Questions

During a time of illness and recovery, with all the uncertainty inherent in the situation, a multitude of questions may occur to family, friends, and yourself.  Here are a few we pondered during the time between my treatments in May and November.

“Nana, why are you walking so funny?” asked my grandson, as I shuffled from the dining room  table to the couch.  “I don’t know, Sweetheart.  My feet just feel heavy,” I replied.  It was during the time of deep fatigue, and it seemed as if there were weights around my ankles holding me down.  I simply couldn’t lift my feet off the floor.  Fortunately, with time my gait returned to normal, even though my pace might be as slow as a turtle.

 “Mom, do you think you’re getting the best treatment possible?”  I believe this question was prompted both by love and by fear.  My husband had died suddenly and unexpectedly while my youngest was still a teenager.  Our family had gathered for a festive Easter dinner and an afternoon of playing board games on April 15, 2001.  Four days later Andy suffered a fatal heart attack.  Now, my children’s usually energetic and active mother had a serious diagnosis.  It was troubling and even scary. 

We arranged for consultation with a doctor associated with the University of Pennsylvania’s respected center for liver cancer research and treatment.  He noted that our liver doctor had been trained at their center, and that she was following the protocol they might be using for my case.  There were some other approaches and trials at U Penn that I might qualify for, and one additional test they would recommend, but my Tucson-based treatment plan looked good.  We decided to keep my care here, but to request the additional test. It isn’t available yet in Tucson, and it also presented an insurance-related challenge.  However, it has now been authorized and scheduled at a cancer center in the Phoenix area on Christmas Eve.

Another question:  How many of the symptoms I was experiencing were related to the cancer, and which might be for other reasons?  The persistence of considerable intestinal distress, despite some interventions built into the treatment plan, bothered me.  I finally decided to return to my GI doctor to see what he or the nurse practitioner might think.  They gave me a test which revealed a problem unrelated to the cancer.  I’m receiving treatment and relief.  The lesson?  Listen to your body and don’t hesitate to seek further medical advice if particular health issues persist.

“What about milkshakes?”  This became a source of a bit of family controversy. A couple of years before my diagnosis, I had worked hard to lose weight for the sake of my health and had reached my goal.  Now, because of the cancer and radiation treatment, I lost 15 more pounds.  My doctors instructed me to gain it back, which was, for me at least, easier said than done.  Besides healthy and balanced meals, I was encouraged to snack between meals on nuts, fruits, cheese, even malts or milkshakes.  But some members of my family were concerned about sugar feeding my cancer and contributing to its growth.  Even though I found inconclusive and contradictory research on the sugar issue, one or two folks continued to be concerned.  From my perspective, milkshakes had been a rare but special treat in the past.  Now I had a reason to indulge without guilt.  With the blessing of two of my doctors, I added milkshakes to my diet, and the weight came back slowly. 

Finally, I would ask myself every so often whether I were spending my remaining time in life in the best way.  Finding balance between service to others and taking care of myself, between action and reflection, has always been an open question for me.  Illness makes this question particularly relevant and urgent.  Several new considerations enter the equation.  My body puts limits now on how many meetings, demonstrations and events I can attend without tiring too much.  My plan to leave my affairs in order so my children will have the information they need when I’m incapacitated or gone demands an investment of time and attention.  I long for more time to visit and share experiences with friends and family as well as to meditate and to exercise.  I’m frustrated—even angered-- by the truth that despite my desire, there is no way to borrow or create more time!

Resources during the time between the first radiation treatment at the end of May and the second one in November:

A friend gave me a book, Cancer Free with Food:  A step-by-step plan with 100+ recipes to fight disease, nourish your body, and restore your health by Liana Werner-Gray.  It has a list of the 15 top cancer-healing foods.  I had never heard of broccoli sprouts, but they can actually be found  in Safeway.  Delicious and easy to incorporate into salads and sandwiches. Most of the foods were familiar and already part of my diet, like blueberries, dark greens, broccoli, grapes, tomatoes and quinoa.  Other were new to me or foods I seldom ate, like turmeric, tigernuts, raw garlic and ginger root.  Some of the recipes look quite good.

A book that has been a rich source for meditation during this time is My Grandfather’s Blessings:  Stories of strength, refuge, and belonging by Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D.  The book is a collection of stories drawn from her life as the granddaughter of an Orthodox rabbi and her work as a physician and therapist. It’s the kind of book that invites re-reading because of the depth of insight and hope it offers.

Besides classical music, I enjoyed listening to Sweet Honey in the Rock singing “Somebody Prayed for Me” and Odetta singing “This Little Light of Mine”.

During the most difficult time of fatigue and persistent gut discomfort, I was reading Sister Joan Chittister’s little book Between the Dark and the Daylight:  Embracing the contradictions of life.  She writes, “The light we gain in darkness is the awareness that, however bleak the place of darkness was for us, we did not die there.  We know now that life begins again on the other side of the darkness.  Another life.  A new life.  After the death, the loss, the rejection, the failure, life does go on.  Differently, but on.  Having been sunk into the cold night of despair—and having survived it—we rise to new light, calm and clear and confident that what will be, will be enough for us.”