When you and I spend time together, I tend to move slower than you do, but I do not always require assistance. In your rush to carry my totebags out of politeness, you don’t realize how disoriented I get about where my phone and pillbox are, and a moving target just makes things harder for me. Carrying my own gear is also one small way to work my weakened muscles and practice coordination.
Jeans or jeggings? Short-sleeved tee-shirt or long-sleeved tunic? Miniskirt or maxidress? Until I entered the swirl of seemingly nonstop cancer appointments, I used to dress according to occasion and weather; but now, I base my choices on that day’s medical events.
Cough. Blow nose. Cancel plans. Rinse and repeat.
In my cancer circles, I frequently hear women lament a challenging treatment or “scanxiety,” which is nervousness or anxiety before a test about cancer progression. And they often end with the thought, “I do it all for my kids.” My “Why” comes from a different place: I do treatment for me.
Our Kids’ Almanac columnist Erica Chase-Salerno tells what it’s like to live when you know that you are dying.
When it comes to information about my condition, I don’t want story – I want science! Seeing the screen myself, I was able to integrate the doctor’s reporting with actual numbers along with visuals.
Making arrangements for what happens to one’s body after death is difficult, but, once complete, the feeling is liberating.
A friend sent me this question: “What would the You of today tell the ‘pre-Head On, Heart Strong’ You? Here goes.
I wonder what kinds of questions are on your mind about my Stage IV breast cancer experience: diagnoses, treatments, loss, end-of-life, appointments, mint chocolate chip milkshakes (#obsessed), daily life et cetera? Here are some questions that I’ve received from friends.
“I don’t want to say the wrong thing,” people confess when I run into them in town. Or, “Don’t focus on… that [dying]…stay positive and you’ll get through!” I get it.