Chapter Eight: Therapies
Chapter
Eight: Therapies
This
chapter is dedicated to ideas and therapies that saw me through the dark days
when negative thoughts and energy levels—emotional, spiritual, and
intellectual—bottomed out and when the fight seemed too up hill.
Join and Participate Therapy
A
month into my diagnosis, my doctor-brother, Russ, called and told me about an
upcoming seminar—Life After Breast Cancer. He asked me if I’d heard of it and
if I were planning to go. Yes, I had received a notice in the mail; no, I
wasn’t planning on going. “Why?” he asked. I began to tell him that I didn’t
feel good, that I couldn’t drive yet, that I just wasn’t interested. “Why?” he
asked again. I tried to tell him that I wasn’t a “joiner.” “There is nothing to
join,” he said. “What’s the real reason?” he asked. Finally I had to admit that
I wasn’t comfortable with the fact that I had breast cancer.” “You need to go,”
he insisted. “I have the phone number right here in front of me. I’m going to
call in a reservation for you and pay for it. I hope you won’t waste my money.”
What
could I do but go. A friend who had had breast cancer several years previously
actually called and invited me to go with her. I am very thankful I did because
it forced me out of my denial, and, second, I saw many, many breast cancer
survivors. I saw beautiful women celebrating life. I enjoyed the breakout
sessions, the luncheon, the fashion show. (All the models were breast cancer
survivors). I enjoyed the camaraderie and felt that being a breast cancer
survivor was something to be proud of.
Since
that first toe-in-the-water experience, I have attended support groups and classes
and the Life After Breast Cancer two more times. I got to be a model in the
fashion show. It was very fun. I’ve walked
several times in the Race for the Cure with various family members. Each year
we get t-shirts telling something about breast cancer on the front or back.
I’ve been most surprised as our sons have taken Richard’s and my t-shirts for
their own which they wear as an under shirt nearly every day. I’ve felt it was
there way of showing love and support. All this has been therapeutic. I
strongly suggest and advise joining and participating.
For
those of you who live in small towns and do not have access to any other breast
cancer survivors, go to the Internet. There are chat groups for survivors.
Sock Therapy
My
sister, Eileen, and her daughter, Andrea, came to visit me the day before the
first chemo treatment. They handed me a
small gift. "What's the occasion?” I asked. "We will bring you a
present a day or two before each chemo," they said. I opened the gift to
find a pair of fancy socks. "It's an old Norwegian custom," Eileen
said. "Wearing bright or beautiful or outlandish socks brings gladness to
the heart." "Really?" I asked. "No, we just made that up on
the way here, but you will know that we will be thinking about you every time
you look at your feet."
Eileen
and Andrea were true to their word and gave me three more wildish pair of socks
a day or two before each chemo. They did help bring positive thoughts to my
mind and a smile to my face. I kept the charm going. I bought Halloween socks,
Christmas socks, flowered socks, striped socks, and black and white checkered
socks. I'm hoping to find Valentine and Easter socks to round out my
collection.
Earring Therapy
Melanie-the-chemo-nurse
suggested I purchase some new earrings. "Get something dangly and
weird," she said. "Why not," I thought. So I began looking for cheap, outlandish
earrings. With my bald head, the earrings diverted attention and gave
acquaintances something to look at besides no hair. When I'd passed my
reflection in the mirror, the earrings gave me a more normal look, and it was
nice to be able to dress up a bit.
Hat Therapy
I
tried several new looks with hats. I liked the baseball caps best, but
sometimes I wore a cowboy hat. (I had to
wear something under it, however, because the straw scratched my hairless
head.) I wore a fabric floppy-rim striped hat with a fabric flower on the
front, which covered my entire head and forehead. My baldness didn't show at
all. I also tried a sunbonnet and another straw hat that looked like a small
sombrero on which I could change the ribbon to match different outfits. Hats
also protected a sun-sensitive scalp. As it got colder I purchased several
winter hats. One of my favorites was a bright green fleece hat with attached
earmuffs that was quite stylish! I liked the "hat" look in the same
way a child cuddles a favorite blanket. I felt safer from stares and unwanted
comments.
Water Therapy
Chemo
patients are told to drink lots of water. I bought a bright pink sports water
bottle and kept it filled. The rotten chemo taste in my mouth was momentarily
diluted with several swallows of water. Some days ice cold water tasted good.
On other days I would feel better if the water was lukewarm.
Just
before the surgeries, I waded in the Pacific Ocean at San Diego. The sun, sand,
waves, water, sea creatures, and salty breeze all seemed to repeat to me over
and over again, "Things are going to be fine." I took mental pictures
of every detail of that beach, the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches and
put them in an "instant recall" mode in the front of my brain. When a
blood-seeking nurse came to draw blood, or the pain seemed consuming, or the
dark foreboding "you're not going to make it" voice tried to get my
attention, I mentally transported myself to my favorite San Diego beach behind
Del Coronado Hotel and walked across the warm sand to let the water lap at my
bare toes and ankles. I listened to the waves and gathered shells as the tide
went out. And suddenly the nurse would be saying she was through with the
needle poke, or the pain-killers seemed to be working better, or I answered
that negative voice and told him not to bother me again.
Today's Positive Thought Therapy
As
I’ve said, when I was recovering from surgery and again during chemo, I found positive
thoughts were sometimes hard to come by. One solution came. I discovered that
if I substituted a good thought for a depressing one, and kept it forefront in
my brain, I’d have purpose in my thoughts. At the top of each day's journal
entry I'd write, "TPT" (Today's Positive Thought) and then write down
what one thought I would revert to all day long when the depressing thoughts
came. The first day I tried it, I wrote "TPT—Jared's eighth
birthday." (This was on April 11, one day after I was home from the
hospital after the mastectomy and reconstruction.) Jared is my grandson who was
nine months at this time. I felt if I thought of a specific day in the future,
I'd live to see that day. So every time the negative voice would begin, I'd say
out loud, "Jared at eight," and then think about how tall he'd be or
what color his hair would be. I'd ask myself questions such as "Will he be
tall for his age like his father?" and "Will he enjoy reading or
computing or basketball?" The next day I wrote at the top of my planner,
“Dan at eighteen” and all day long I’d think of Dan graduating from high
school.
