Category Archives: cancer patient stories

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Tuesdays at the Chemo Unit, Feb 26 and Mar 5, 2013

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I took this photo on the way to the hospital today. It seems to me this is a sign we should all be shown at birth.

Or it could say “Warning: Life is deep and messy and sometimes you can’t see the light.”

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Last week I had my monthly appointment with my doctor. Because I’m reliably stable, I was given to the young and personable Resident to see. It was our first time meeting and he was very restrained as he reviewed the usual questions.

Then came the  moment when he asked me, “Can I examine you now?”

His eagerness made me laugh and I replied, “I know, you’re just dying to feel this liver, aren’t you?”

He laughed casually as I climbed up on the table. Then he started to actually examine the breadth of my liver and I saw a growing gleam in his eye.

“Oh, this really is exciting! I’ve never seen a liver like this before”

So maybe I shouldn’t feel satisfaction in having such a uniquely big liver, but I did feel a sense of accomplishment. If I’m to have a big liver, I want it to be the biggest. We might as well have some ambition in this life.

Sam

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Tuesdays at the chemo unit, Feb. 19, 2013

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If you ever spend time at a Starbucks you will hear of an infinite variety of drinks ordered to the exact specifications of each customer.

“May I have decaf grande soy sugar free iced caramel macchiato?”

“A tall nonfat unsweetened green tea latte please.”

“I would like to order a venti mocha frappuccino with soy mocha drizzle, matcha powder, protein powder, caramel brûlée topping, strawberries, two bananas, caramel drizzle frappuccino chips and vanilla bean.”

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I feel a bit like a Starbucks customer when I get my injection each week. The subcutaneous injection can be quite painful and leave a big bruise if the nurse does not administer it quite right. And what constitutes “quite right” varies from person to person. I imagine each person giving their own specific directions to the nurses.

“The secret is to leave a little air pocket in the needle.”

“Keep the skin  flat and inject quickly.”

“Pinch the leg hard and inject really, really slowly.”

“Can you put the heating pad on the site first to warm it up and then inject the needle at an exact 90 degree angle and whistle Stairway to Heaven to distract me?”

In an earlier era when the medical professionals were more god-like, would we have  dictated our own treatment in the same way that we order coffee or is this behaviour a sign of the times? On  the one hand, the patients feel more empowered now to ask for what they need (and truly, when the nurses do it the ‘right’ way, I experience significantly less pain). On the other hand, do we sometimes just need to let the professionals get on with their job and not pester them with onerous demands to meet our every need (maybe the whistling is a bit out of line)?

I’ve been very proud of my increased ability to advocate for myself since getting sick. At the same time, I’m just one of thousands of patients who want individualized care in a financially stressed system. I realize I must balance my needs against those around … ” Hey, slow down with that needle!”

Sam

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Time for contemplation

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Jeanette Winterson, in her fantastic memoir Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal, writes:

“The one good thing about being shut in a coal hole is that it prompts reflection.”

She goes on to meditate on life, happiness and normalcy; results of the reflection that occurred during the many hours she was locked in the coal hole by her mother.

Now I don’t mean to suggest that a hospital waiting room is like a coal hole, but there is a similarity of ‘in-betweenness’ in the situations. In both cases, the job we have is to wait for the next phase, whether it be freedom from the coal hole or the opportunity to go in to an appointment. How we use that time is up to us, of course.

The waiting room does have more distractions than the coal hole, which is why, perhaps, Jeanette’s in-between time was more productive and profound than mine generally is. I have returned to my old ways of reading, writing and checking email in the time before I am called in. I have lost some of my capacity to just sit and ‘be’ during this time.

I would like to reactivate that part of me that knows how to wait. That will be my goal for tomorrow’s visit. Who knows what deep thoughts might appear. I’ll keep you posted.

Sam

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Belly Laugh Friday, January 4, 2013

As usual I’m late – let’s just pretend it’s Friday.

As most of you know, my strange illness has given me a belly that makes me look about seven months pregnant. After so many years I have been able to find the humour both in the queries and the responses I give to the queries.  Sometimes I actually look forward to bizarre responses because they make such good stories. Belly-laugh Fridays is my chance to share these humorous tidbits with all of you. Enjoy.

Sam

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I try to come up with humorous responses to put people at ease when I tell them about my belly. One of my favourites is the following:

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 “When are you due?”

“Well, actually, I’m not pregnant, this is all liver from a bone marrow disease. Have you ever seen a liver as impressive as this before?

“Well, uh…no.”

“It is a wonder. Doctors gather when I am about in order to marvel over this miraculous organ.”

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And while it is said tongue in cheek, there is much truth in that statement. New doctors practically salivate in their eagerness to palpate my liver. Sometimes colleagues and medical students will be retrieved to view my notable organ. “You’ll never see one like this again.”

At a recent ultra sound appointment I was delayed by the technician because the doctor herself wanted to come in and see me. I worried that perhaps she had seen something concerning. In fact, she was simply keen to meet me in person and examine my liver.

