<p>All I can say is WOW - I even cut and pasted your post into a word document, so I could hang on to it. Very powerful stuff. I hope you are doing the same because someday you might want to re-read your words or give them to your children so they will see what you were thinking and feeling as you battled your illness. Your attitude and courage is remarkable but do carve out some space for yourself. Everyone needs a secret spa. I love the pearl necklace idea. Having a ‘symbol’ as an reminder of what you are fighting for can be a powerful tool on those days when you are feeling down.</p>
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<p>It is this that gives you power when you are in a place that would make others feel powerless. I have always felt that there is beauty in the most unexpected and dark places. People are afraid to look into those murky corners but, if they did, they might be surprised to find something breathtaking there.</p>
<p>Your words are an inspiration to me.</p>
<p>sunrise, I’m a writer and editor, and what you’ve written just on this forum is so much more insightful and radiant than anything else I’ve read about cancer since I started my journey with it 15 months ago. I hope you’re saving all this writing… it might be publishable someday.</p>
<p>I, too, wanted to be alone on chemo day, although not for quite the poetic reasons as yours. I am a very social person and was open about everything I was going through and grateful for my huge community of friends and family… but I was adamant about not wanting a “chemo buddy.” My husband would drop me off and return to bring me won ton soup for lunch, but I’d chase him out pretty quickly, and then he’d pick me up at the end of the day (my days in the chair were long: 6-7 hours).</p>
<p>Like you, I am naturally optimistic, and I think I cried only once or twice when going through my ordeal (although my diagnosis was not nearly as serious as yours). Beyond my natural positivity, I had to make a considerable effort to stay even more chipper and positive on behalf of my kids, husband, parents, etc… especially my kids. I never even realized that my insistence on being alone on chemo day was to give me a break from putting on a happy face until you articulated it so well-- that’s exactly what I was doing, and I didn’t even know it! Once I got through the first, terrifying one, I actually liked chemo day-- it was so peaceful and restful. No one understood that. The bad effects of the drugs wouldn’t kick in for two or three days, so chemo day itself was actually sort of a bizarre spa day.</p>
<p>Anyway, THANK YOU for your wisdom and perspective and incredible, incredible spirit. But when you hit those moments when you don’t want to put on a happy face for your “real” world, you can always dump in this supportive but virtual world.</p>
<p>Thanks to all, esp. the OP for the insightful sharing.</p>
<p>Making lemons out of lemonade…might as well enjoy the “spa” day if it’s a surety the week is going to go downhill from there!</p>
<p>Good luck and wishes to all who are out there battling.</p>
<p>sunrise, words to live by. We should all try to find that beauty. Thank you. Good luck.</p>
<p>I was reminded today why it was such a good decision not to tell my mother about my condition. With all that is going on with me now, it’s been several days since I talked to her last time - perhaps a couple of days overdue. </p>
<p>Not having gotten the usual dose of the shot in the arm from me buoying her, propping her up, filling her with confidence and general good cheer, she panicked and got unhinged. So, my brother called me to tell me to call her. My father called me to tell me to call her. Her anxiety and worry is sending the whole family into a tailspin of a mini crisis. </p>
<p>As much as I love my mother, and have accepted ever since I was barely out of the teenage years the that for all practical purposes, I am her mother and she my child when it comes to dependent-adult relationship, there is a stifled rage I feel toward her at times, rare enough, but it happens. This is one of those occasions. </p>
<p>There is such a thing as a tyranny of the weak. Their wretched needs and helplessness are a more potent weapon than the expressed aggression of the empowered, because it shames you into feeling like a worst piece of a scum in the world for not having the sympathy and compassion for the pain borne by such a weak and powerless creature who only wants to be comforted. </p>
<p>As much as I am upbeat and positive, and I am doing better than anybody can be expected to under the circumstance, my resources are stretched thin these days. </p>
<p>“Mother, can I please get a break from the full time job of being your cheerleader? Better yet, can I, just once, cry on your shoulder and be genuinely comforted by you? Can I be your daughter for a change, not your mother?”</p>
<p>Yes, I sometimes fantasize about blurting this out. But, the bottomless pit of her needs and dependency will never allow me to say it. </p>
<p>This is precisely why I could not ever tell her what I am facing these day. Her fear, desperation and helplessness upon hearing about my condition will be such that the task of comforting her, reassuring her that I will be fine and consoling her sorrow over the possibility of losing me, the emotional bedrock of her life, will consume all the energy I have and leave me desiccated. </p>
