I've had a series of silent panic attacks this weekend....on top of the nausea and weakness. This particular bit of information I just figured out (I've been in a fog this weekend and only now seem to be emerging).
I panicked when my nephew refused to see me without hair, when I felt my mood spiral downwards, when I looked at myself in the mirror, etc etc.
I understand perfectly well what the chemo is doing to my body and I can even articulate my current (and any future) physical change to the world with full graphic details. But somewhere, deep down, all this is taking its toll on me.
I feel trapped, caged, limited, old and robbed of my own self.
One of my colleagues, over a lunch of lamb, fries and salad, related the cancer experience of one of his friends. The patient had breast cancer, went through the treatment, the cancer went into remission, but resurfaced some years later. The second time around, she refused treatment. It was too hard.
And now I understand why. I am still early in this game but I can tell you this much: tonight, for the first time since being diagnosed with cancer, I prayed for there not to be a second time for me.
This one time, I FEEL I can do it. But anything more would be beyond my capacity too.