No Good Leg to Stand On

Yesterday, I stepped off the porch and my good ankle gave out. Who expects to be striding confidently one moment and collapsing in a heap in the next? I went down gasping and bewildered, neither my fall nor my thoughts were graceful. Limping, I headed inside for the recliner, grabbing an ice bag and arnica cream along the way.

What kind of klutzy fool sprains an ankle walking off a porch? How could I sprain two ankles in 10weeks? I don’t have a good leg to stand on! It’s humiliating. Poor Jay; I don’t want him waiting on me again. I feel so stupid and can’t blame that on cancer. Am I getting so out of shape that I can’t even walk? I should stop being a wimp and push myself more. No, I’ve got to slow down; stop acting as though things are normal again. Stop expecting so much!

My contorted thoughts raged for a few moments. How quickly I can go from positive thinking and acceptance to blaming, berating, pushing myself! Alone with my ice bag and swelling ankle, I moved from humiliation and disgust to wallowing in self pity. Guess it doesn’t take much these days. On the other hand, numb feet, two sprained ankles, fatigue, intermittent melancholy, headaches, and joint pain when I thought I’d bounce back quickly feels like a lot.

After 48 hours of ice, ace bandages and ibuprofen, I can walk upright today, cautiously, but without cane or crutches. I spent time researching neuropathy, other lingering after effects of chemo, and reading message boards of other recent survivors. What a relief to know neuropathy (nerve damage from chemo) causes weak muscles (esp. ankles!) as well as numb, burning feet. Nerves in the legs take longer to heal too. I discovered some of my other odd symptoms are common in this stage of recovery: aching joints, headaches, melancholy, brain and body fatigue. I’m glad I’m not alone in this, but unsettled knowing I have more recovering to do. Chemo is the gift that keeps on giving.

I reluctantly go to the ‘Healing Together’ group at the Lancaster Cancer Center. I want to believe I can bounce back easily because of faith, nutrition, and attitude. Yet, I need to hear the stories of others so I know how to be gracious with my recovery. A survivor stated, “When a "crisis" appears over, there is an expectation to be "over" the whole thing.” I agree, knowing my own expectations exceed what I sense coming from others.

Another survivor speaks: “I would be a liar if I didn't say that surviving cancer is a daily rollercoaster of emotions, physical and mental challenges and a soul searching journey that often leaves me exhausted. I am looking for answers about my joint pain, my fatigue, my memory inconsistencies, my feelings of melancholy, my hormonal imbalance, my weight fluctuation and a host of other seemingly normal and related but annoying symptoms of post cancer treatment. There are certain things I intrinsically feel/know would help some of these symptoms such as exercise, caffeine withdrawal, nonconsumption of any alcohol, a better green-leafy diet, vitamin intake, yoga, therapy, a good cry now and then, more stress free moments in a day, meditation and more joyful experiences, but I have found it difficult to either manifest or maintain these seemingly simple acts of well being for any real length of time. It is a journey. I guess I am reaching out in this little baby-steps-cyber way in hopes of finding some answers or validation that I am indeed "normal" or at the very least finding some listening ears who know first hand what I am experiencing.”

Like this person, I’m still processing the events of the last 12 months. I’m baffled with this ongoing processing, as I felt very present through each moment of treatment. But, reflection is always good, and the deeper truth is the journey. Don’t we all struggle with what we intuitively know, what we need help to know, and what we don’t want to face. I keep asking for the grace to live fully each day, to reflect on what comes up, to let go of what I can’t change. I want to flow like the water in a brook, moving around rocks and sticks, not fighting or resisting too much, but accepting, letting go, bending through life’s circumstances. I wish for moving effortlessly over smooth, polished stone, but want to be prepared for sharp obstacles and churning rapids too. So I come back to practicing kindness to myself and others, trusting, mindfulness, gratitude, prayer and meditation.

Joyfully,
Sharon

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. --Reinhold Niebuhr

I have lost my smile,
But don’t worry,
The dandelion has it.

If you have lost your smile, but are still capable of seeing that a dandelion is keeping it for you, the situation isn’t too bad. You still have enough mindfulness to see that the smile is there. --Thich Nhat Hanh

Bird Song and Sunrise

I’m well on the road to recovery, feeling good, growing hair, loving life. I love sitting outside in the early morning, feeling grateful the winter is over and so is the time of sitting inside looking out, recovering from chemo. The spring seemed so far away back then! In honor of spring and hope, I wrote this earlier today:

“This morning is soft and silky, with the sun muted behind kitten gray clouds. My red-feathered friend primps on the wire above me; his whit-whit-whit call competes with the chatter of sparrows, the whir of dove wings, and the cheery song of father finch perched on the edge of his nest before stuffing ‘bird milk’ down the outstretched throats of his babies. Spring is deliciously heavy, so full and ripe it must soon give way to summer. Voluptuous lettuce in my garden, misted with the glow of sunrise and dew, bursts its boundaries, pushing against spinach, marigolds, beets, while the yearling redbud tree across the yard stretches youthful branches up to the gentle morning light. Deep green heart leaves shimmer beside the aged dogwood nearby, both trees moving in rhythm with the gentle morning breeze. “

Last Friday I attended my first Relay for Life. It was quite an experience. Lancaster, PA holds the third largest relay for the fight against cancer in the country. It is shocking –the cancer statistics - how many walked the survivor's lap and how many luminaries lined the track honoring or in memory of cancer patients. With a still swollen ankle, I limped through the whole survivor's lap. On the track I saw my oncologist; I think he was wearing a survivor's gold medal. I had no idea. The night was filled with mixed emotions.

The luminary service was touching, hope-filled and beautiful. The word HOPE was illuminated on the bleachers as bagpipers played Amazing Grace. During the songs and ceremony, I remembered everyone I could think of in my life, who fought cancer, including my dad, my sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends. I thought of Alice, the rescuer of my dog, Hutch. Alice died from cancer when Hutch was a year old; Hutch died a few months ago. Of course all this remembering brought out the tears and tissues.

I'm resting now, with foot propped up and on ice as I write this blog. Minding my ankle is hard, being free of chemo and so wanting to get on with life. Then I think of Jim, walking the survivor’s lap, enrolled in his last chance clinical trial for advanced lung cancer, and feel chagrined over my impatience with my ankle.

So friends, I challenge you to go out and enjoy life today; whatever the difficulty, walk the survivor’s lap, in spirit if not on foot. And by all means, listen for the red bird!

Joyfully, Sharon

A wise story: The disciples were full of questions about God. Said the master, “God is the Unknown and the Unknowable. Every statement about God, every answer to your questions, is a distortion of the truth.”

The disciples were bewildered. “Then why do you speak about God at all?”
“Why does the bird sing?” said the master.

THE BIRD SINGS NOT BECAUSE IT HAS A STATEMENT BUT BECAUSE IT HAS A SONG - from Song of the Bird by Anthony De Mello