How Do I Feel The Feelings?
Having cancer has been a strange thing for me. More often than not, I feel like I’ve detached myself on a certain level and am observing myself from the outside. There are times when I have fleeting moments of emotion, but I feel more than anything that I’m just going through the motions of having and dealing with breast cancer.
Take for example when I learned that the breast tissue margin was clean after Dr. Meric did surgery on my breast for a second time, I knew this was good news. I could see and hear that this was very good news by your (my family’s and friends') reactions. But somehow, I didn’t share the same enthusiasm and relief. It’s not that I didn’t understand your responses; after all they were appropriate. I knew I “should” be happy, but somehow, on a visceral level, I just didn’t feel it.
The very same thing happened to me when I found out this past week that the results from my bone marrow aspiration came back showing no micro-metastases. Again, this is really good news, but what I heard in your voices, read in your notes or felt in your hugs was far more animated than the reaction I had when I received the news. It was almost as if I was looking to you to see what my reaction should or could be. I still didn’t “feel it.”
Even last night when Nat and I were at the Mays Clinic while I was being prepped for chemo, a nurse from the Young Breast Cancer Survivor’s Program stopped by my room. She brought me a bag filled with literature, a chemo quilt and a pink bandana as a welcome and offering of support. I just sat there politely listening to her. In my head I was thinking, “OK, uh huh, right, OK. This is interesting. A nice gesture.” But when I looked over at Nat, he had tears in his eyes. I asked him what was wrong. It didn’t occur to me to feel angry and saddened – the way Nat felt – by her well-intentioned visit. He said that although we were sitting in my hospital room waiting for my chemo to start, he was able to push cancer to the back of his mind. Her visit, however, pulled cancer to the forefront. I realized tears began welling up in my eyes, but they weren’t for me. Instead they were for the effect my cancer is having on Nat. I’m more saddened that he’s troubled, angry and feeling helpless than I am for myself. And there we sat crying – not for me, but for each other.
I suppose this is the same thing I do when my support group (you) expresses joy about good news I share. I’m relieved to see you relieved, happy that you’re happy. I like being the bearer of good news. Likewise, I feel bad that you are distressed or worried about my situation. I hear myself offering words of reassurance that I’m fine. But the truth is, right now I am fine. I’m neither scared to death by my situation nor am I overjoyed with positive prospects.
It does feel like I’m living outside of my body. I feel like my body and mind have severed just enough to allow me to be balanced. I don’t have high highs or low lows. Maybe I have resorted to protective measures. Maybe it’s because my physical self has gone through the wringer, so my mental self is stepping in to buffer me from the gravity of my situation. I don’t know.
Because so little time has passed since initial diagnosis, I may need more time to grow into the reality and depth of emotions that come with accepting that breast cancer is really a part of me. So when you cheer, hug, celebrate or when tears are shed, maybe this is the very thing I need right now because I seem unable to experience all of these emotions for myself. It seems that your reactions to my experience are another way in which you support me, and for that, I am appreciative.
Love, Lisa
-MESSAGES-
Miss Lisa: Just want to say "HI". Think about you everyday and keep you in my prayers. Hope you have a good weekend and a "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" Love, A. J. Hi Nat.
So interesting I'm so interested in your thoughts. I seem unable to take my eyes from the first sentence of your last paragraph. I'm wondering whether it is, in fact, the reality of the cancer being part of you that makes it so difficult right now to feel cheered (or the opposite) when you get news (or unexpected visits to your pre-chemo hospital room). That severed, and sometimes removed, feeling sounds so familiar to me from my time as a trauma patient, when I hurt and had no certainty about future outcomes. I can understand these feelings much better in retrospect. At the time, I smiled and carried on, thinking I was feeling and doing just fine. In fact, it was much more complicated. You know, there is no "right way" to do this. Your reactions are your reactions. Valid and good. Much love to you both, J.
Monday morning I just got back from Colorado. The weather was perfect and the place gorgeous! I had this picture of you when I was reading your update. I'm seeing you on a seesaw and you are standing in the middle of it to keep it balanced. Occasionally the seesaw tinkers just a little bit to one side or the other. You've learned how to stand in just the right place so that it stays more balanced than not. You've got a job to do, and you've found a safe place to help you stay focused and attend to task. A training I went to one time called it "equilibrium", others might call it survival. Be looking for a phone call from me hopefully today. (I need caffeine first. I'm having altitude and cool weather withdrawal!) Many hugs and love to you and Nat.
hello Lisa Thoughts of you have weighed heavily on my mind for the past two days. Not in a negative way, but you've been there. :) At first, I thought it was because school is out and I don't see you anymore, but then something kept nagging at me that you were unsettled or needed peace. So, I prayed for you. I prayed for strength and peace and for you to find the encouragement you need to get through your trials.
I think it is a rather comforting thought that your mind is separated from what is happening to you. Your mind is obviously keenly aware of your circumstances so, it is protecting you. It is allowing you to feel only as much as is necessary to fight! You are well equipped with family and friends who can feel for you - use that to your advantage. Allow us to cry for you, allow us to cheer on your behalf. After all, that is what friends (and family) are for. We can be your tears, your smiles, your disappointment, your joy. Your body may have to be the one which is put to the fire, but know that we feel the heat with you. :)
I'm happy to hear your wonderful news and really excited that someone cared enough to drop by to give you "welcome gifts," even if it is a welcome to a club of which you do not want to be a part... Many many blessings to you and your family. STAY STRONG XOXO, M. :)
Helping us help you Your unique way of expressing your thoughts and the way you communicate your fear, hope and gratitude requires nothing short of honesty on our part. Cancer is not a stranger anymore; we all know someone or we ourselves may be dealing with it. What is important is that none of us allow the word to scare us; the disease may be powerful but the word need not be. Today, blessedly, we do not only hope but also have the expectation of a cure.
This afternoon I accompanied my daughter to a pain clinic for back therapy. It is situated at the University hospital adjacent to oncology and patients share the same waiting room. At first this surprised me; I thought that cancer patients might have wanted their own space. Then I thought of how you were dealing with your treatment and interacting with people and realized that oops, for a minute there I was allowing this disease to isolate patients in my mind; just what I didn't believe should happen. "What would Lisa do?" ran through my head and I suddenly smiled at the woman opposite me, allowed her to feel she wasn't sitting alone in a room filled with people. She adjusted her hat, a very fun one signed by friends and then returned my slightly goofy greeting. Thank you for making me behave.
You are strong enough to allow us to share your moments of weakness. Bravo! We are not lions all the day long. Sometimes we are kittens with the need of comforting and a saucer filled with the milk of human kindness. Drink from it, you are allowed that pleasure. You are one fantastic lady and Nat is such a lucky guy. We love you.
Happy (belated) birthday It's good to hear you sharing your real feelings rather than creating something you think the rest of us might want to hear. It's so difficult for me to understand what you're going through because I haven't been there, and of course, everyone has his/her own way of facing cancer. I think your way is healthy-just be what you're feeling. School is almost over (tomorrow, last day) and summertime is here! In Minneapolis, we would be at the pool, planning our outfits for the evening. Ha! Was life so stress-free back then?? I hope you and Nat did something special to celebrate your day of birth. I celebrate you and I'm glad you're my friend. Lots of love, C.