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Part 6: One woman’s story: Contemplating chemotherapy
Editor’s note: The Montana Standard has asked health and fitness correspondent, Paula J. McGarvey who was diagnosed with breast cancer in August 2007 to share her own story. This is a continuation of stories Paula has shared with our readers over the last several months. The other stories have also been reposted online and are available at http://www.mtstandard.com/healthfitness/.
By Paula J. McGarvey for The Montana Standard Jan. 17, 2008 Today I received the last of eight scheduled chemotherapy treatments. Since early October I have gone to the local cancer center religiously every two weeks. There, I would be hooked up to an IV and infused with toxic drugs, whose mission was to seek out and destroy any rogue cancer cells that dared to linger in my body after surgery.
I haven’t felt such a sense of accomplishment and relief since giving birth to my first child after 17 hours of labor one summer evening back in 1993. At least this time there would be no 2 a.m. feedings or diapers to change.
For the most part, I have not written about my chemotherapy experience until now. There were snippets in e-mails shared with my closest friends and fellow breast cancer survivors, but I quickly learned that it was going to take all my strength and courage just to get through. The introspection required for the journaling process was a task for which I lacked the necessary emotional energy. Heck, some days I lacked the energy to get out of my pajamas.
I still have trouble articulating what, for me, surviving chemo entailed. So, I find myself like so many others before me borrowing a line and some inspiration from “A Tale of Two See CHEMOTHERAPY, Page C4 Chemotherapy ...
Continued from Page C1 Cities”.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times
” Charles Dickens In my experience, the best and worst of chemotherapy included:
Going to the local cancer center for a treatment and being met by staff providing compassionate care, who focused their hearts and their healing energy on me for hours on end.
Waking up alone one night at 3 a.m., staggering to the bathroom sick as a dog and wondering if dying from cancer might be a better alternative to living through the chemotherapy side-effects I was experiencing at that moment.
Waiting in line at the Post Office with a telltale scarf covering my bald head, when a stranger approached, identified herself as a cancer survivor, provided a few words of encouragement and then grabbed me and hugged me.
When a few people I had been counting on for support couldn’t deal with my cancer diagnosis and backed away and I realized that I had to come to accept, understand and ultimately, forgive.
Renting a wild, vintage 1940s hat with an ostrich feather plume to wear with my high heels and black evening gown when I attended my company Christmas party.
Losing nearly every hair on my body and realizing that nasal hair actually plays a significant role in keeping my nose from running 24/7.
Having my 14-year-old daughter wipe out the 184 dollars and 51 cents she had in her savings stash, stuff the wad of bills and change in a money card and give me the bulging envelope on Christmas morning to “help” with the family’s medical expenses.
Still receiving cancer treatments when 2008 arrived and realizing that my out-of-pocket deductible, co-payments and monthly health insurance payments in the New Year would exceed 50 percent of what I’d earned in 2007 as a freelance writer.
When I was at my best in public with full make up and fashionably dressed, facing cancer with style and grace while people applauded me for my courage and ability to inspire others to make breast health a priority.
When I was sick at home recovering from a treatment, still in my pajamas at seven o’clock at night, bare-faced and bald-headed, emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted and I yelled at my constantly bickering 12 and 14-year-old to “shut up” so I could suffer in peace.
And so, for me chemo-therapy wasn’t so much about the medical logistics, but about the lesson. That lesson was finding balance. It was learning to hang on to the good times to get me through the bad and learning to live, one day at a time, in that place between the two.
I plan to thoroughly enjoy a three-week respite from chemotherapy, after which I will embark on the last phase of my cancer treatment radiation. Whatever challenges it brings I know I have learned what I need to get me through it.
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