<p>It’s better that I let her stay in a cocoon of artificial sunshine. Not just for her sake, but also for me: it’s a far easier task to cheer her up and keep her happy when she is feeling reasonably safe and secure. </p>
<p>My feelings toward her at this point are very complicated. I do genuinely love her. All this is because of her weakness, not ill intention, I know that too. At a core, she is a kind, well meaning woman, I have no doubt of. She had the wisdom of letting me who I am when I needed it most, more than anything else, from a parent. I am always grateful for that. I want to make her happy and loved, as she wants so and deserves. Yet, in a moment of my own crisis, I realize that I am also dealing with insatiable emotional hunger of my mother for my assurance, loyalty, and love that I must satisfy all the time – on schedule. I feel like I am staring into the eyes of a beast that I can never tame.</p>
<p>It is a stark image. I feel like a such a insensitive and unkind lout just expressing my feeling about this whole thing … </p>
<p>Instead I would like to able to say that I am such an evolved person that in an effort to meet her demand I end up lifting myself to a higher level of my own comfort zone. That I learned to completely embrace her weakness and love her for her who she is with genuine understanding and compassion. That in the end I am a better person for having her as a mother with all her weakness. I even succeed in believing most of this – most times. But not all the time. </p>
<p>We are the product of our parents’ foils and triumphs. I have learned along the way that life gives you an opportunity to balance a lot of things, if not all. That, there is always something positive to salvage even in a wrack. My mother’s dependency and how it became a suffocating reality for me made me vow early on in my marriage, and again when I had my own children that I will never rule their life through my weakness. That I will grant them the perfect freedom to fly away from me in search of bigger and better things than what I have to offer. That I will give them an opportunity to experience the self affirming generosity of being kind to me out of joy, not out of grim determination to do the right thing. </p>
<p>This cancer has become a litmus test of whether I managed to succeed in living up to my silent vow. </p>
<p>I would like to believe that so far I have kept that promise, that I did not let my fear, uncertainty, and, yes, weakness, tyrannize them. </p>
<p>But, am I really succeeding…………. There are times I wonder about this.</p>
<hr>
<p>PS.</p>
<p>I was not my usual self of being chirpy and upbeat with her when my father handed over the phone to her. With 30 years of training, one would think I got really good at it, but certain things can’t be faked all the time. I will have to call her tonight to build her back up. It won’t be hard to do that. She is a terrific dependent - with the right kind of words spoken in a soft cooing voice, she rises to the task of being restored to her happiness. This, I believe, is her saving grace. All I need to do is get myself in the mood of creating that perfect pitch and tone of a soothing, cooing voice.</p>
<p>Gird your loins, Sunrise, gird your loins. I heard that term in some book or movie and truly relate it to the preparation I must make before calling our rough family member. It’s a matter of coming up with what life stories are safe to tell him, what would be entertaining and helpful and how to make it interesting, yet not overshare, not risk questions about things he does not really want to know. And how to be prepared for the energy suck that happens in those conversations. And how to then mentally prepare to actually put energy into it so that the conversation passes muster.</p>
<p>Any chance you could deflect some of the conversations to email? Could you tell your mother you want to email some updates and stories so she can print them and enjoy them again later? This works really well with my in laws, they really cannot keep track of all the info and enjoy the chance to reread it later. MIL actually has a notebook of emails she can peruse at any time.</p>
<p>I can email with 100% control of the info given, reread it carefully for content, and not have to psych up to sound great.</p>
<p>Oh, dear, are you really on the hook for this task? Can’t the others, those who call you, take it on?</p>
<p>Sunrise, I have a very difficult mother, so I understand your situation. I think it’s time to put yourself first. You are not responsible for your mother’s emotional well-being. You are an amazing daughter, but this seems like too much to ask of you. Please save your strength for yourself and your children. I continue to be in awe of how you are handling things.</p>
<p>How are you today, Sunrise? The sun was shining here for a change today. Hope it was where you are.</p>
<p>Momjr said it so well: Please save your strength for yourself and your children. </p>
<p>Let someone else meet your mom’s needs if at all possible. You continue to be in my prayers.</p>
