I get the sense that the oncologists base the dosing and pacing of treatment, in part, on what it seems the patient (me) can tolerate.
And now I fear I might have come across as stronger and healthier than I am. And now I’m paying the price.
Such are the scenarios that I come up with in these moments post infusion (chemotherapy treatment for those — blessed be!— not familiar with the oncology world).
I spend a lot of energy resisting the urge to google every symptom, side effect, twinge, and twist. It’s hard to tamp down that niggling feeling that somehow if I just knew enough, if I just “understand” what’s going on then I could heal myself. But then I remember: there are many ways of knowing. There are many ways of comprehending. I’m lucky in that I feel like I have doctors and nurses who are super smart. I leave the western medicine and science to them. I trust them to understand that …. and in the meantime I try to lean into some other understanding, some other forms of knowing.
I recently met a woman whose mom had just had cancer. She took the time to encourage me and, amongst other words of advice, one that stood out was how important it is to eat. At the time, I didn’t know yet how hard it would be (my sense of taste and appetite have changed) to do such a basic thing. This woman was very emphatic about the importance of eating and her energy comes to mind whenever I’m struggling to eat.
One of the reasons that this sticks with me is that this was an in-person interaction. It holds extra weight to me. And while the internet is obviously full of information, having to weed through what is or is not relevant is exhausting.