fiercely independent, but the last few years I’ve had to give that up and learn to be vulnerable, to reach out when I need help. It’s hard for me to see Glenn having to pick up more (all) of the slack because I know he’s exhausted too, and sometimes I feel like it would be easier for everyone if it was just over. If it’s going to happen anyway, then why drag it out?
But again, I’m stubborn and now that I’m feeling ok I have hope again. I have a vision of what my death will be like - a peaceful passing with the people I love around me, so I refuse to die with my head in the toilet if I can help it.
Finally, I was reminded on Tuesday to stop fighting the anxiety and just accept it, talk to it, and see what it was trying to tell me. So I held it in my arms, so to speak, and started to gently reassure those parts of me that that were anxious, tired and afraid that I was feeling better and was going to take over again, that they could relax now. I felt better almost instantly. The knot in my esophagus was gone and I could swallow food again. It came back a few times that day, but with meditation and talking to those parts a few more times I was able to figure out what was really bothering me and to deal with it.
Then I put an Ativan under my tongue and woke up about 16 hours later. Thank God for modern medicine!
All that to let you know why I didn’t post anything this week. More to come this Sunday!©