<p>just checking in on you …</p>
<p>I posted last month that in the midst of all this happening, I was going for an interview for a new job. </p>
<p>Yes. It took place. Yes, they are putting a job offer together. Yes, this is the kind of position I was looking for quite some time. Yes, 3 months ago, I would have jumped at the opportunity. Three months ago, this would have made me ecstatic. </p>
<p>All these yes’es! However, I am not the same person as I was three months ago. Cancer changed me - mostly in the positive direction - this is why I never look back and wish I did not have this. It was meant to happen. I am glad it happened - you may think I am crazy, perhaps I am. But this is how I genuinely feel. I don’t think I am rationalizing or practicing “cognitive dissonance” here. </p>
<p>However, there is one thing it took away from me. The feeling of fearless invulnerability. I am still fearless, but I am not invulnerable. And, there is this creeping self doubt about whether this fearlessness coupled with newly imposed vulnerability will be my downfall. </p>
<p>This position is a high visibility position. Translate: glamour but a risk of falling into a pitfall. I may have to be on the road (globally) well over 50% of the time, though it can be negotiated down a bit. I will have to deal with very complex organizational issues throughout the company in offices spread out in multiple continents (but then again, any high visibility position in a global company will have this). </p>
<p>In short, not a position for the faint hearted, cancer or not. AND, I have a very serious disease that requires constant monitoring even after the initial treatment concludes successfully. The 5 year recurrence rate is over 90%. I think I can beat the stats - but what if it is based on the assumption that I give my cancer the due respect it demands?</p>
<p>I visualize my cancer not as a mortal enemy, but a tantrum throwing child that needs to be soothed, negotiated with, and talked to gently - so that she stays in the corner of the room quietly, playing contentedly, rather than creating a rampage through out the room. What if a job like this tips the balance and provokes her?</p>
<p>There is part of me that says “Cancer, you are NOT going to make me flinch in the face of exhilarating challenges life presents to me”. But there is another part that says there is a difference between courage and foolhardiness. I don’t know where one ends and the other picks up. I can’t see the clear demarcation point between the two. This is an unchartered territory for me. </p>
<p>But there is another angle to all this. Not fear, but desire. I want to be more present in the lives of those I deeply care about. This sensibility is the most precious gift cancer gave me. The most important person - my husband . As much I need him, he needs me. I have so much power over him. The power he gave me willingly long time ago, and the power I never abused. I want to use that power to make his life fuller, richer. There is urgency that I do that now, not tomorrow, not next month, and not next year. I am less willing now to risk my ability to be more fully present in his life. What does this job, this position, mean for my ability to do so? Perhaps not as much as I fear… Perhaps more… I just dont know .</p>
<p>Of course, my husband tells me whatever course of action I choose, he will be there supporting me 150%. He will do whatever is needed to make it work for me. He discussed how he and I will manage it together so that it will present absolutely least amount of risk for me. He even suggested practical ideas of how we can spend as much time together as we can even while I am on the road a lot. We are in the same industry our peripatetic professional comings and goings can take us to the same places. This is how he tamed me all along. Not by trying to rescue me from myself, but by letting me have all the freedom to do choose to see it through his eyes. </p>
<p>Deep down, I am aware that this is much more than this particular job. This job is a point of crystallization of all I have to reconcile with going forward. The uneasy transition into a different life than I had before. It pushed me to consider this issue much earlier than I would have opted to do. I do not know how far I should push the envelope to be like I was before. How much is courage and how much is recklessness?</p>
<p>those of you who are curious about more mundane status report.</p>
<p>I heard that chemo’s side effects can be cumulative. Well, I am feeling better each and every week - I hope it stays that way.</p>
<p>If my hair did not fall out or my white blood count did not tank, I would have thought that they are giving me drugs that expired. But then again, all of my abdominal symptoms are gone now, so I know my tumors are melting away - those they could not remove surgically. </p>
<p>You all have been exceptionally generous with your good will and thoughtful replies. I did not thank you individuals (you outnumber me 
), but please know that you have given me a tremendous gift by allowing me to post my thoughts - it has been very therapeutic.</p>
<p>And you have blessed many of us more than you can know.