I feel like I could use my own carny  “All right, step right up, ladies and gentleman. See first hand the world’s largest liver. You will never see a liver like this again. Come right this way. World’s largest liver. And for only a small extra fee you, too, can palpate this world class organ.”

I actually do keep pressing my doctor to find out if it is the biggest liver she has actually seen, but she won’t commit.

 

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Belly Laugh Friday, December 7, 2012

As most of you know, my strange illness has given me a belly that makes me look about seven months pregnant. After so many years I have been able to find the humour both in the queries and the responses I give to the queries.  Sometimes I actually look forward to bizarre responses because they make such good stories. Belly-laugh Fridays is my chance to share these humorous tidbits with all of you. Enjoy.

Sam

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The other night my mother and I went out to a new restaurant in Toronto. A lovely, chatty waitress served us. She was the dramatic type and entertained us with a story about some other patrons.  As we got up to leave she noticed my belly.

“Ah, I didn’t see when you were sitting down. Congratulations. When are you due?”

So now I had a choice. I could tell her the truth:that I wasn’t pregnant, but had a big liver. If I did that, I would likely receive a dramatic response from her. She would feel terrible, she would want my whole story, she would fuss over me. While she was lovely, and I’m sure would be very gracious, I just didn’t want to go down that path.

My other choice was to pretend I was pregnant. If I made this choice, what would I do when I come back two months from now; three months from now; six months from now? Eventually she would need to know or I would have to stop going to the restaurant. Would I have to give up this wonderful new find of a restaurant because I was afraid of a little fuss?

I have to weigh this decision each time I’m asked. ‘Do I tell or don’t I tell?’ is a constant question. What are the pros and cons? Is this someone I’m going to ever see again? Is this someone who I might develop a friendship with? How will this person react? Is this person someone I even want to engage in conversation? This laundry list of question runs through my mind in the split second between when I’m asked and when I answer.

In this case, by the time this waitress noticed my belly I was just tired and ready to go home. I decided to put off the inevitable. I mumbled the usual, “I still have a little ways to go.” and we made a dash for the exit. (I’m sure there are many people who wonder why I’m not more excited and chatty about my ‘pregnancy’.)

One day, when the moment is right and the restaurant is deserted, I will tell this woman the truth. I wouldn’t want to give it up, the food was very good.

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Belly Laugh Friday, November 9, 2012

As most of you know, my strange illness has given me a belly that makes me look about seven months pregnant. After so many years I have been able to find the humour both in the queries and the responses I give to the queries.  Sometimes I actually look forward to bizarre responses because they make such good stories. Belly-laugh Fridays is my chance to share these humorous tidbits with all of you. Enjoy.

Sam

 

 

 

“Are you pregnant?” 7 year old Jason asks, looking wonderingly at my belly.

“No honey. I look pregnant. But I’m not. I just have a big liver.”

Jason considers.

“Polar bears must really love you” he says with a big grin.

“Why is that?”

“Because polar bears really like to eat liver.” He pronounces, his grin overtaking his face.

I was in love.

“Well, I’ll watch out for those polar bears,” I promised, grinning right back at him.

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Ultra Sounds Monday, October 8, 2012

Cartoonists hold a special place in my heart. Aside from my love of them leftover from childhood, there is something about the whimsy of cartoons that allows the dark side of a situation to be exposed to the light. I recently, happily stumbled upon a new cancer cartoonist and I  her humour is spot on to describe the life of a cancer patient (or any seriously ill patient for that matter).

This wonderful cartoonist is Kate Matthews and you can find her in all of these different ways:

cartoonsbykate@gmail.com

www.cancercartoons.com

www.facebook.com/cancercartoons, www.facebook.com/cartoonsbykate

twitter: @cartoonsbykate


http://www.thecartooniststudio.com/Cubicle.aspx

 

Her story is woven in through her cartoons. Enjoy.

 

Sam

 

Cartooning Against Cancer by Kate Matthews

 

One day, close to the end of his life, my daughter offered my Father-in-law a handful of Red Hots (bright-red, heart-shaped cinnamon-flavored candies).  He gestured with his hand and said, “ No thanks, I’m off the Lysinopril” (these were his bright-red, kind of heart-shaped, blood pressure control pills).  We all burst out laughing and for a while, his pain and our sorrow were lifted away.  Eventually my memory of that moment morphed into a cartoon:

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Shortly after my Father-in-law died, I too was diagnosed with cancer.  At first, I fell into that deep dark hole of despair that seems so dreadfully inescapable.  But then I remembered how we had laughed and how much it had helped.  I began to construct a ladder of laughter to help me get out of my hole:

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Cartooning saved my sanity. I was seeking that bright quick moment of mental relief, the laugh that pushes the fear and the pain away. Anytime I found it, I drew it.  I drew in the doctor’s waiting rooms and in the chemo chair, in my living room and in the hospital.    When my treatment was finished, I collected the cartoons in a book in hopes of sharing a few bright moments with others.  We all know that there’s not one damn thing that’s funny about cancer, but no one needs a good laugh more than we folks who are fighting it.  That’s why I’m still cartooning, why I try to post a new cartoon everyday.  When we laugh, we feel good and when we feel good, we get stronger.  Let’s hear it for laughter!

