If you sat down with one hundred cancer patients I can garentee you they would all agree with a similar emotion when it comes to the days approaching a PET/CT scan...
we feel crazy.
In truth, the days or sometimes even weeks before scan time can create the most anxiety-ridden, insane thought process of even the most logical and rational individuals out there. Although I find myself fairly well-balanced emotionally, I am no different from those who jump off the deep end and belly flop into the insanity pool, sometimes even taking observers with me.
Whether you live in three month incremental scans, as I do, or once a year the emotions and turmoil that occur inside the mind of a cancer patient can be difficult to understand. A reason, I felt the need to write this post. Although I can not speak on behalf of all cancer patients, I can tell you that the days before and after a scan are my most unstable and inconsistent in my mind, soul, and identity. In turn, these are the things that happen:
1) Thinkers (such as myself) tend to over-analyze during these days. I find myself not only thinking of what the scan may reveal but how A) my family will react, B) my partner will react C) my friends will react and D) how my school/work enviornment will react. I take it a step further but think of the outcomes -- if it is a good scan: how will I feel (where major survivors guilt comes into play) if it is a poor scan: what are my options? I think about the latest research, what friend of mine is on what trial and is it available on the east coast, where I will fit in different treatments, and what toxicity level am I willing to endure this time around. I also contemplate: how should I spin this story so everyone will feel okay with my results and be confident that I will be fine? Without even knowing the results my brain will go into a tail spin and all confidence of a semi-normal life and a future appears it can be ripped away with in an instant, and the stable rug I have been standing on the last six months will be taken out from under me. It is mentally exhausting and emotionally draining and it's hard. But these are things that I need to think about to prepare for what is to come.
2) Putting up walls. During the week before and after scans I tend to emotionally isolate myself (and others) for protection. For many reasons. Reasons due to not wanting to answer how I feel or what I think the scan will be -- because especially during this week, I have no clue. Questions regarding what my next steps will be (because without knowing how big or small the cancer is, I can't tell you yet). Protection from normalcy. During scan time is the week before or after that I truly recognize I am not a normal twenty-seven year old, when placed in a normal scene at a bar, party, or even just having coffee with friends I compare -- and it is awful. I think of how different my life is and although I attempt with all my might not to throw a small pity party, I recognize that here I am after five years of treatment, mentally hoping that I do not have to receive more toxic chemo. Because, although I can accept this life and live it well, and although it all makes me stronger, it would be nice not to have toxic drugs flow through my veins for the rest of my life. Therefore, walls go up.
In addition, I try to pull myself away from social situations and want to reflect and probably become a bit too introspective. Promised phone calls and social dates are usually canceled last minute with lots of apologies later, and I tend to crawl into my safe shell for a matter of days. But, those that come near me, or push too hard emotionally the week before or after (which are usually the ones I care for the most) are the ones that tend to crack this shell and watch frustration, sadness or disappointment pour out of me. I attempt to keep these walls up for a reason, I am vulnerable, I am a bit crazy, and still waters run very deep during this time. To be pushed or prodded, even if it is something unrelated to cancer can result in destruction. With most individuals, we tend to act out or (unintentionally) hurt those we love the most because we feel safe with them. We can yell, scream, and lash out because we know they are loyal, loving, family and friends that
get it. But, it still does not make it better, easier, or acceptable. I am well-known for these moments during close proximity to my scans, and I always feel terrible at the end of these two or three weeks when all is said and done, so therefore, walls are needed. No matter how much friends and family say
'it is okay... to break down, or let go...' it is never easy, and along with the emotional drain from my own experiences I tend to feel guilty for expresssing myself in an inappropriate way afterward. Unfortunately, it is not healthy for either party -- but sometimes, you do what you have to do to get through, you do the best you can do and sometimes that has to be enough. I am lucky that those around me understand this dynamic, and hope if you are a caregiver you understand that sometimes this is how cancer warriors tend to think, this is how we survive.
3) Lastly and most importantly is that vulnerability is a huge component during scan-time. During these days of introspection the things I think about the most are my relationships. I carefully go through mental photographs in my mind of my best friends, my partner, my past relationships, family and how much I care for each of them. I find myself during these days thinking of specific people who are close to me that I could not imagine living without, in the car driving, or cooking, and all of a sudden as if a small emotional button was softly pushed tears of love will come pouring out. I find myself listening to a certain song on a long drive and thinking about an individual: have I told them I love them this week? What could I send them in the mail? I wish I could show them how much I deeply and truly care for them without them thinking "
There goes Bekah again... being deep again... " Scan time is a horrible mix of vulnerability and protection, thoughts of what more I can do in my relationships and friendships circulate, and just like a carousel I end up going around, jumping from one person to another in my mind hoping they know how much they mean to me, and how grateful I am to have them in my life, and how amazing I think they are as an individual. And, at the end of most days I am so overwhelmed not only by my thoughts but the knowledge that I am surrounded by so much love that I always think:
how the hell did I get so lucky?
[Annual Furey-Cousin Beach Photo]
Because I am -- so incredibly lucky for those who choose to be in my life.
As you can see all of these conflicting, raw, and vulnerable thoughts can continue on for days or even weeks at a time depending on who you speak to. I am fortunate that I have narrowed these moments down to a week before and after my scans; but, none of this is easy. I would never wish anyone to understand these days -- because to do that you would have to experience cancer yourself; however, I hope these words at least offer some guidance and insight inside the mind of other warriors and myself.
In turn, it is during these days (leading up to my
scan this Thursday the 18th) that I want to thank those who support, comfort, and allow me to be crazy, knowing that I will resurface to normalcy soon. It is because of these individuals who see my tears of pain that coincidentally also cause tears of gratitude during my long drives on summer afternoons in the days leading up to that inevitable scan.
Love and Light,
B.
