I’m so tired of cancer. It’s been 5 years and still counting. I expected to be treated, cured and to go back to life as usual but instead, as my body fights for wellness, my emotions, mind and spirit whines like a baby, “Woe is me” until I got my second steroid shot for the nerve damage in my left hand due to shingles and learned a valuable lesson that changed the way I look at my life .
I finished chemotherapy followed by stem cell transplant in October 2020. As stem cell transplant leaves the patient with all new blood, like a baby, one year after the transplant, I had to get all my immunization shots again. Along with the long list, a couple of other shots were added including the two shingles shots, for all that was worth.
About 4 months later, I began to get a piercing pain in my left hand, which baffled me and a few days later red blisters started to appear, like polka dots all up and down my arm and hand. I went to my internist who diagnosed it as shingles, which baffled me even more! “But how could that be? I got the shingles shots!”
The treatment included one medication for a week, and was followed by gabapentin for the nerve damage, which lasted long after the shingles blisters were gone. Gabapentin made me light headed; I fell and fractured my left shoulder. I was a mess, but physical and occupational therapy helped me regain most of my strength but my stiff hard-to-move fingers were still a problem. The occupational therapist recommended that I see an orthopedic doctor.
Between an endless amount of time with all that is involved with cancer, a fractured shoulder, and shingles, I needed something to make it all go away with a little more speed. The Orthopedist was very obliging with the suggestion that a steroid shot will alleviate the stiffness and increase mobility. I wished it could also relieve a lot of other maladies, physical and emotional.
The shot worked well, and I was able to use my left hand easily for about 2 years, up until about a month ago when my middle and ring finger started to get stuck every time I used my hand. Sometimes I’d have to move them back into place manually with my right hand, so I decided life is just too exhausting with cancer, remission, recurrence, clinical trial, remission and recurrence all over again. If a quick fix was available for my hand, for my life, I wanted it, deserved it and made another appointment.
My orthopedist probably didn’t know or remember my medical history of T-cell lymphoma, and that it is not going away. Nor would he know that my clinical trial pill is not working as effectively as it was when I began so where I’d initially give the trial a of rating it an A+ because it put me back in remission for a while, now I’d have to rate it a C-, because I now have low level lymphoma which is still being managed with the clinical trial pill. I don’t know if and when I’ll have to rate it with an F.
So I went back to my orthopedist for my second steroid shot. I was sitting in a small brightly lit room on a metal chair next to the metal desk with the doctor, mask in place, looking at me with warm friendly eyes.
“So, the first shot worked for two years, and I can certainly give you another shot which will hopefully help for another two years, but it is also my obligation to tell you about a simple surgery on your hand that will alleviate the problem permanently.” He went on to describe the procedure.
Another quick fix was all I needed because with cancer returning, a clinical trial that is slowly waning and at 72, so am I, a permanent solution for my hand didn’t carry much weight. I was unimpressed, and felt like a piece of a puzzle in the wrong box.
“No thanks. Everything in my life, including my life, is temporary. I’ll just take the shot.” He looked surprised so I added, “I have T-cell lymphoma. I’m on a clinical trial that’s not working as well as it used to. Temporary is what my life is all about right now.”
He gave me the shot and as I walked out my hand tingled uncomfortably from the steroid making it’s way around my hand but I knew that it would go away soon. Everything is temporary.
I surprised myself with the matter-of-fact way I thought about temporary, the acceptance and comfort level I experienced as I said it. When and how did that happen? I realized that somehow I quietly slid into the world of ‘temporary,’ that I am in the third-third of my life, I don’t know how many innings are left, and that I have more years behind me than in front of me, something I often say when I listen to the news these days, but now it’s said with acceptance, comfort, and with a peaceful feeling.
Buddhist studies taught me about “non-permanence” but until now, it was only something I thought about. I spent my whole life building a solid foundation — a career, a life partner, a home. Cancer changed all that because the fear of dying made me look at life differently — I thought I was going to lose everything I built, but then I started to look at the present, how felt, how I coped, who was there for me, and my life in general. I was not looking at the past or the future, just the present, another lesson from Buddhist studies. That brought me to the realization that everything constantly changes, like the seasons, so that now being offered a permanent solution for my hand seemed ludicrous.
I realize that I feel accepting of the transition from establishing my life, to sitting back, feeling ok with who I am and with whatever the future holds. I still have things I want to do but my motives are different. I still want to travel and enjoy the company of my family and friends. I want to continue to find peace, meaning, and life purpose which occurs when I am in nature, or when I spend quiet moments in meditation, writing and becoming aware of an existence beyond entertaining activities. I feel loving towards myself especially when I remember my mistakes and regrets but this time with forgiveness, understanding, and love.
Even though I feel changes in my body, mind, and emotions, it also feels like I am on a plateau, which I try to take comfort in for however long it lasts, until I reach the next one. I am becoming accustomed to the fact that nothing lasts forever, not the cancer treatment, the clinical trial pill or my life. I went from building a life to knowing that there will be a final curtain call someday. The idea of constant change is suddenly peaceful.
To challenge the comfort that impermanence brings is a continued need for earthly things. I just spent lots of money at BJ’s, the home of bulk purchases and bought Q-tips, a package of 1,750. I already have about 200 from my last purchase which makes me think of my parents, the original bulk shoppers long before there was a BJ’s. My father built shelves in their basement and they filled every inch of it with cans of food — I mostly remember cans of baked beans and tuna fish. They also had a freezer filled to the brim with neatly packaged, dated meat. Having more products than actually needed seems to bring comfort, still needed along with the concept of temporary. So with the 200 Q-tips from the last purchase and the 1,750 I just bought I figure I have enough for about 5 years. I’m curious to know if the Q-tips will outlive me? Or the other way around?
So a permanent solution to the problem with my hand? It doesn’t mean much to me today, because everything is temporary except my Q-tips which may last long after I am gone.