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Tuesdays at the chemo unit, Tuesday, October 2nd, 2012

So, it’s not  Tuesday, but I don’t seem to get to write this post until Thursday. Let’s pretend.

Tuesday was a loooooong day at the chemo unit. It was the day I received my iron infusion (a grande decaf soy latte iron). It seems there was a tubing problem. The darn little machine kept making that annoying dee-dee-dum sound  - a sound that was catching all over the ward.

Of course my restless legs were in full gear, so sitting for that long was something of a trial. But I was reminded of an incident that happened this summer.

We live in Stratford, Canada, a town known for it’s famous Shakespearean Theatre Festival. My son and I gorged ourselves on live theatre this year.

One afternoon we were at the main theatre to see a production of Much Ado about Nothing when my legs kicked into high gear. I tried to talk to them, to tell them to calm down, but instead I found myself squirming like crazy, stretching and unstretching my legs and generally being a nuisance to the people around me. I decided I had better leave. My 13-year old son was indifferent to my leaving and told me he’d meet me at home (a 13-year old who doesn’t want to miss any of his Shakespeare play – does it get any better? )

As I was leaving the theatre I was accosted by one of the ushers.

“Can I help you with something?’

“No, I just have this problem with restless legs.”

“Are you coming back?”

“No, I think I’ll just go home.”

She looked pensive for a moment and then said, “Do you think if you were in the director’s booth you could stay? You could walk around in there and still watch.”

I hadn’t been enjoying the play too much. Claudio’s treatment of Hero is despicable (especially knowing she’ll take him back in the end). However, this was an opportunity too good to miss.

“Sure, I’ll give it a try.”

She led me to an almost invisible door and, after climbing a few steps, I had the whole theatre spread out before me. I walked up and down the room, did some exercises, had a snack and thoroughly enjoyed this way of watching theatre.

Too bad I can’t exercise while I’m getting my infusion…

Sam

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Ultra Sounds Monday, October 1, 2012

Good day all and happy October!

Today I offer you another couple of gems from Viola Moriarty.  I love Viola’s paintings and I love Viola even though I have never met her in person. I connect to the colour and lines and the feeling of the painting and they  seem to me to be portholes into her personality (as much as I know her so far). You should go right this minute and check out her collection at 
http://www.violamoriarty.com/
 (and notice what a beautiful bald head she has – I drool in envy  - mine wasn’t so pretty).

Enjoy

Sam

 

In her own words:

“Physicists tell us that the very act of seeing changes us, and changes the object of our perception. I paint
solely and directly from life largely because of this energetic exchange between the seer and the seen.
Creative process is perceiving information and deciding how to personally engage that information; it is
this process that most interests me. Painting is also hard work. It requires a particular kind of focus and
energy. When I step to the easel, I feel I was born for this work. All my liabilities—my tenacity, boldness,
tender heart, passion and insatiable curiosity–become my assets. When I am painting, I feel like myself.

Nature is my sweetest and most demanding teacher, and it is to her that I am most grateful.”

Viola Moriarty

 

Nicole P

By Viola Moriarty

 

 

 

Things Happen

By Viola Moriarty

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Ultra Sounds Monday, July 9, 2012

Hello everyone,

My apologies for the quietness of the blog these days. It’s these sluggish summer days. You could peel me off the couch when it’s as hot as it has been lately in Southern Ontario. Once the cooler weather arrives, I will be back in full swing.

Today’s submission comes from Kelly Thorarinson,a lovely woman I met at an Art for Cancer Workshop. I love the colours and texture of this painting as well as the title and what it represents. Do check out Kelly’s other work and her blog.

In her own words:

Re: Resolving the Screening dilemma

I worked on this piece through Art for Cancer Foundation’s 5 week workshop.  I call it resolving the screening dilemma as that is actually part of a typewritten piece that is visible under all the colour and texture…. a newspaper clipping. That is how I first decided to name this piece, but really there is so much more.  Those words resonate with me because there is complexity to cancer treatment.  Even as a stage 1 breast cancer patient where treatment is fairly straightforward, there are still many questions.  One, of which, is about screening as the very screening methods and treatment for breast cancer can also cause cancer.  Sure is a dilemma.  The other aspect of the title is that in doing art I was able to solve the dilemmas of cancer by giving them a voice and hours of escape through art. More of my art can be found at www.abelcreation.com and I write a blog at www.chrysalis2butterflywings.blogspot.com

 

 

The Screening Dilemma

by Kelly Thorarinson