The problem with sudden inactivity is not so much the ability to relax but the physical and mental capability to do so. My physical wanderings around the house and property have been plagued by a lack of energy, motivation and a general malaise of the body and spirit that I’ve never encountered before. The turmoil of positive versus negative is reflective of my mind’s wanderings that rarely rest upon the moment, but flitter like a butterfly from one topic to the next. I find myself now in a state of flux and seemingly rapid change with both aspects of my mental and physical state struggling to find a suitable compromise.
Like an insatiable insomniac, I find myself both bored and restless in the same instance, yet there is a voice that is non verbal that keeps whispering on the errant breeze. It floods into me with the peace and contentment of a sleeping baby that “I am going home.”
While the phrase itself does not hold either a pessimistic nor optimistic outcome for me, it does add to the comfort that still surrounds this destiny that feels somewhat closer with every passing day. My ideal of “home” is simplistic yet difficult to attain at times as I attempt to decipher the phrase. Like most, I have lived in many homes, even in another country, yet perhaps the benchmark for me is the childhood home where safety and comfort dwelt in equal measure. I’ve come close to the same reassurance that bricks, wood and mortar can offer but either by myself or sharing any home since has always felt temporary at best.
“Home is where the heart is” suggests a simple desire to remain true to a personal goal of contentment and perhaps this sentiment finds me so close to the phrase. I am content. I have no bucket list or unrequited dreams. The “wants” that stream through my brain at times could fill a sea container yet not one of them I would trade for the “needs” that I have been blessed with. Cancer makes E Bay seem so redundant.
So herein lies the struggle…the conflict is not within my physical strength but in the mental capacity to stay above the everyday. To seek the aspect that contains the most positive spin on every moment, be it a triumph or a mishap. To have the insight to see that a physical change as a progression of life and not as a precursor to death. To see a simple yawn as an extra gulp of air rather than an indicator of being bored for a moment. And perhaps to endure in the hope of inspiring or in the least to reduce the sadness that may haunt the survivor whose challenge is yet to be faced.
My sleep has been reduced yet that only enables me more time to stay awake and conscious of my world; a gift that does not go unnoticed or unappreciated. And in this wakefulness, there is a peace that comes with the piccaninny dawn. The darkness is only temporary; the light is proof that all nightmares end.
To be honest, I thought that my last post really was my “Last Post.” On several occasions since, I felt the breath leave my body, my heart threaten to cease its function and expected to find my version of the world become one of lights and long lost loved ones. The first two episodes were filled with fear. I panicked as I felt my chest constrict my lungs and major vessels while my brain screamed out for more cognitive control. All I could think of was to find an open area where the undertakers could at least have easy access from which to move me and hope that they brought an extra large body bag. My internal mantra kept echoing “One more week please, I just need one more week.” At this stage I had not completed my taxes for the year nor had I taken my name from the car registration so that Laurie would have no dramas in any future sale. These were the last of an extensive list of ‘my things to do’ etc.
Yet the most significant part of these episodes for me was the fear and sheer panic that gripped hold of me. When I was first given my prognosis, one of my first thought was “Will I be brave enough in those last moments to die well?” It was if I shape shifted into an old First Nations Chief overlooking a battlefield filled with young warriors versus Custer’s cavalry and proudly claiming, “It was a good day to die.” I desperately wanted/still want to have that courage to face my last moments well and to not endure any fear. I felt such a raw disappointment in myself, after those long minutes had passed, for being so afraid that it seemed to block any rational thoughts of the fact that I had come close to the actuality of dying in those moments. I have no explanation as to the why and wherefore, yet I was compelled to address, confront and amend this reaction. Needless to say that Laurie and I had extensive conversations concerning the above and with the help of an extremely well learned friend in Canada who suggested very credible strategies, I felt as if I was better prepared should this fear raise its head again.
