“Live your life, live your life, live your life.” Maurice Sendak
I’m entering week three of radiation for cancer in the vaginal area. Symptoms from the radiation have mounted, as have my medications, which I am now having trouble keeping straight. I remember filling my mother’s pill machine once a week, and suddenly have some empathy about why she couldn’t manage on her own. Each medication comes with its own set of instructions and warnings; I’m used to my daily morning vitamins and fish oil, so this is a whole other level of detail.
Since the radiation has to target my lower abdomen, there’s really no way not to involve my digestive system, which has responded with vociferous complaints. I now take up to eight (!) Imodium per day to tame that symptom, and don’t dare leave the house without protection and a change of clothing. I’ve stopped running altogether, due to this and lack of energy to actually run.
There is a constant metallic taste in my mouth that makes most food unpalatable. While on radiation, doctors recommend a high protein diet, so I went out and found some ice cream and bars that fulfill that need. Sugar still tastes good, but gets old after a while. Meanwhile, my weight keeps sinking, something I didn’t need or want it to do.
At the end of week two, I inexplicably began to have crying jags with absolutely no warning. I could be on the phone with a complete stranger and start bawling like my best friend had died. For that, I now take Lexapro, which takes a while to actually work, but I think I’m evening out a little after one week.
Beano entered the picture when I couldn’t control the ample gas build up in my poor complaining intestines. And of course, I had to go get some Desitin for the resulting rash from all the butt trauma. I can now truly empathize with my little grandson, who went through a horrific diaper rash episode earlier this year.
My doc asked if I wanted an anti-anxiety drug, which I reluctantly said I would try, so she prescribed Ativan. The instructions said to take it at night before bed, and I noticed that when I did take it (not every night), I slept better. When I told her this, she warned me that I could become addicted to it……because it shouldn’t be used as a sleep aid. But then, why take it at night? And why suggest it at all?
I’m leaving on a trip to Baltimore in a week, and would have had all the external radiation done before I left, but the radiation machine broke down for three days, so my whole treatment had to extend out. They suggested doing two treatments per day, with six hours in between, but when my symptoms mounted, I knew that would be a horrific injustice to my body. So, I opted to take a break while gone, and resume those sessions when I return, something the doctors didn’t like, but had to accept.
When I’m done with external radiation, I will begin five days of Brachytherapy, which means internal radiation. A wand is inserted and plants a few radioactive seeds to try and zap any final remaining rogue cancer cells. That will be a five day treatment, and will be more intense than external radiation, with symptoms extending to the urinary tract.
After that, I see an oncologist regularly for checkups, and theoretically get on with my life. My chances of never having a recurrence are very good, and treatments are improving all the time if I do need anything beyond this episode.
So what am I left with? This is what I’ve been thinking hard about for the past few months: I now have an opportunity to see my life in even more glowing terms. This was a heads up - maybe to be more respectful of my body, to be careful of what I spend my time dwelling on, to be grateful for another day, to seek out beauty and creativity, to treasure the ones I love, to be aware at every moment that this is my time on Earth, and I am lucky and blessed to experience it. To consult my heart when I’m not sure what to do. To discover who I truly am.
To Sendak’s quote above, I would add “Live your life, and be aware that you’re doing it.”
We forget that the chances of us actually being here, living, are astronomically small, and yet here I am, here you are, we made it. We are witnessing miracles every day, and most of us don’t take note or feel a measure of gratitude for our life here.
What if we were in awe of that opportunity, all the time?
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