The first week after my first chemo was spent lying on a couch and trying to get up enough energy to stand upright. This was a prerequisite to being able to eat anything, as I was not going to risk being sick while lying down. Also, I giving myself daily injections, and I suppose it is part of how bad I was feeling that giving myself injections was the high point of most days.
The second week after chemo I started to have more energy, to be able to eat better and to notice my hair falling out. I had it chopped short, hoping that this would contain the mess and make it easier to transition to no hair at all. At first it was just a few strands, then clumps, then I started to look like some kind of piebald pony with a horrible disease and I decided to get the rest shaved off.
I then discovered there is a big difference between short hair and totally bald. Instantly, I was marked as 'the one with cancer'. Everywhere I went, people would stare, though I suppose I should be glad only one person actually asked me, "What on earth have you done to yourself?!"
The third week was pretty much spent dreading going in for the next cycle of chemo. The first one had been traumatic because I hadn't known what to expect. Now that I knew what I was getting into - it was much worse. Knowingly going to hospital to spend hours lying helplessly on a couch letting them give me poisons which would make me even sicker... ugh! I found it increasingly difficult to imagine successfully completing the planned eight cycles. Days of vomiting, weeks of being unwell repeating for 24 weeks - it stretched out ahead of me, and I became increasingly obsessed with online research about survival statistics.
Yep, I did what I always tell my patients not to do, and started to listen to Dr Google. I wasn't surfing the internet so much as drowning in it. Every story I read, I wondered if this would be me? Every article I skimmed from the medical journals I wondered, will this happen to me? Every possible side effect, every tear-jerking personal memoir, would this be my story? Or this? Or this?
Too much information, too little fact, all spinning through my head at once, until one day I was crossing the bridge above the rail line near the station and I suddenly realised that I could take control of it all. I could make sure the worst never happened and (bonus) I would never have to face chemo again if I just drove my car off that bridge.
The thought seemed wrong somehow, but I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong with it. I pushed it out of my mind, but it kept coming back. I also entertained thoughts of running away to Queensland, or just pretending it away and 'forgetting' about all my appointments. But I knew that would not really work, it would not really end all the stress and sickness.
Besides, a lot of cancer cases end in death. There is no getting around the fact that quite a few people with cancer die of it - cancer has a bad reputation for a reason. I could go through all this agony, sickness and suffering and then die anyway. Surely it would be easier and cleaner to just get it all over with immediately?
Fortunately I have a very perceptive oncologist who did not believe me when I said that I was 'fine'. She told me I needed to see a psychologist. Then she rang me to see if I'd seen a psychologist. Then she asked the psychologist to ring me with an appointment and not to take no for an answer.
The psychologist was a lovely sympathetic lady with whom I did not connect at all. She had lots of excellent logical reasons why suicide was a bad idea, and which completely failed to convince me. (This is no reflection on her skills, we just didn't 'click'.)
I went back to my wonderful GP, who had no reasons at all and no logic but who just let me pour it all out and said "Yeah, this sucks." So at least I knew she was listening to me. She convinced me to take it one day at a time, one hour at a time if necessary, and to put down the internet and step away!
For me, the key was to focus on my life as it is in the here and now. 'Mindfulness' is the psychological term for it, but I could equally call it 'appreciating my blessings' and 'being grateful I'm alive today, regardless of tomorrow'. Whatever the name, it was something I had to learn and practice for myself - there was no magic bullet, or brilliant insight that anyone else could give me.
Cancer patients are expected to feel sick, to feel tired and (to a certain extent) to complain about those things. Talking about feeling suicidal was different, and much more difficult. So don't be surprised if this is the first you have heard of it. Somehow 'coming out' on that subject was harder than telling people about the cancer itself.
But I am eternally glad for the various people who came alongside me and listened, and let me lean on them - some will be reading this blog, most did not know at the time how important their small gestures and kindnesses were. Thank you all.
* * *
I am now more than a year down the track from that point, but I won't quickly forget how it felt. Staring down into the dark well and wondering if that place is better than here.
Public Service Announcement: Suicide is always something to take seriously. Even people who appear funny, strong and otherwise to have it all together can be overwhelmed - the tragic death of Robin Williams has taught us that. If someone tells you they are thinking of killing themselves, seek help for them and support for yourself. Lifeline does both of these things: 13 11 14.
Thanks for the PSA....it is surprising how many people committing suicide talked about feeling depressed but had had others (family members. friends) not really listen to them. My father's friend jumped off the top of a multistorey building nearly 2 years ago, which was a real shock to his friends. He was apparently depressed about his failing health and his wife had just undergone treatment for cancer.
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