I don’t want to, but I will

I went to a somatic bodywork session recently that helped me come to the realization that my anxiety is a mask for the fear that is underneath it. Fear of dying. Fear of suffering. Fear of … So, as homework I wrote a list of the things I’m afraid of, hoping to move some of the anxiety through me.

Something that came up on my list is that I’m afraid I’ve given up. Also on the list: I’m afraid of giving up. I’ve really been mired in depression, and not feeling proactive or in control of my own actions or destiny. Instead I feel a little bit stuck inside myself. I’m very internal and quiet these days. I don’t have much to say. I’m grateful that my friends come armed with conversation prompts when we visit.

I’ve been doing all the things — taking my herbs, going to acupuncture and therapy, going for walks — but not with the same enthusiasm as at the beginning of my chemo journey. Instead it’s been more like, “I don’t want to, but I will.” I’ve been doing what I need to do, but it feels like I’m just going through the motions.

But, you know what? I didn’t do chemo last Thursday. I mention this because I feel like it’s an example of me making an informed choice instead of passively going along with what’s expected of me.

The original goal was to do 12 rounds of chemo. (I managed to do 11 rounds, which is no small feat.) But I decided that the side effects were getting to be too much, and confirmed with the oncology team that there’s very little difference between doing 11 rounds and doing 12. So I opted out. Tomorrow I’ll get a CT scan and depending on what they say, I’ll be on a maintenance schedule — every 3 weeks instead of every 2, and only one drug instead of the full chemo cocktail. 

Also, a side note: It turns out that the cause of all of my brain fogginess isn’t the chemo after all, but the medication I’ve been taking for nausea. So I stopped taking it last week, and guess what? No brain fog. Go figure. It’s much better to not have brain fog. So much better.

I started taking an antidepressant that should help with both my depression and my anxiety. And while I’m still early on in taking it, I have noticed a lift to my mood, which has made it easier to get out of bed in the morning and to feel more positive. Today, for example, I feel pretty good. In fact, between getting a good night’s sleep, the antidepressant, and not taking my foggy-head-creating medicine I almost feel — dare I say it — normal. Normal but quiet.

So that’s where I am these days: depressed, anxious, quiet, and still a little foggy, but trying hard to move toward something more comfortable. Trying to move from “I don’t want to, but I will” to a place where I feel more in control. Trying to move to a place where I feel like more of an active participant in my own healing.

Fight Club was right

I went to a support group for women with metastatic cancer. It was the first time I’ve been to a support group. Before this, everything I knew about support groups I learned from watching the movie Fight Club.

Fight Club gets a lot right about support groups:

  • Guided meditation: Our group started with one that was about, among other things, finding your happy place. 
  • Talking about feelings: After the meditation, we went around and shared what kind of week we had. But not in a superficial, “it was fine” way. More like a “here’s what I really struggled with this week” sort of way. The conversation then unfolded from there, based on what we each shared.
  • There was some guy there who was just pretending to belong: Wait, no. That didn’t happen. That only happened in the movie.

It’s not lost on me that I’m thinking of the movie Fight Club while I’m in a fight against cancer. I’m trying to keep the fight against cancer and not against parts of myself. It’s one thing that I have cancer, but it’s another thing that I feel like cancer has changed my personality. I’m an anxious person now, and never was before. I feel armored against the world and just want to hunker down in my apartment; that’s new, too. These changes are part of why I started this blog — to reconnect to the parts of me that can take delight in everyday things like spoon covers, ice cream, and simply sitting outside.

One of the ways the support group was helpful is that it made me feel more normal. I haven’t been spending any time with other people who have cancer and so it has been hard for me to know how to think about some of the ways I’ve been feeling. Am I the only person who feels this way, or is this something that is more universal?

During the group I said what was going on for me, despite my loathing of forced participation in group settings. I told them about my aimlessness and hopelessness, feeling trapped/stuck, the anxiety — and it was clear that I am not alone in these feelings. The participants recommended going outside more, doing art projects, and talking to my anxiety as things that have worked for them.

So, support groups. Another tool in the toolbox to be grateful for.

Melancholy days

Some days, like today, I find it hard to find delight. Some days, like today, I’m in the middle of a 48-hour chemo infusion, it’s raining, I’m kind of tired, and my face is rosy red from treatment. I’m feeling pretty down.

I listened to a guided meditation by Tara Brach yesterday. The Yes Meditation. It’s been helpful to think about today. To remember that even the melancholy days are to be embraced with a Yes instead of turned away with a No. Or at least acknowledged, if the Yes is too much to get to. My friend Karen sent me a few cartoons about inviting your fear in for tea and crumpets. Here’s one of them:

tea with fear
You can’t get rid of your fears, but you can learn to live with them

I have a lot of fear. And I’m trying to sit with the acceptance of where I am. It’s both easy and hard. And then I’ll go to acupuncture. You know. Friday afternoon.

I remembered recently how much I can find delight in what I like to call “accidental expanses of time”–those two-hour or more chunks of time that sometimes make themselves available. And so I wrote a list of things that I love to do when those expanses appear and it’s been helpful. I had a couple of hours in between things the other day so I made a vision board. It felt great. Other things on my list include reading, writing letters, going to a museum. Things like that.

What I’m less good at are the smaller chunks of time. The 30 minutes between finishing a task and my next appointment. Maybe I need a list for that, too.