I didn’t write yesterday as I had another dip and fought sickness, low mood and martyrdom all day. Work brought much needed periods of relief. But without that I just sank. By evening time the bleakness and utter contempt I had for my cancer diagnosis really did rock me to the core.
I’m back on Google, scanning pages and pages of data, searching for God know’s what to make me feel something different to what scorches my mind now. I am so fed up today. I’ve been back and forth to the bathroom with a throat throbbing of that now familiar feeling of queasiness ranging from slightly uncomfortable to agonizing.
As this bounces around my tired body like a pinball arcade machine, my negative thoughts do an outstanding job of keeping up. They’re cruel tonight. Tonight they deliver blow after blow. Too many to write here but I’ll summarise:- ‘Putting yourself through chemo is not worth it. You’re going to get cancer again’. Although I am the author of this blog, I cannot plan its contents further than a sentence or two ahead. When I sit down to write, I do not know what will be recorded or shared. I just go with what flows and do my best to make some sense of it so you can too.
Ditto chemo side effects. You think you’re through the worse days and feelings, then start to plan and make the most of what’s left of the cycle. But then the physical and mental form have different plans for you.
Not keen to return to the simpler way of living; to revert to that mythical Eden before the fateful apple was gnawed, the flow and associations come from nowhere, in the form of fear and flood by body with anxiety.
Working with thoughts in my role as a therapist, I help my clients understand that thoughts are forms of information. All information is either physical or rational. We are aware of a tiny fraction of the thinking that goes on in our minds, and we can control a small majority of our conscious thinking. But the vast majority of our thinking efforts goes on in our subconscious.
According to Freud, the subconscious part of the mind is not fully aware but continues to influence our actions or feelings. It’s a reservoir of feelings, thoughts, urges and memories that are outside of our conscious awareness. I teach this to my students. Like an iceberg, the most important part of the mind is the part we cannot see. The Titanic went down because it struck the part of the iceberg it didn’t see. So that part of your thought machine really is very powerful.
My subconscious mind is an unquestioning servant that is working tirelessly to make my behavior fit a pattern consistent with my emotionalized thoughts and fears. And that fear is death. The end. No more. When you hear the word ‘cancer’ you automatically connect to ‘I’m dying soon’. You feel yourself going – leaving your body behind and those you love with it.
And sadly, I was back in that space yesterday. I cry to my husband and beg him for reassurance and compassion. He held me all night, reciting the Oncologist’s conversation he was privy to on 04/06. It’s all absent now and I couldn’t connect to any of it – the good, the bad or the ugly.
And this, in my opinion is the absolute WORSE think about having cancer. The unpredictable rapid shift in mood. The spikey and stomach churning leaps from positive to negative and back again in a millisecond. All or nothing. Contemplation’s of losing your life or living it better batter you and hinder you helpless.
I went to bed heavy with helplessness. I woke up and within thirty minutes of waking, I’m out running, no longer trying to analyze bad feelings but feeding on a high energy that continued to build as the day progressed. I am writing a new training course for wanna be counsellors, and lapped up the challenge making a huge dent into the task. The emotional deregulation has evaporated and I am managing my day in a constructive way. Giving thanks for the reduction in such strong emotions, I make every minute last an hour.
As day turns to dusk I’m like the Duracell bunny but make the decision to dislodge the battery and slow down. I take some time to think about my thinking and note my symptoms for the day and for the Oncologist appointment on Thursday.
I’d just like to acknowledge and say thank you to my new best friend – J – who responded to my messages with care and congruence last night. Thank you for just being you. A brilliant human being sharing the hope of survival. She got through cancer and is doing all she can to drag me towards her x
I’m now sat in bed writing this journal with half a glass of Prosecco and some very lovely tasting dark chocolate – gifts from lovely kind people. The tiny tiny strands of stubble from my head shave are disappearing, leaving patches of bare baby soft skin in their place. My cat is close, having his nightly bath and will be over for a cuddle soon. Wherever you are in this process know you are not alone. Your subconscious mind might tell you that. But close your eyes and know we are all here with you.