(The following message has been brought to you by Aunt Sally via a Starbucks gift card with a reminder that everything in life looks better with a mocha! :)
I’m tired today. Yes, yes, I know, everyone gets tired; but I am tired. After a full night of sleep I feel like I want to crawl in a hole and pull the blanket over my head. Today I don’t want to be a mother to 4 small children, most of whom still need me to make their breakfasts. Don’t they know that mommy is just so tired today?
Except, that’s how I’ve felt everyday for the last two weeks: the just-so-tired-I-want-to-cry. I don’t know if it was because I started going in for physical therapy everyday combined with driving up to Portland twice to visit with the Oncology Surgeon, or if I am just in another cycle of body healing, but it sucks. Someone called the other afternoon and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, were you napping?” and I
wanted to both laugh and cry. I WISH!
And I hate that being so tired comes with all this mad. I feel like a petulant 2 year old. I want to stamp my feet and throw a HUGE fit and demand that someone takes care of ME. It’s even worse when someone is kind and listens to me whine or does something wonderful like clean my microwave (thanks, Becky). Then I feel like shouting at everyone around me, “Look, they are nice and care and take care of me. Why can’t someone take care of me all the time? WAAAHHH!”
I hate that being so tired reduces me emotionally to a two year old. I want to be known as a kind
and thoughtful person. I want to be the kind of person who is known for their love for others, not this emotional mess I become. I agree with the thousands of things that I’ve read that said emotionally “survivorship” is a lot harder than treatment. I’ve “been done” for two months now and it’s been an emotional rollercoaster. I started getting heartburn so bad I was having chest pains and am now on a twice a day acid reducer. I feel like I pray all the time, but I guess everyone has to go through all the stages of grieving their old life.
I’ve been wanting to write here, but I’ve, I know, it’s a theme, been too tired. I was “officially”
diagnosed with lymphedema January 30th. I’ve had swelling in my arm off and on and we have been monitoring things but this last month I have swelling in my chest and arm that is sticking around. I can’t remember what I’ve written in the past about it but in your circulatory system, the lymph system picks up proteins, waste and foreign bodies, like viruses, from the cells and transports them back to your trunk for eventual disposal. Only, in my case, I’m missing part of this system on my left side, the axillary (arm pit) lymph nodes; because the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes they were taken out. This is where we are monitoring the lump. Unfortunately there is nothing to do to fix what’s been broken; because it hasn’t really been broken, it’s been removed altogether.
So for this swelling, the lymph fluid accumulation in my arm, arm pit, and chest, the doctors can do nothing. “I’m sorry Mrs. Sanders; you do realize that you had these parts of you removed because of cancer? Oh, they hurt? Here, take a pill.” (You think I’m joking, well I am sort of, but I have had this conversation with every single doctor I’ve been to over the last two months) Since this is not a very satisfying solution and things would just continue to swell until my arm, literally, would be two
or three times its original size, I am going to a physical therapist that specializes in manual lymph drainage. He does this fluid moving dance and the fluid leaves the area for a while, less than a day. Hence I have to wear compression garments: a glove, sleeve and chest piece, which squish my body and help it to do its job to get that protein trash out. The picture at the top is off my glove and sleeve, we are still waiting for my chest part to arrive from the manufacturer so I am wrapping almost everyday in a kind of ace bandage.
So now I am missing a boob, my hair and am wearing body armor. I feel sooooo attractive. “Oh, your left hand is affected? And you can’t wear your wedding ring? You’re probably going to be wearing these compression garments for the rest of your life; you might want to get that sized for your right hand.” WAAAAAHHHH!
It’s Tuesday, what are you doing today Stephanie? Going in for physically therapy. Thank you very much cancer.
I’m tired today. Yes, yes, I know, everyone gets tired; but I am tired. After a full night of sleep I feel like I want to crawl in a hole and pull the blanket over my head. Today I don’t want to be a mother to 4 small children, most of whom still need me to make their breakfasts. Don’t they know that mommy is just so tired today?
Except, that’s how I’ve felt everyday for the last two weeks: the just-so-tired-I-want-to-cry. I don’t know if it was because I started going in for physical therapy everyday combined with driving up to Portland twice to visit with the Oncology Surgeon, or if I am just in another cycle of body healing, but it sucks. Someone called the other afternoon and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, were you napping?” and I
wanted to both laugh and cry. I WISH!
And I hate that being so tired comes with all this mad. I feel like a petulant 2 year old. I want to stamp my feet and throw a HUGE fit and demand that someone takes care of ME. It’s even worse when someone is kind and listens to me whine or does something wonderful like clean my microwave (thanks, Becky). Then I feel like shouting at everyone around me, “Look, they are nice and care and take care of me. Why can’t someone take care of me all the time? WAAAHHH!”
I hate that being so tired reduces me emotionally to a two year old. I want to be known as a kind
and thoughtful person. I want to be the kind of person who is known for their love for others, not this emotional mess I become. I agree with the thousands of things that I’ve read that said emotionally “survivorship” is a lot harder than treatment. I’ve “been done” for two months now and it’s been an emotional rollercoaster. I started getting heartburn so bad I was having chest pains and am now on a twice a day acid reducer. I feel like I pray all the time, but I guess everyone has to go through all the stages of grieving their old life.
I’ve been wanting to write here, but I’ve, I know, it’s a theme, been too tired. I was “officially”
diagnosed with lymphedema January 30th. I’ve had swelling in my arm off and on and we have been monitoring things but this last month I have swelling in my chest and arm that is sticking around. I can’t remember what I’ve written in the past about it but in your circulatory system, the lymph system picks up proteins, waste and foreign bodies, like viruses, from the cells and transports them back to your trunk for eventual disposal. Only, in my case, I’m missing part of this system on my left side, the axillary (arm pit) lymph nodes; because the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes they were taken out. This is where we are monitoring the lump. Unfortunately there is nothing to do to fix what’s been broken; because it hasn’t really been broken, it’s been removed altogether.
So for this swelling, the lymph fluid accumulation in my arm, arm pit, and chest, the doctors can do nothing. “I’m sorry Mrs. Sanders; you do realize that you had these parts of you removed because of cancer? Oh, they hurt? Here, take a pill.” (You think I’m joking, well I am sort of, but I have had this conversation with every single doctor I’ve been to over the last two months) Since this is not a very satisfying solution and things would just continue to swell until my arm, literally, would be two
or three times its original size, I am going to a physical therapist that specializes in manual lymph drainage. He does this fluid moving dance and the fluid leaves the area for a while, less than a day. Hence I have to wear compression garments: a glove, sleeve and chest piece, which squish my body and help it to do its job to get that protein trash out. The picture at the top is off my glove and sleeve, we are still waiting for my chest part to arrive from the manufacturer so I am wrapping almost everyday in a kind of ace bandage.
So now I am missing a boob, my hair and am wearing body armor. I feel sooooo attractive. “Oh, your left hand is affected? And you can’t wear your wedding ring? You’re probably going to be wearing these compression garments for the rest of your life; you might want to get that sized for your right hand.” WAAAAAHHHH!
It’s Tuesday, what are you doing today Stephanie? Going in for physically therapy. Thank you very much cancer.
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