I've now been back at school for two weeks and have had some time to gather my thoughts. The step back into "normal" life, while much anticipated, was a big one, nonetheless. Buoyed up by the use of the word "excellent" by my surgeon and my oncologist, I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and moved the first foot forward.
The most interesting thing is becoming aware of how the cancer experience has changed me. I find my priorities have changed and my feelings about some things have intensified. Time-wasting would be the thing that gets me most incensed. When you have come to a realisation of how precious each day is, you can't stand it when others want to squander your time. This made me so outraged during an after-school meeting at the end of the first day that I left the meeting early.
I also noticed myself feeling very isolated during those first few days and this has been aggravated by the huge changes made to our school timetable this year. I miss the friends I made at the clinic during treatment. I miss that instant understanding that exists between cancer patients. I protected my friends and colleagues at school from the seriousness of my battle by maintaining my smile and telling lots of jokes. I didn't visit when I was so fatigued during Taxol that I slept most of my days away.
This feeling has diminished as the days have passed, but will never completely go, I think.
I find I am getting my physical energy back. During the first few days I would get puffed out by the walk along the corridor to my room. Yesterday I noticed that it was almost gone. At the end of the first few days I was really, really tired and needed a "nanna-nap" before I could summon the energy to cook dinner. Yesterday I had no nap and went out for dinner with my language-teaching colleagues. I'm getting there and, in fact, I am surprised that I haven't felt as fatigued as I expected.
Something that has amused me is the questions the kids have asked. They are braver than the adults in asking the unaskable, even though they become very awkward when they ask. One boy, whom I have taught since Year 7 and is now in Year 11, said when I saw him in the yard, "And how are...Are you....Is it...?" I laughed and said, "I'm not going to die , Alex. The doctors can't tell me I'm cured, but they've both said "excellent" when they've examined me. I believe I'm cured and I believe that the cancer won't come back."
This is what the people in your life want to know but are afraid to ask. What I told Alex is what I believe.
So, with every day, I'm feeling more a part of my old life. I just have some cosmetic changes - one less breast than I used to have and a few interesting scars gathered along the way.
Yes, cancer does change you, doesn't it? I like to think for the better, in many ways. The intensified feelings fade, though not completely, as you surmise. I've tried to hold onto that appreciation for life - and I think I have. I definitely don't "sweat the small stuff" like I used to; little things like being delayed by traffic don't bother me anymore.
Glad you're feeling better physically, and I hope that continues to improve, too. It's a transition - away from your cancer friends, towards your other life - but I've found it's comforting to keep some of your cancer friends, if you can. I've gathered an email list of about 35 women who've gone through cancer treatment here at our local hospital over the years since I went through mine, and a rotating dozen or so of us meet for drinks the first Friday of each month. Since more women (women in active treatment) are constantly joining, it's a chance for us "veterans" to help the new ones through it. We laugh, complain, drink margaritas, and generally enjoy that camaraderie survivors can only feel with one another.
Thanks for so many good posts, Sue - I hope you stay connected here, and continue to let everyone know how you're doing - and to continue to set us straight on our health care "system"!
PJH
Boy, that was quick! We must occasionally be online about the same time. It's evening here and I'm enjoying the luxury of some "me" time while my darling husband is up at the mountains for a couple of days' skiing. Does it seem inconceivable that we can have a summer day when the temperature is about 113℉ and within a few months people are skiing!?
Thanks for your wise words of advice. It always helps talking to someone who has been there already. I plan to keep visiting the website. It's one of the ways I can fulfil the obligation I feel to give something back.
Sorry about all the rants re your health system. I just get so angry when I read posts and questions from women who can't afford to have Herceptin. In my student days I joined the anti-war movement and was an expert at filling in fake draft forms. I almost got arrested once protesting against apartheid when the South African rugby team was playing in Melbourne and smuggled smoke bombs into the ground by hiding them in the crutch of my jeans! I guess I've never lost that evangelical sense of trying to right wrongs. Blame it on my mum. I learned it from her.
Love and best wishes to you PJ, my cancer friend. Enjoy your weekend.
Sue
Thanks, Sue - yes, it's 6:55 a.m. here, I'm about to head out to the gym. The sun is starting to peek through gray clouds - we've had the rainiest, grayest summer ever. Unbelievable amounts of rain and clouds. All the veggies are spluttering, the flowers are drooping and rotting. Only the slugs are happy!
I never thought of skiing + Australia. But of course - every continent has mountains somewhere. Even if, as you say, it's a quick leap from 113°F to freezing.
Glad to hear you wer a protester, back in the day. I did some campaigning for various causes myself, about a million years ago. Never got up the nerve to take over the college president's office and occupy it, but as a photographer for the school paper, I was at least there to document it!
Glad you'll keep oosting here, Sue. You are now an official Wise Survivor! Thanks for sharing. And - have a relaxing rest-of-the-weekend. XXX PJ