PICC line installed today.

Today we went to the hospital at the edge of the city, (where I had the second operation, and from which I went home believing myself to have very little time left to live,) and had a PICC line inserted. This is a peripherally inserted central catheter, and I was a little anxious about having it done, because the line is put into a vein in the upper arm, and advanced until it's in a larger vein close to my heart.

These lines are used to give chemotherapy, avoiding the continual insertion of an IV into my arm every second week and then withdrawing it two days later. With care and good hygiene, a PICC line can be left in for months without problem.

I was a little anxious when we first started, but the specialist nurse was a warm and friendly woman, who laughed at my silly jokes, and was very soothing and calming. Apart from a slight pinch when the local freezing was used, it was all painless, and since I made a point of not watching while she did it, quite peaceful. I looked at the ceiling tiles, asked her about herself and how she got into nursing, and enjoyed talking and laughing with her.

On this journey, I've met some amazing nurses. I like to ask them about themselves, and have been interested to hear the various ways in which they've arrived in the nursing profession. Some wanted to be a nurse since the age of six, and never wavered. Some applied to nursing as an alternative in case they didn't get into their first-choice program.

Al-Anon has taught me that everyone has a story, and they are all fascinating, if I take the time to listen, and to really hear. I like to make the nurses laugh while they are looking after me, it's fun for us both. I figure they hear enough complaint; if I can lighten their day with some laughter, I feel better for it.

Last night the meeting topic was "detachment." I realised that over the years, I've become rather skilled at this, and I no longer carry that which isn't my burden to shoulder. I heard a Polish proverb used to describe detachment last night:

"Not my circus; not my monkey."

A Different Viewpoint.

This week I met with an oncologist, who after introducing herself and talking for a few minutes, asked me what my understanding of my illness is. I explained that the surgeon who had done the operation had been very negative about my prognosis, and given me very little time. He told Robert directly after the operation that had he known ahead of time what was in there, he'd have cancelled the surgery.

She was taken aback.

The cancer has not reached any of my major organs, but it is in my lymph system. The doctor explained that because of this, she considers that I am a good candidate for chemotherapy. If the cancer responds to the chemo, as it has a good chance of doing, I could live for several more years.

We were stunned; the surgeon had given us both the impression that I was on my last legs. This oncologist said that she has patients who have been living with cancer in their lymph system for years, with chemotherapy keeping it from metastasising any further, and she believes this may be a possibility for me.

This is the first hope we've had since the surgery on May 9th. We left her office feeling almost giddy and at the same time, a little choked up.

It's very strange to have been given the impression that it was pretty much all over, only to go see another doctor, and get a completely different prognosis. This had been a roller coaster ride, for certain.

I went to a meeting the next evening, for the first time in about six weeks - it was heavenly. So much love and humour and wisdom.

I go to get a PICC line installed in my arm next Tuesday, and start chemo on Thursday, so am working my program, and hoping that the oncologist's more positive outlook is the correct one of the two.

This is one of the most pointed examples I can recall for myself, of the way a different viewpoint, outlook or attitude, changes everything.

Protestant Work Ethic, or, How To Relax.

My dearly loved brother is an economics professor at a university, and has an enormous workload, even though he's been tenured for years. Much of this workload is self-assigned; he does considerably more preparation for his courses than many other professors, who urge him to use materials from previous years, rather than start anew each year, trying to make his teaching fresh and interesting.

But he and I are much alike in that we both have trouble relaxing and doing nothing - we were raised with "Protestant work ethic" (hard work and effort are praised above almost all else.)

I'm 56, he's 57, yet neither of us is fully comfortable with the idea that we are allowed to have time in which we do nothing.

 Almost as soon as I was released from hospital this time, I was itching to get busy doing something. Accomplishing something. I have great trouble with days at the end of which I cannot say, "Well, at least I got ______ done, today." When I am asked, "What have you been doing lately?" and I can't reel off a list of things completed, I feel uneasy, and vaguely guilty.

My brother and I were laughing in exchanged emails recently: I told him about being two days out of hospital, but managing to get some sewing finished, and he told me about wandering around his place feeling slightly out-of-sorts before finding a fiendishly complicated economics book which he sat down to read. School is finished for the year, and with it, his obligations - and as a result, he doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

We're both nuts.

A Thank You

To all of you who've written, thank you from the depths of my heart: it means so much to know that my blog has been of some use.

Today we spent some time in the warm sun, out in our rooftop garden, listening to bird song. I felt the blessing of all the people who have expressed their caring, and for the humour and steadfast love of my wonderful ,beautiful Robert.

