talkingaboutcancer.com

I just left a chat room at caringvoices.ca.  The focus was to be about my book and about engaging people in a discussion about the emotional impact of cancer.  That, of course, is the overall theme of this blog, but I now realize that we have neglected the very important area of Intimacy.

Cancer can deprive women of their breasts and men and women of the ability to have sex.  With that goes intimacy and, in the worst cases, your marriage.  And when a marriage breaks down, the cancer patient loses the one person who should be their strongest ally.  My wife, Dianne and I have struggled with this since I was first treated for Prostate Cancer almost 8 years ago.  We have managed to keep our relationship strong and mutually supportive through some of the worst times.  We are stronger for it and I am so much better off having her beside me.  But intimacy has proved elusive and while we often talk about it, we probably don’t fight hard enough to get it back.  Maybe its because we don’t know how to get it back, or what to do to replace what we’ve lost.  We have a great relationship and we are the strongest cancer couple we know, but I think we are short-changing ourselves and we need to do something about it.

We would welcome any thoughts or ideas from our friends and followers of this blog.

More on this later.

Posted by Doug

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I had a strange experience the other day.  It surprised me and, I admit, scared me a bit.

I was scheduled for another MRI to see if we could find a new metastasis that might explain the pain in my back.  This is a normal thing for anyone fighting a disease that is progressing as mine is.  I’d already had a bone scan and a triple CT scan so this was the last one.  I was looking forward to it because I have a need to see something so I can fight it, even if I can’t cure it (something for another post).  During that day, I was feeling a bit anxious but it was a general anxiety rather than anything specific related to the scan.  But I only got as far as laying down on the MRI bed when I realized that I just couldn’t do it.  I knew in my heart that if they locked down that box around my head and pushed me into that tube, I would freak out.  So I politely told the technician what was happening, apologized and walked out.  As I walked up to Dianne, who had come down to support me, I was overcome by a wave of pure, raw emotion and I could see it wash over Dianne as well.  I felt like crying and she looked so… confused.  She couldn’t believe it and I couldn’t explain it.  We left the hospital in a state of shock.

Later, we were able to regroup with our good friend Gayla and analyzed what had happened.  It was simple really. I’m just overwhelmed.  Since before Christmas when my PSA started rising quickly, I have been obsessing over what is happening to me and pushing hard to find some more cancer so I can beat up on it.  I guess that’s normal, but it was quickly becoming too much.  I was already dealing with some severe drug side effects and a bunch of other things and it was all just too much. 

So I’ve had a bad couple of weeks.  It happens.  This whole thing sucks and some days are worse than others.  It’s the gift of cancer.  The kind that, unfortunately, keeps on giving.

I told myself to give it a rest and, for once, I think I’ll take my own advice before it gets any worse.

And it’s so hard on Dianne.   I’m sorry, honey.

Posted by Doug

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Wow!  What a great experience I had being interviewed on the Andy Barrie show yesterday.  It was my first time on the radio but Andy has a way of making you feel very comfortable.  It was like having a conversation with an old friend.

While we only had a short time to chat, Andy raised an issue we could have discussed for an hour.  “When you die,” he asked, “will you feel that you’ve lost the battle with cancer?”  I responded that, “If you can look back on your life and feel that you’ve lived a good life, that you’ve helped people, that they will remember you, then perhaps you can say you’ve won the battle if not the war.”  I must admit that I do think of that.  When you are faced with a terminal illness, you can’t help but wonder how you’ll feel at the end.  Fear, yes -  Sadness – yes.  Anger – maybe.  I feel that I am helping people with my writing and speaking and the work that I do, and I will continue to do this for as long as I can.  Perhaps this is how I “fight the battle” and, for me, it works.

We all will die sometime and leave behind a lifetime of memories and at least another lifetime of regrets for what we could have accomplished if we had more time.  But we can’t do it all and, unless you do something to get yourself in the history books, your existence won’t even be a distant memory in a hundred years.  Thinking about that can drive you crazy and perhaps even to despair, but most people don’t think about it.  I did and I had to come to grips with it in order to move on.

It is what we do with our lives every minute of every day that defines who we are and if we’ve done some good and helped some others along the way, then we can look back with the confidence that we’ve won a few battles and, if we’re really lucky, we can feel that we’ve won the war.

This is what I aspire to.

Thanks Andy.  Check out this link: http://www.cbc.ca/toronto/features/bad-news/excerpt.html

Posted by Doug

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Happy Birthday, Dad. Well, it would be his 94th, but he passed away two years ago April. I think of him often, because he is the closest person to me to have died. Also because I was with him near the end and had a chance to say goodbye. While he did have bladder cancer when he died, he died of old age. His body wore down from many years of just plain living. He was blessed to have the years he did and we were blessed to have him for such a long time.

I didn’t cry when my dad died and, while I felt a profound loss, I knew he had a good life and that he was ready to go. As I wrestle with my own sense of mortality, I concern myself with the time I have left, maybe to a fault. But that’s where cancer takes you. My own body has turned against me and I know I won’t have the same time that my father did. But his death and the memory of his life help me to look back on my own life with a bit more care.

Two years ago, family and friends gathered to celebrate the life of a good man. All of us need to celebrate the good in our own lives every day. It helps us to deal with the bad stuff.

My dad did not live a remarkable life, but he had a good life. Regardless of how much time we are allowed on this earth, do we really need anything more?

I do miss you, Dad.

Posted by Doug

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