Number three has always been the charm for me and the third episode was no exception. At three am, shortly after making my coffee as quietly as possible, the fear began and the panic just as rapidly ensued. I felt my breath diminishing with every attempt and my heart perform an impossible tap dance against my ribs. I remember that the amount of sweat that poured from my upper body nearly entirely soaked my t-shirt making me shiver with the cool early morning air. I made a feeble attempt to call out for Laurie as I didn’t know how long I could hang on to the counter top and stay off the floor…I didn’t want her to find me this way. And then it happened…something in my head asked, “What are you afraid of?” As I tried to answer myself, I found myself stepping toward the source of the fear and sub consciously felt a slight relief from the panic. As if urged on by something that I can’t explain, I stepped closer and closer, each time forcing myself to breathe in small amounts and concentrate as hard as I could on answering the question.
Some of my composure returned and as I straightened upright against the counter top, I felt as if I stepped over an illusion of my own body lying beneath me. “It’s only the shell,” either I or something else stated in my mind.” And then, slowly but surely the panic fell away almost in tune with my shallow and slowed breathing, my heart responded in kind with an easier beat and the fear dissolved with the parting phrase of “You don’t need me anymore.” Again, I have no idea where these words originated from; all that I am sure of is that it wasn’t my voice and it felt like a gentle whisper.
For the next twenty minutes, several waves of less severe symptoms appeared and were dealt with in the same way. I found that if I sat or lay down, I felt a vulnerability for the symptoms to intensify but if I stood upright I could manage my own calming with greater ease. Since that early morning breakthrough, there have been two other occurrences, each weaker than the last and each managed without fear or panic. Obviously there are many physical factors involved as this condition worsens but it was the fear factor that brought me to share this today. I don’t believe myself to be a brave, courageous or a strong individual but I feel that through these events I have achieved a sense of mental strength that had been previously untapped.
My new mantra: “Fear, I don’t need you anymore”.
And besides,
“I just made the Lion King redundant...”
(FYI: I am licensed and only shoot paper targets).
So of course it’s a beautiful day with low winds and near perfect weather. I’m sitting here at this desk while the boat that I was supposed to be on cruises out to the fishing grounds for the day with two good mates and my missed opportunity. “Why?” (at least one person asks); I feel as weak as a kitten pulled from a flooded creek. I simply don’t have the strength to sustain a day of fishing, coupled with the fact that I’m hesitant to do anything that would send me back to hospital for four days with some everyday virus/bacteria that I may encounter. From over confidence to trepidation in two weeks…here is where the psychological expectation confronts the physical reality; or as my poodle laments “My human is broken.”
The second cycle of chemotherapy was streamlined for me allowing me to only have to attend the day clinic of administration on the first day of treatment. The next two days were performed at home via oral medication thus negating two further three hour round trips (a blessing to save fuel and wear and tear on the car). I found the effects of this time around somewhat sublime and thankfully without too many side effects yet it was not the physical boost that the first round anointed me with. I felt weak and fatigued to the point where even vacuuming the house put me squarely back on the couch for an unwarranted nana nap.
After several days of such inactivity, I guess that the natural flow on effect is the lack of mental stimulation that turns quickly to boredom, self-depreciation and even a touch of depression. In other words “Dam, it didn’t work this time...I’m not getting better.” What I should have factored in is the preceding week that literally put me into a hospital bed for four days that still existed in my system and demanded a repayment of rest and restoration. However it is days like today that clamber aboard the old self-pity barge and encourage you to flounder until you discover your own unique life raft.
“My life line?” asks at least one person yet again…my beautiful wife. She who has also suffered vicariously these two weeks with her own malady of my flu and asthma and yet who still remains my immortal beloved in thought and deed. This is where any words would fail to paint a picture of love and devotion such as hers. I don’t believe that death could ever separate us my darling and I know with a surety that my love for you will live on, so relax baby, I’m good.
And there it is…I’m back now feeling as good as I did three weeks ago. I’m positive, now energized and more learned about what I can do and what I have to accept as this change takes me to where it will. I am truly blessed and so grateful to have found this way out of the fog; and it was due to the incessant barking of an insufferable poodle who thinks now that it was probably better when his human was broken…he didn’t yell at me that much.
I guess that it depends on when you like to welcome the new week, be it on a Sunday evening or on a pale Monday morning such as myself however the week for me was only one day old when God laughed at my plans.
