[2021-01-10] A better day
Today is a better day.
I went for a walk with my son this morning, a daily activity that always gives me energy. After lunch, I played a few video games with Shane, something I haven't done in more than 20 years. And later in the afternoon, I watched a movie with my sister over Netflix Teleparty (no affiliation), which enabled us to watch the movie simultaneously and to share comments via a text field on the right side of the screen. My husband brought me buttered popcorn to enjoy.
These simple pleasures were fun and helped to put me in a better mood.
I was also bolstered by the many supportive comments I received. One person wrote:
It is natural for your spirits to dip after that kind of sobering discussion with your oncologist. They will rise again—as you "feel the feel" and it passes. This is likely to be a cycle you will work through from time to time depending on how things are going with your treatment. Perhaps even just knowing and expecting that may help even a little.
I think this is absolutely right. So often in my life, I've met with doctors and received good news: the test was negative, your results are normal, you're ahead of the curve. Ovarian cancer doesn't seem to work that way. Discussions are sober, enthusiasm is restrained, hope is not volunteered. I get the drill, but I can choose to be my own cheerleader. My friend went on to say:
After all you have been through in such a short few months, you may have hoped for a more encouraging conversation at that appointment. Your post last night was for me, the most vulnerable yet. Something that resonates with me so much, and I am sure with almost everyone, is the struggle with loss of control. We are wired so much to be in control of our lives, and then something like this happens and we realize how vulnerable and fragile our bodies and lives really are, and how little control we actually have as human beings.
She reminded me that what we can control, to a great extent, is how we react and respond.
Another person passed along advice from a man whose wife recently passed away after a long battle with ovarian cancer:
Jennifer is the head of her medical team. The doctors are just members of the team. Often the head of the team (the patient) has a better overall understanding of what is happening and what has happened than any one doctor on the team. Even in the hospital, doctors cycle through a week at a time, so the patient, or a family navigator needs to be prepared to ask as many questions as it takes to stay on top of things.
I liked this notion that I am the head of my medical team.
I'm reminded of something that Mark Twain said: "If you can't get a compliment any other way, pay yourself one." Similarly, if others don't provide hope, I will offer it to myself. Being hopeful doesn't mean turning down medical interventions. I believe in science, and will take the advice of doctors. But I can still have hope.
