Slogging back to Health

It just makes you feel tired, doesn't it?

There are a few things that happen when you've been sick for a long time. None of them are all that pleasant, and I'm not sure that many people talk about them much. I'm going to, because apparently I'm that guy.

Worst. Meme. EVER.

The first thing that happens (or at least what happened to me and some others I've talked to), is that you start to identify with your illness. It becomes a part of who you are and what you're here on this Earth for. I'm sure that sounds a bit... well, sick (see what I did there?)... but that's how it feels. Everything centers around that one fact in your life, to the point that it's difficult to see anything else.

The other thing that tends to occur is that people forget about you. It's human nature. It's hard to keep things in our heads, especially things that have to do with someone else. Wait. Is that just me? Have I just exposed myself as a huge narcissist?

This feels right.

I'm joking, of course. Sort of. Most of us tend to be a bit self-focused. The best of the human race manage to go beyond that inward focus from time to time, but I think even they struggle with it. Walking in another person's shoes isn't the easiest thing on the planet for us to do.

But for the person in the middle of the whole shebang, being forgotten... hurts. The illness is all you can focus on. It's overwhelming, sometimes so much so that it feels easier to lie down and give up. The sense of isolation (another very human trait we all share, I think) grows exponentially when it seems that no one cares any longer.

This may be a very American thing, but we tend to be really good at riding in to the rescue, but not very good at dealing with long term care. I think we all see ourselves (or want to) as the hero who saves the day. When you're dealing with longterm illness, that just doesn't cut it. A true hero sticks around for the boring parts.

There are other reasons, of course. I think that maybe, at least for some of us, we don't want to intrude on what we see as a private or family situation. Or we don't know what to say or do. Or chronic illness makes us squirrelly.

Oooooh, SNAP.

Whatever our reasoning, I can promise this. Even in moments when the attention was ill-timed or awkward or even annoying, I still appreciate it. It means that person took the time and energy to care for me. To care about me. There's something so profoundly heartwarming about that.

Finally, for so many people, chronic illness doesn't have an end date. That's (kind of) not true with cancer. If you're lucky, you start to see what might be the end of it.

Man that light is a long ways off.

Strangely enough, for me, that has been one of the most harrowing parts.

I'm past most of the major treatments for my cancer. I did the chemo. I did the salvage chemo. I did the bone marrow transplant. I still have some radiation to do, and I'll probably do maintenance chemo for the next year. But essentially, I'm done.

Except I'm not.

I'm home from the hospital. I can now go out and do stuff, sometimes even without my awesome Bane mask that makes me look like I'm paranoid about the coronavirus. After another two months or so, I'll even be able to eat smelly cheeses, medium-rare steaks, and sushi again.

I'm SO excited, y'all. Srsly.

I'm also easily fatigued. Like, going up the stairs makes me winded. My mouth tastes like a rusty sewer. I'm nauseated most of the time. I still can't eat sugar or starchy carbs (believe me; I've tried--I KEEP trying). I know I need to stay hydrated for my one and only remaining kidney, but drinking water too fast made me throw up the other morning (as well as bruise my ribs). It's like for every step forward I can take, I'm taking at least a step and three-fourths back.

I'm messed up, y'all.

If I don't do anything, I don't progress. If I do too much, I don't progress. And the space in between those two options at times feels wafer thin.

*Outrageous French accent* "But it's wafer thin." Bonus points for recognizing the film.

Then there's work.

I've talked previously about some of what's happened at the university where I teach. I now no longer feel any kind of obligation or loyalty to the school or the department, and very little (sorry, y'all) for my colleagues. I do feel quite a bit for my students. And I know that teaching actually helps me be grounded.

So, what I do I do there? I have no idea. I've been cleared to go back in a couple of weeks, at least on a part-time basis. But can I manage my ill-feelings well enough to really be engaged... present... for my students?

These are the questions that keep me up at night. Oh, that's another topic we're not even going to breach. At least not here. Not today.

Want to know something really icky? Part of getting better means giving up the special status as "the guy with cancer(s)." It's pretty shameful to acknowledge, but it's true. Who am I, if I no longer elicit pity?

Ugh.

So, that's where I am today. I'm taking lots of medication. I'm drinking tons of homemade cranberry lemonade to keep my kidney happy. I'm walking. I'm starting to build myself back up.

Rome wasn't built in a day. Neither was my body.

Guess that means I should be patient.

Dammit.
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Next we delve into the dark and seedy world of holistic cancer treatments.