-mafool</p>
<p>I read about your job prospect, and while I offer congrats on the offer, I would like to offer what I would like you to consider as motherly advice. I know that you are not getting any from your own mother on the big picture, so I felt like offering it. Take it or leave it - I won’t be insulted. If you were my daughter, I would tell you to think about how you really want to spend your time, whether long or short, it makes no difference. Only you can answer the question. If what you want to do is spend more time with family, do it, but it probably won’t be compatible with a job like you have described. On the other hand, if this is some type of dream job for you and this would be meaningful in some large way in your life, well then, how could you turn it down. Your H and kids will find excuses to meet up with you in China or wherever it is you are going to.</p>
<p>I have to say that if i were in your shoes, I would not want a new job, or any job at all. At this point in life, I no longer want to conquer new things professionally. I really want to spend more time doing things that I have not had time to do while I have been busy working and taking care of my family. I have a long list, and I guess what I would want to do is do those things. JMO.</p>
<p>Best of luck, and great that you are continuing to improve.</p>
<p>anothermom2,</p>
<p>thanks for sharing your thoughts with me. </p>
<p>My professional engagement means a lot to me. It’s core part of who I am. It’s how I express myself. Some people find a creative outlet through art. Some through cooking. For me, it’s solving business problems. Like putting a jigsaw puzzle together. It fires me up. And, I am very good at it.</p>
<p>When I don’t have this outlet, part of me withers. And, I am less than who I am with those who love me and those that I love. My husband figured this out decades ago, and that’s why he understands my long term prognosis is measurably better when I have this outlet intact. that’s why he is supporting me 150% for this new endeavor, but a wise guy he is, he is trying to steer me in a direction where I can have a cake and eat it too - by helping me make a necessary adjustment and take my health as a foremost issue that should stay on the top of the list of my priorities.</p>
<p>He and I need to discuss this more. I haven’t decided whether I should take this job or whether I should stay put where I am, which, logistically a much more comfortable place/position to be at.</p>
<p>Did I say I married the perfect guy I could possible hope for? If not, let me say it here officially.</p>
<p>Sunriseeast - your husband does sound like a gem, and I’m quite sure he thinks of you in the same way.</p>
<p>By the way, this whole interview process has been enormously empowering to me. regardless of whether I decide to accept this offer or not, I already got so much out of it.</p>
<p>The fact that in the midst of stage 4 cancer diagnosis and chemotherapy, I was still able to project that sense of vitality, passion, and confidence that they value so much in a senior management team was very reassuring. And, I did not have to fake anything (how can you “fake” vitality and passion). Yes, I may have cancer, but cancer doesn’t have me. </p>
<p>This sounds like such a cliche, doesn’t it? I am almost embarrassed by such banality - I always strove to be a bit more interesting than that! But sometimes what sound most banal is what is also most real. </p>
<p>It almost feels as if I suffered a traumatic injury in an accident and started a physical therapy. It really is no different from what I am going through now - mentally, that is. The sense of invulnerability I used to take for granted, that sense of security that infused me with a special brand of vitality and passion everybody always noticed in me, has been knocked off from under me. Now, I have to methodically and deliberately rebuild what was so natural that I did not have to think about before. Just like a patient who is learning how to put one foot forward followed by another - the kind of autonomous body function that does not require any forward thinking deliberation in able bodied people. </p>
<p>I realize that this whole interview and job offer process signified the beginning of my rehabilitation with an external focus. So far, till now, I focused on fortifying my internal engine that has been shaken to the core. I took it out for a test drive, and it roared and ran to the full speed limit and more. I am relieved.</p>
<p>Thank you for all the updates. You are amazing!</p>