Guilt is an evil bitch

“What are ya in for”, she asked, half joking.

“Breast cancer. And you?” I replied.

“My husband has esophageal cancer. Today is his first chemo.”

“Well, welcome. The nurses here are wonderful!” I feel as if I should have shown them around the unit. "This is where the blanket warmer is, you'll need those. And the snacks and drinks are in here. A must see site on the unit tour is the bathroom, as all of the fluids being pumped into your veins have gotta go somewhere." But I sat in my recliner and since they were here before me, I figure they've been given the million dollar tour. 

I never thought I’d be able to consider myself the veteran. The pro. The mentor, of sorts. While our cancers are completely different, the man in the chair next to me and I have a something in common. Two of the dreaded “C” words…cancer and chemotherapy. I was on my seventh infusion, he on his very first. He didn’t talk much but when he did, he had a good spirit, even making jokes. By looking at him, he didn’t appear to feel very well. I found out that he had already undergone a surgery, as had I. And judging by his thin, frail-looking frame and gaunt face, his appetite and nutrition were not great. But his wife was very nice and chatty and curious and come to find out, is also a nurse…in my very own hospital where I work. Nursing is a small world, cancer even smaller. We passed the hours chatting, the man’s wife and I. I know their professions, how many children they have, where they live and where they work. We discussed the importance of a positive attitude and how devastating this diagnosis can be. I never asked their names and they never asked mine. It didn’t matter I suppose. I’m sure I will see them again. Everyone I have met on my cancer journey is in my life for a reason. I truly believe that. I’m sure we will connect again.

For the past 7 weeks of treatment and the 10 weeks prior to that recovering from my surgery, I have done everything in my power to remain as upbeat and positive as I claim to be. Of course, I had bad days where I just wanted to cry and sometimes did, but usually it was over something as trivial as a misshapen pancake which I threw in the trash because it looked weird. Not once have I worried about whether or not I will survive this. I will survive it. Not a doubt in my bald head. And now that I have FINALLY been approved for FMLA and can use the paid time off work that people have donated to me, I find myself less inclined to go into work. Before, working was all I could think about. Well not working in and of itself, but receiving the paycheck. The bills don’t pay themselves, ya know! But now that I can get paid for being sick (as it should have been all along), instead of putting on the brave face and pretending that I feel fine, I can now be as sick as I am, as sick as I feel. And sick is a relative term. It doesn’t always mean puking your brains out or running a fever.

For me, sick is: a nasty cough which makes me gag….all the time, a stuffy nose that bleeds 10 times a day, a constant headache, skin that’s so dry and chapped that it aches, my buzzed hair hurts, my scalp is dry and itchy, I have sores in my mouth and my nose, diarrhea has taken over my life, I’m ALWAYS cold, my eyes burn and itch, my fingers and toes ache and are sometimes numb, my joints ache, I can’t walk up the stairs in my house without becoming winded, and my memory sucks ass. Ohhhh and let's not forget the awful acne that one would only see in a Proactiv commercial. Individually, these things wouldn’t be a big deal. But when you feel these things day in and day out 24/7, it really wears on a person. And I find it harder and harder to remain upbeat, the further into treatment I get. But the mom/wife in me forces me to get up and get kids off to school, attempt to clean the house on occasion, run errands and do the normal things that a mom and wife does. Guilt is an evil bitch. If I don’t do these mom/wifey duties, I feel guilty. If I don’t go to work and help pay the bills, I feel guilty. No one has made me to feel this way. My family helps out, and continue to take good care of me (when I let them). It’s the guilt inside me as a woman, a mom, a wife, and a nurse that drives me to the point of insanity and exhaustion to prove that I can handle it all. Why do I do this to myself? The simple answer is…I don’t know how NOT to.

I tell myself things could always be worse. My cancer could be worse, my treatment could be worse. I could be like the guy in the chair next to me and have a much less positive prognosis. And that would suck. Maybe if I were sicker, I wouldn’t feel such guilt. I probably wouldn’t care. I know there are medications to ease pretty much every symptom that I have but what do you take to get rid of guilt? I expect too much of myself, I realize this. No one else has these expectations of me. Everyone tells me to take it easy and let myself heal. I know they’re right. It’s hard to change a personality trait that’s so engrained. Stupid type “A” personality. I guess I just have to take this hurdle like I take everything else...day by day.