On the Monday (for perspective) I was on the chain saw, trimming some trees and gathering wood for an end of week fire with visiting friends. I had some scant moments of fatigue but I felt better for the sweat and a bit of physical work for a change. The next day I had earmarked for some mowing and whipper snipping; not a great deal but paced out to fit in with chemotherapy on the Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.
Monday night was a precursor with a cough ending with an inferno by Tuesday morning; an Ambulance ride to Hospital and 4 days in isolation. This was all standard procedure for people on Chemotherapy who spike temperatures through opportunistic viral or bacterial infections while their immune systems are compromised.
The Doctor said to me yesterday, “You were lucky that you recovered quickly and the chemotherapy hadn’t began on the next cycle.” I must admit, she was wearing a mask at the time and though I didn’t feel “lucky”, I am grateful to be now home and feeling much better.
So this morning when 3.30 said to me “You may as well get up, no more sleep for you!” I thought I’d just reflect and feel the new day.
Lesson 1: The Paramedics who attended me did so with respect and professional bearing. I don’t remember ever being as young as 2 of them and I could not fault their work. My visitors later that day were my beautiful wife, a million words would never come close but I’m working on it; the Chief Superintendent of the Ambulance, the Manager of Operations, The Operational Supervisor and the Duty Officer of the local area.
How can I ever thank them enough?
Lesson 2: The Nurses/Doctors at Mackay Base Hospital…simply brilliant! The health system can certainly treat the populace like cattle, but the people treat you like family. I remember cutting my teeth in Hospitals and these people are so much more clever, so much more mature and so much more empathetic toward their clients; I can’t find enough superlatives for them.
If this process is my final one, these 2 lessons have given me even more confidence in the world I leave behind. It screams to me to “Let it go; the shift is over and the new crew will keep the faith.”
5 am beckoned me to simply get out of bed and watch the sunrise from my patio. A night of strange dreams, a week of near overwhelming change that ended with radium therapy planning will do that to you. Mind you, my sense of humor has been having a ball with all of this new material. A Pharmacy assistant warned me against the “long term” use of a medication; I replied that it was all good and that my cancer didn’t grant me a “long term.” A friend didn’t want to intrude by phoning me, I replied to phone/visit when they wanted to…I didn’t have much time….just saying.
Geeze I crack myself up…I’m not using black comedy as escapism but rather my mirth comes from my new sense of wonder.
Einstein once said, “My sense of God is my sense of wonder about the universe.” I hadn’t thought of this phrase until writing this but something seems to collide with my life now as it stands. Everyday is a sense of wonder, delight, joy and simple self -amusement. My balance is practical reality, “what can I do today?…how can I be productive? etc.,” (this extended time off work was unplanned). Yet I cant shake this inner confidence in something that I’m yet to define and yet to fulfill; but I do know with a surety that finds me fearless, my destiny awaits as a dusk or a dawn. Both hold the magic that is withheld for us all.
Some have said of late of the “unfairness” of a paramedic stricken with cancer. While the sentiment behind the words are so full of best wishes and kind thoughts that it makes my eyes leak, I have to say that from my perspective, my experience makes this easier. I’ve never met anyone ever deserving of this illness and the people whom I have had the pleasure of serving who have been suffering from cancer, have displayed such dignity and grace that I can only hope to emulate them.
You see, it’s all about service…how we serve each other…how we best look after each other. As a Paramedic I had difficulty in later years trying to contain the sadness that I had witnessed. It finally came to me that it was the service that was the privilege…the blessing bestowed upon you so that you could go and face these horrible scenes and stories and be there as a servant to heal or to simply witness. And now as I look back, even if I never have the opportunity to serve again I would not change any aspect of my life well lived.
And we all serve others, as family members, as a community and as a country. People who sell food are in service, office workers are in service, shelf fillers are in service, whatever the occupation and whatever your social situation, you will be in service to others many times daily. There’s the privilege, there’s the blessing.
Those whom I have served are with me now, assisting, advising and reminding me of their own journeys. I feel them looking over my shoulder right now…so many angels…how could I ever be sad on this beautiful dawn.
