Chemo today.
I am exhausted. The infusion was on the back of my hand... they've even stabbed me between the fingers as though I am a crank addict. My veins have collapsed and so (without a port) I have several more times to be tortured... six to be exact. Today wasn't too bad. But, they have to put me to sleep so it is such a waste of my day. Now, I can't sleep tonight, and I am dealing with my dog who has emotional issues. She freaks out when I'm gone. She was eating her own poop outside ten minutes ago. Crap.
Well, that was an unfortunately-placed epithet. Sorry.
There is such a delicate balance about my wanting any kind of attention when it comes to this cancer. I can't tolerate pity, and yet, if my plight isn't mentioned at all I feel unimportant. If I analyzed it, I would rather be ignored completely than given the look of pity. My friend called me yesterday and said we should start a business of some kind. Now, that's the best medicine. The idea of looking forward in a positive, inspiring light... like before the BIG C hit the fan.
I can't decide what I want in the pity department. I don't want to be driven to treatment by someone else. I am half-asleep afterwards, but insist on driving myself there and back home. I am asked if I want visitors and I always say no. It is my way of pretending that none of this is true; that I'm not one of those statistics that you hear about. If they sit with me, they are a reminder of what I once was: healthy. It's like being in prison, and they are on the good side of the glass window. They get to leave.
I am a hardass. I refuse to give in to the limitations of what chemo gives me. Yesterday, I painted my entire downstairs bathroom (and cabinet) and spackled the hallway to bury my anxiety. Normal, right? But in acting like nothing is ever wrong, I also get the no special treatment or sympathy from my family... (definitely my own fault) but it feels strange. Bruce has the perfect balance with it, and I am so grateful. He lets me drive there, offers to visit, but does NOT show up when I tell him not to. I don't want his look of worry, and his gift (after all) is his food obsession, so I'm never starving. On the contrary, it's like eating with Emeril or Mario. Bruce doesn't bring up the chemo in the evening, because he wants to believe that the glass window in the prison was never erected in the first place.
Denial.
No. I don't want the visitors, and beyond all things, I DON'T want their pity. The chemo culture at the cancer center is a freaking party of the friends and family keeping a supportive vigil along side of my sick, bald, cancerous cubicle-neighbors. No thanks. At least they give me sedatives so I can tune the pity-party out. I go there with lipstick on and refuuuuuse to be a party to their cancer festival. I know this whole thing has brought out my cranky side, but that's how I roll with cancer. To me, this thing is personal. Unlike the status-cancer-quo, I'm not buying the t-shirt and joining the club.
I hate it. Even the party-people give you this look as they walk past your cubicle with their homemade brownies and balloons for the other victims... it's a look I've never experienced. It must be the stare that those in a wheelchair get - 'I'm so glad I'm not you' but 'I'm so curious to know how bad it is for you. You poor thing.' Cancer is like a bloody car accident. They are horrified, but they have to look. They want to look at it, and turn away in horror as they are making sure to see it all simultaneously. I've never wanted to be more normal in my entire life. I hate it. And it isn't the cancer, the fear, my looming death, the needles, the scans, or the chemo... it is the PITY.
I got a Starbucks today as I was driving to the cancer center. I had this strange ah-ha moment as I got into the car... wishing that I was like everyone else in the latte-line. I wished that I had a job like I had before or a meeting to go to... it would even be fine to go to a job with people I didn't like. Why? Because the business of life is normal, and what I was doing by getting five hours of some poison concoction in my bloodstream after my latte ---->just wasn't.
You can't lecture people about appreciating the little things in life because it sounds like a dipshit platitude, and you have to be on the other unhealthy path to relate. I am far from angry that I was pushed to this dark side. It has given me more than I can fathom to understand truth in my life. Now, I am blatantly honest with friends and family and have a more authentic relationships. Meandering through life without coming to terms with your demise is such a waste. You cover up a lot because you assume that your time here is limitless, so why bother telling your truth? The stuff that scares you, gets you mad, depresses you, makes you laugh, hurts your feelings, causes you to feel embarrassed, or pissed (like when that hazelnut latte spills on your crotch) is what gives you that beautiful thing that we all take for granted. It's called...
life.
Speaking of which, it is 4:20 am and my dog just crapped in my kitchen. I need this. Anyway, if you are having a reason to hate your life today, and are feeling sorry for your poor self because yours is just so unfair and depressing...
Got it?
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