I'm feeling stronger each day, and trying just to allow life " to flow day by day with God's ease, balance, and grace." (From Survival to Recovery - Growing up in an Alcoholic Home Pages 269-270)
Bless you all, I'll try to write again soon,

Back Home After Surgery.

As it turned out, the operation was much more extensive than first planned, because the cancer had grown considerably in the few short months since the first surgery.
The prognosis is not good, and I am being given very little time.
I don't think I'll be writing much on here for the next while, because I'm feeling like I've been hit by a truck. Good luck and God bless you all. I'll try to write soon.

Changing Sponsors.

Over the many years I've been in Al-Anon, I have rarely changed sponsors, and apart from one other time, the changes have been a result of my having moved to a new city. This time, I decided to get a new sponsor when I went to see my sponsor and told her that the cancer had returned. I was in tears and very upset. She first told me that it was God's will, and then to "look on the bright side."

To say I was astounded, wouldn't be stretching the truth. I was gobsmacked. I don't happen to believe that our Higher Power is the agent of our sufferings - I believe our HP is there as comfort and support and encouragement during those times, but I don't think certain people get singled out for cancer, or any other disease. I think that it's genetics, and the randomness of nature. And, look on the bright side? What exactly is the bright side of cancer having returned?

I was not happy with her response, but apart from ducking a few of her phone calls, I hadn't quite decided what to do about it. Then at the last meeting of our home group, which my sponsor chaired, after we'd all gone around on the topic, she asked us to go around once more and talk about "what we could do to cheer ourselves up for the rest of the week." When it came to me, I passed.

She wouldn't accept my passing, and began asking me "What about such-and-such? Wouldn't that cheer you up? What about this? What about that?" I was stunned, because never in 29 years of Al-Anon meetings have I seen a chairperson refuse to allow a member to pass, or begin hounding them like that for an answer.

I managed to say again that I had nothing to say, thank you, and she finally went on to the next person, but I was livid.

I shot out of the room the moment the meeting was finished, and to my great gratitude, Robert was early, waiting there in the car to pick me up, lovely wonderful man that he is. I talked to him about it, and then yesterday, I talked to someone else who is a long-timer in program, without breaking my sponsor's anonymity, but explaining what had happened, and how I'd felt.

Through speaking with her, it dawned on me, that all along, since the first cancer diagnosis, I'd been feeling like my sponsor wasn't validating or acknowledging my feelings of pain, anger and sorrow. I don't know if she can't handle my feelings about it, or perhaps her own, but whatever the reason, her behavior has become less acceptable to me as time has passed, and I've been trying to deal with it.

Talking to my friend yesterday, I understood that with major surgery coming up in only 12 days, I do not need the hassle and stress of a sponsor who will not accept or validate my feelings. I need support,  love and encouragement. So I told my old sponsor last night that I was going to look for a new sponsor, then called a woman I respect and enjoy and asked if she would sponsor me. She was warm and receptive and agreed happily. We meet next Wednesday for coffee, and I'm looking forward to it.

I'm not angry with my old sponsor, I think she was doing the best she could. As with so many of us, if we know better, we can do better.

In a while, I will be walking down to the finish line of the 10k run/walk in which Robert is entered with some friends for the walk. I want to be there to cheer him on when he comes across the finish line. He has been cheering me on the whole way of my struggle with cancer, and I feel blessed and  grateful for him.

I want to thank all of you who have been supporting and encouraging me with your comments and emails. It means so much.

A Better Attitude.

Sorry no posts for so long, I was reeling from the news about the cancer having returned. But now, a couple of weeks further on, my mood has settled more into acceptance and gratitude for all of the love in my life: friends, family, and my wonderful Robert.

One of the women in a group I attend weekly, came up to me before the last meeting, gave me her phone number and address, told me that she had been through one aspect of the surgery I'm facing, and would happily be there for me as support and encouragement. I called her a few days later, and she was encouraging and helpful. Her surgery was due to other reasons, not cancer, but it was the same sort of thing, and she is willing to come to my place and help me when I'm newly home from hospital, and to be a support by phone at any time. I'm supposed to call her this weekend, and go over to her place for tea and some more talking.

I felt far less frightened after speaking with her; she helped me to feel that I can get through the surgery and recover, although it's life-changing and invasive. I have no choice, if I want to live for any time at all, I have to get it done.

Tomorrow I go for a CT scan in the morning, in an effort to see if the cancer has metastasized to my other organs. If it has, I will be lucky to live for another couple of years, if it has not, who knows?

My brother is flying out from New York on the 2nd, and going home on the 4th. We were estranged for many years, and haven't seen each other for almost 30 years, so I am giddily excited at the idea of having even that short space of time to visit with him.

When I live in the moment, life is good.