Equanimity and Imperturbability

If you are going to have cancer in your life, you better have a healthy dose of equanimity and imperturbability.  Let me be more specific.  If you are married to, close to, going to take care of, going to visit, or come in contact with anyone that has been diagnosed with any one of the over 200 types of cancer, be prepared to grin and bear it (oops, idiom slip).

Without the tolerance gene from my mom and the understanding that this journey is all about my wife, Miki, I’m not sure I would still be cleaning out her commode at this stage of the game.  Another factor that has made this doable for me, is the fact we are no longer working, but not everyone has that luxury that has succumb to this epidemic of cells gone bad.  But it is perseverance that seems to rise to the top of the character chart, as I look at myself and others, that are not targeted by cancer, but are affected nonetheless.

Instead I have charged myself with handling the effects and affects cancer rains down on her.  And something that is a reoccurring theme on our journey is how customized each person’s journey is, as we hear each new story.  Two people may share the same type of cancer, but how they are affected by it is the wild card.  We humans are just lucky that way.

So how has my composure been tested?  Let’s start with the drugs/medications that are a necessary evil during this “hiccup” in her life.  For Miki, before she was diagnosed, the precursor to her chemo and radiation was the feeling of a pinched nerve in her lower back.  We know now that it was a tumor growing in her bone that was indeed applying pressure to a nerve that serviced her right leg.  The pain increased with time and so did the level of painkillers that she was served up to deal with said pain.  Without even getting into the side effects, which in themselves are unbelievable, I watched, along with many of you, as they turned Miki into not Miki.  Mind altering occasions that made me wonder whom I was talking to at times.   Muscle twitching that was just hard to watch take place.  Dry mouth that needed a constant supply of ice chips and not just any small piece of ice.  There are better kinds of ice to satisfy this need than others…who would have thunk it?  These are just a few that I haven’t blocked out of my memory yet.  The whole time, I know intellectually that this is temporary (I hope) and it is necessary to some extent, as a means to an end.  But I have to admit that I have smiled and even quietly laughed behind Miki’s back as she has exhibited drug induced behaviors like rapid fire speech and lightning like actions that would put some of my former students with ADHD to shame, thanks to some of the steroid based medications.  At the same time, some of these drugs set off fear in me, as they messed with her mind or a few times had me watching her closely to see if her chest would rise with another breath from sporadic breathing.  I can’t even begin to think about the chemo.

Then there are the “professionals.”  Thank goodness that most of them have been top notch.  Not only in their knowledge, but their bedside manner.  From the doctors to the nurses to the transporters…well done.   But, it is that one professional you cross paths with that makes you cringe a bit when you watch them do their job or listen to them when they think you aren’t.  It’s a skin crawl moment, followed by a “What the &#*% were you thinking?”  And the more you think about it, the more your systolic blood pressure increases, when you’ve had no history of hypertension.  But now you do…thank you very much!  Sorry, got a little carried away for some reason.  Hmmm.

Finally, there is the day-to-day care and support that I want to supply.  But her schizophrenic taste buds have played Russian roulette with the food we have on hand and has tested my speed and agility getting to the grocery store and back before an urge for a certain taste subsides.  Bless her little heart, I’ve thought of force-feeding her more than a few times…even drawn up the plans for it!  Just kidding, it was just that one time.  I also didn’t see the whole diarrhea thing in the small print section of the caregiver contract I don’t remember signing.  I will admit that I have emptied her commode so many times now that I have it down to an art form in the same vein as a NASCAR pit crew, not to be confused with a NASCAR piss crew.  I just hope we don’t encounter any fecal diseases by surprise just because I shaved off a second or two from my best time.  And then there is moving Miki from one room to another.  It’s not like it is just her moving from one room to another.  She has an entourage of stuff that follows her.  The pillows and blanket, the computer and cell phone, multiple choices of drink, things to occupy her time, and the pooper and it’s paraphernalia to cover the big items.  Two Men and a Truck has nothing on me!

I don’t rush out of bed in the morning thinking, I can’t wait to do whatever Miki wants me to, but as soon as I see her little baldhead and an occasional smile, I will do whatever she wants me to. For me it all boils down to patience.  We both believe this is just a chapter in our book.  We’ve made it through the beginning of this chapter.  It appears we are somewhere in the middle and even though the end is out there somewhere, I don’t plan on slacking off now. Remember, Patience is a Virtue, a proverbial phrase referring to one of the seven heavenly virtues (and as a bonus, it is an idiom too).  It is thought to date back to "Psychomachia," an epic poem written in the fifth century (yes, I Googled it).  And you know I am nothing, if not virtuous. HA!

We continue to connect the dots as we discover patterns and behaviors heading into round three of Miki’s chemo in another week.  We’re told the affects of radiation will linger for some time, but we hope to establish mileposts to measure future rounds.  

I hear Miki calling, she must need the commode emptied one more time.  I better hurry up and be patient!

My Zen from Home:  Things are looking up in small ways.  It seems like everyday now, Miki is telling me something she can do that she hasn’t been able to do for weeks or even months.  Little things that I don’t readily notice, but she can do or feel.  It’s the little things in life…to repeat an overused, yet underappreciated phrase.  Appreciate the little things!

A little thing!