History Therapy
Since
the day of my diagnosis, I wanted to be finished with cancer. I wanted to put a
lid on the box, close the door, and say thanks for the lessons taught. I am not
implying that it always won’t be a milestone in my life because it will, but I
found an actual way to put the cancer on a self by making a history of my
cancer.
I
collected every paper that had to do with my cancer—copies of the
pathologist's, doctor's, and hospital's reports, cards and letters from friends
and family, breast cancer stamps and educational information, and other
memorabilia that would fit in a binder and made it into a history. I wrote
about every detail. It filled a four-inch binder! Making the history has helped
put the cancer in the past. When you read a history book, it is about something
long ago. History of the Roman Empire, history of Abraham Lincoln, histories of
World War II are accounts of things that happened in the past. My cancer history
is a finished book about something that happened in the past. At least I hoped
and prayed it would then stay in the past.
Animals
As
I have explained, at the time of my mastectomy and reconstruction, I was
supposed to be in Africa on safari. It was another loss because in all
probability I will never get the chance to go again. I had told several friends
about the trip, but when the cancer came along, only a couple of them put two
and two together to realize that I would miss the trip. On one of the worst
days in the hospital my friend, Gabriele, poked her head in the door. She had
one hand behind her back. She said, "I brought you something so you won't
miss everything about your safari," and she handed me an 18-inch plush
giraffe. It was the right thing at the right moment. I kept the giraffe where I
could see him for months as a reminder of Gabriele's friendship and as the
mascot of my cancer safari.
One
day Joanne called and told me about the chemo depression she was experiencing.
We had talked several times about ways to reduce the loneliness that comes with
cancer. She said, I've just spent the past half-hour sitting in a sunspot on
the floor, with Casey (her cat) on my lap. As the sun warmed my back and as I
felt Casey purring, I felt peaceful and knew there would be better days."
A live animal to love can be therapeutic.
I
have never been an animal lover, but in my weakened condition due to the chemo,
I agreed to allow Dan, who was then fifteen, to get a puppy. This beautiful
yellow Labrador Retriever, he named Madalyn won my heart as she would curl up
in my lap and just sit for as long as I'd let her stay. She seemed to prefer me
to other family members and sensed that she was helping me. She's long since
grew too big to fit in my lap, but we still have quiet, beneficial times
together.
Humor Therapy
Cancer
is not the topic of any comedy I've ever heard of, but there were a few funny
moments along the way. A funny get-well card would make my day, and there were
a few opportunities to laugh instead of cry when tense moments were made
lighter. One day a close friend dropped by. It was the first time we'd seen
each other since my diagnosis and surgery. She was visibly emotional. To try to
help her feel more at ease, I made a little joke about something. She said,
"Well, at least your sense of humor isn't terminal.” She immediately
realized she had said the "T" word and made desperate attempts to
make me think that she didn't think I was terminal. Everything she said just
made it worse. We both ended up laughing.
I
received books as gifts while I was ill. Most were on solemn subjects like
coping with adversity, but several were light and fun. Two I especially enjoyed
were Walking Across Egypt by Clyde
Edgerton and A Touch of Wonder by
Arthur Gordon. Books on tape were great gifts because I didn't have to hold the
book and turn the pages.
Music Therapy
My
musical needs surprised me. I have given music tapes as gifts to very ill
friends and family thinking that music was the most healing, restorative gift
possible. My taste in music normally ranges from country and light rock to
chamber music. Usually music with a good beat helps me work and gets me through
unfavorite jobs such as washing windows and weeding the garden. Before I had
the experience of being so sick, I'd use classical music as background to write
letters or work at the computer. On Sundays I enjoyed listening to gospel music
and hymns. But during the worst days towards the end of chemo, I couldn't trust
myself with music for very long because it became background music to
melodramas I'd create in my mind about death and dying. It may sound crazy but
it happened over and over again. When I began to enjoy music again, I knew it
was a sign I was getting better. I did enjoy listening to tapes of the world's
greatest composers—their lives and their music.
Service Therapy
Almost
without exception, women who experience cancer turn their energies as soon as
they can to help others survive what they have just been through. Having cancer
expands a woman's natural tendency to empathize with those who are suffering.
Marilyn, whose tells her story in chapter 11, is currently volunteering in the
stem-cell transplant unit where she was a patient and is on the board of our
local chapter of Life after Breast Cancer. Patti, whose story is in chapter 10,
explains that she was not even finished with her treatments before she
volunteered to call newly diagnosed cancer patients. Andrea, whose you'll read about in chapter
12, changed her career to help women who have had mastectomies. She is an
expert at reconstructing faces—noses, eyes, ears, which have been damaged with
a revolutionary plastic process. It is not a surgical method but a molding prosthesis
procedure, which is glued on. She now makes nipples for women who have had
reconstructive breast surgery. Helen tells her cancer experience in chapter 10.
She is a vivacious, chatty woman who visits with cancer victims in her
community in their homes and becomes their friends.
I
have felt the need to serve. Even during chemo, I began feeling that I was
incurring a debt that I would want to pay back for the hours of service so
freely and willingly given to me. We thank Heavenly Father for his blessings by
serving his other children, even at such times that we can give no more than a
smile or a thank you.
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