Anxiety

To all you Madison blog-readers: Please join me at the Wisconsin Book Festival on Sunday afternoon October 19, 4 PM, main (downtown) public library. I will be reading from Facing Fear: Meditations on Cancer and Politics, Courage and Hope, and will be joined by my publisher, Richard Quinney, and Carol Bjerke, the artist whose image of a rowboat is on the cover of my book. Both Richard and Carol are cancer survivors, and both of them also have new books coming out this fall. We'll be talking about the relationship between our experiences with illness and our art. Despite the grim aspects of the topic, I think it will be an uplifting discussion!

When I met Carol at the Gallery Walk a week or two ago, we agreed that we couldn't comprehend how people who are not artists or writers cope with illness or other major traumas in their life. We know that it's perfectly possible for them to cope; it's just that making art (for Carol) and writing (for me) are such big and important parts of our own coping mechanisms that it's hard to understand how anyone could be without one or the other.

I had to remind myself of that, though, when it came to writing today's blog. My first impulse was to report that I didn't have much to say, except to encourage people to come to the Book Festival presentation. But when I thought about it honestly, I realized that I had plenty to say, but it wasn't going to be easy to write, or, perhaps, to read. It's not the "I'm keeping my spirits high and focusing on the wonder of the moment" kind of stuff I prefer to write--the way I prefer to think of myself. (And really, the way I usually am, I think.) It's about anxiety, which is my current emotion.

Last night I dreamt that my oncologist was leaving town. I have absolutely no reason to believe this is actually happening, but part of my anxiety, I know, results from the fact that he has been out of town for the past week, and therefore I am quite up in the air about my treatment options. Most of the time I don't think this one-week delay matters much, but I've been off chemo now for four months, and who knows what the cancer is doing. Every time the phone rings, I expect it to be Dr. Holen, who's supposed to call to tell me what's next. So far, it's been a friend who knows someone who wants to buy a copy of Black Eye; the Democratic National Committee which wanted money for Senate contests; and (as I was writing the last sentence), someone from The Nation, who presumably also wanted money, but I didn't wait to hear what she had to say before I hung up.

I'm also anxious about a "swallow study" scheduled for tomorrow, ordered by my primary care doctor because the radiologist who diagnosed my last pneumonia thought it might have been caused by aspiration. "Is that possible?" the primary guy asked, and I said it certainly was. As anyone knows who's eaten with me in the past year, unless I'm pretty mindful of chewing and swallowing, I have a tendency to choke on crumbs or even liquids. (My mother always told me not to talk with my mouth full, but I don't seem to have learned that lesson.) I'm anxious about the procedure itself, which I think involves swallowing barium, which doesn't sound too delicious, and also about what they might say about the cause(s) of the swallowing difficulty, and what they might want me to do about it. Eat only mushy stuff? I don't think so....

And of course there's the stuff everyone's anxious about these days. The election. Well, I tell people that to allay their anxiety, they should go out and work for Obama, and in the past week I've done as much volunteering as I could find time for. In Facing Fear, I write about the importance of working together, in community, as a means of finding courage and hope, and I can tell you that it really does help. I've been totally astounded by the number of people walking into the Obama headquarters every time I've been there, all volunteering their time to make the country a place they're proud of living. It really does make me hopeful. And if Obama loses, I'll know it wasn't because I sat at home, worrying.

The economy. As the stock market plummeted last week, I assiduously avoided looking at my financial statement or calling my financial advisor, under the theory (also propounded in Facing Fear) that sometimes having more information is simply not useful. I long ago decided to find someone I trusted to take care of my money, and to pay him to do it, and I'm not about to make any big changes right now. I can still pay my mortgage and I don't need a new car. So why do I need to know exactly how much money I've lost since October began?

I think it's time to go back to Facing Fear and re-read all the other prescriptions for allaying anxiety. Maybe that'll help with the medical stuff. (I'm reminded of the line from Disney's "Alice in Wonderland": "I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it.") But I have to thank all of you for reading this far, and giving me the chance to say what's on my mind. I'm feeling better already. (That's what writing does for me.) I'm just a bit concerned that now I've spread the anxiety around, and maybe you feel worse.

Dragons

I was trying to decide how to title this post, which--as you'll see--is about a variety of things: a chemo vacation, anxiety, anger, (lack of) control. And about dragon boats, too. So I decided to call it "dragons," and as I typed that into the title box, I realized how apt a title it is for a chronic disease, which drags on, and on, and (hopefully) on.... And which is, or can be, a drag on energy, spirit, etc.

So "dragons" it is.

Last Thursday I saw Dr. Holen, my oncologist, for what we both hope will be the last time until September. I have one more chemo treatment (on June 19), and then I'm on vacation from treatment for the rest of the summer--unless something comes up before then. Dr. Holen warned, "You must be very vigilant about your health." And of course it was last summer, when I was on vacation from chemo, that the tumor attacked my vagus nerve and my voice began to disappear.

I was pretty anxious, going in to the appointment. What if the doctor discovered something going on when he listened to my lungs? What if he ordered a CT scan (which he'd mentioned last time I saw him), and it showed the tumors growing? It seemed entirely possible that all my plans for a summer of fun (including several trips with friends and family) would have to be scrapped.

But they weren't. In fact, Dr. Holen suggested that the next CT scan be in September, rather than this month, precisely because if something nasty showed up, they'd have to treat it, and if it showed up now, that would screw up my summer. Sometimes it's better not to know.... even (or especially) if you're a doctor!

A day or two after this appointment, I had a dream that revealed to me how angry I am at the cancer and my inability to take control of it and banish it from my life. In the dream, I was furious, screaming at the symbolic stand-in for the cancer, "You are so selfish; you don't take my needs into consideration, it's all about you, you, you." Oddly, until this dream, I never realized I was angry about being sick. Sad, yes, but not angry.

But the dream also pointed out that I can (and do) still control some aspects of my life, however small--in the dream, I went to a diner for breakfast when I was hungry because I'd had to rush out of the house without eating--and that means quite a lot. It's really important to do what one can, when one has the ability. Ultimately, none of us is going to be able to walk away from all the dragons!

In fact, this past week I took a big step toward a dragon--a dragon boat, that is. I went to my first training session for the Dragon Boat regatta that will take place on Lake Superior on August 23. (A dragon boat is an elaborately decorated huge canoe-type boat, that holds a crew of about 20 paddlers. The first, and maybe only, one I ever saw was poking around the Capetown, South Africa, harbor, but I think the sport is growing rapidly in popularity, world-wide. The Superior regatta attracts a hundred boats.) I will be part of TeamSurvivor's crew--TeamSurvivor is a group of Madison-area women cancer survivors who do a variety of physical activities through the year. The dragon boat program, which is generously supported by Rutabaga, a local paddle sports shop, involves weekly paddling sessions on the Yahara River. Right now, until our very own dragon boat is completed in mid-July, we train in Moby, a white war canoe on loan from Carl's Paddling (another local shop) that holds about 10-12 paddlers. I was afraid that I wouldn't have the stamina, upper body strength, or aerobic capacity necessary to paddle, and I was delighted to discover that none of that was a problem. And it certainly would have been, six months ago. So all the strength training I've been doing at the gym is really paying off! And I can't wait for the next training session, this Wednesday. It's really wonderful to be out on the water in the early evening.

As for the tumor dragons--I'll just have to trust I can fend them off for another two or three months. Right now, I definitely feel strong enough!