I have usually been an independent operator. My nursing profession is one of the joys of my life. After first marrying as a teenager and having two children, I completed high school, attained a Bachelor of Science degree, got my Registered Nurses license, and even completed a Masters degree in nursing in ‘92. A portion of my self-esteem is attached to these accomplishments and the services I am able to provide to others. Getting a pay check ranks as important, also.

I was acutely aware that keeping up appearances, scheduling my work days around chemotherapy and radiation treatments, not to mention surgeries, could be tricky. It was. I went to work a few days after the lumpectomy and a few days after my lymph node dissection, without the benefit of narcotic medication, so I would be alert. I found the pain distracting and took acetaminophen both times. During this period, I worked as a staff nurse with the nursing pools at several hospitals. The need for nurses around the clock allowed me to work varied shifts.

The nine months duration of the chemotherapy that I was scheduled for began in February’95. The medication was administered every three to four weeks. My blood tests prior to each dosage determined the amount and the dates of the administration. Dr. Sea saw me on a regular schedule. He gave me a physical at those times to determine if I was having any serious side effects. He was usually satisfied, and the treatments were only varied a few times.

My gums did bleed a small amount during one period. Sores in my mouth altered foods I could eat, and required varied mouth washes and gentle tooth brushing. "To be expected," Dr. Sea said. Some short episodes of nausea and vomiting occurred. There were periods of lethargy. The cumulative effects over time sapped my strength. Noon time naps became routine.

The worst problem became incontinence. Toward the end of my chemotherapy, I had difficulty controlling my bowels and bladder. As I attempted to maintain a "normal" existence as loving, hard working wife, I became very aware of how many steps it was to a number of restrooms. Several times, when engaged with patient care activities at work, I experienced "accidents" and found myself rinsing my underwear in the sink off the nurses’ station. I carried extra clothing to work a few times and also wore protective pads. I was dismayed that this condition might be permanent. I had initiated bowel and bladder training with many men and women in my career. I carried out the same kagel exercises on myself. I reviewed the literature, and spent time in the library getting the latest articles. Such humiliation! I was in awe of how I had always taken these basic body functions for granted.

Several times I feared dread of an "accident" when Richard and I made love. Even when I wanted intimate contact, I told him that I didn’t feel well to avoid contact. The reality was that usually our love making made me forget anything unpleasant. I am grateful that Richard was so sensitive to my feelings. I never had to explain myself. Most people may not be so fortunate. I recommend becoming familiar with the many potential side effects of chemotherapy and radiation, just so they can be discussed openly with your loved ones. Include your children, at what ever level that they may understand. If it is done as a matter of possibility, it will be easier to deal with if it occurs.

One evening I was interviewing a newly admitted patient in a psychiatric hospital. I began experiencing painful gas pains and my stomach was growling. I had to interrupt the interview and race to the restroom. A co-worker stood in for me. This sudden occurrence required an explanation. I told the truth. My stomach was acting up.

Richard and I routinely addressed these problems that could happen. Until he reads this he may not fully understand what a support his kindness and patience were.

Richard and I spent Easter with his family at his brother’s home. Jean, my sister-in-law, proved an invaluable support. She had two best friends dealing with cancer and she was always ready to answer my questions or lend suggestions that made my life easier. Mike and Jean’s children and activities were a great distraction to me. They were all willing to share the Easter egg coloring with me.

During that summer, in June, I planned to have my eight year old granddaughters come to visit. Only a coma or death was going to interfere with that visit! I was determined. I did end up toning down the non-stop schedule I had planned, but I believe that made the visit better.

Toward the end of summer, I was really feeling the strain of receiving chemotherapy every few weeks. My white blood count was very low and my energy level was lower. Twice the chemotherapy was delayed to allow my CBC (complete blood count) to recover. During this period, I had a strange sensation in my stomach. I would wake up at night with the sensation that I was falling. With my eyes wide open I would grip the bed to relieve the feeling that I was falling into a hole. The sensation did not feel like it was a kin to dizziness. No nausea or whirling was experienced. The feeling was centered in my in my stomach. Occasionally it would occur during the day, but usually at night.

One day, I laid quietly on the couch. My breathing was coming in short pants. I saw myself a dog lying by a hearth. The sun’s rays shone on me through the window. My body seemed to require so little at that moment. My energy was so low. I cleared my mind. I tried to float above my body. It seemed that week by week and day by day, I was moving slower and slower. I felt like I had become very old, very quickly. "This dying isn’t too bad", I mused. "I am being erased from life; gradually wiped out". The purpose of chemotherapy and radiation seemed clear; to feel surreal and unafraid of dying and then suddenly cease being. I tell you this, so that you can see, I wasn’t always rational. Sometimes, that was a nice escape from my stress.

My nurses and doctors were at a loss to understand my feelings or symptoms, and tended to look at me out of the corner of their eyes as I was explaining these symptoms. Now, if I said my mouth had sores, or my gums were bleeding, or I had blood in my urine or stools they listened with rapt interest.

I felt brave to look death in the face at times. Brave to realize calmly that dying is a real possibility in all of this. "Here I am, Lord. Get out the check list". I fantasized what my funeral might be like. Will Richard marry someone else? That thought roused me! The phone rang and I virtually bounded off the couch to answer it. I was talking to Helen about the up coming crime committee meeting and downed a hand full of my restorative vitamins with a Coors Light. I vowed not to give in to any more sneaky thoughts of death as I sipped.

During when I received chemotherapy, I took vitamins, and had a good appetite. I wandered from usual eating habits and over ate. I am sure that a portion of that food was consumed to provide "comfort". I especially could not resist ice-cream. I was advised that drinking alcohol might additionally strain my liver, so I cut out four to six drinks a week, and had two or three a week.

I felt physically weaker as the months of chemotherapy went on. I gradually reduced the amount of time that I worked with neighborhood projects. For me, that was many hours a week of neighborhood clean up crew, special projects, board meetings, city wide committees and flea market coordination. Richard and I continued some home improvement projects that we were working on. We just slowed the pace. Going to the health studio for exercise became too much to do three or four times a week. I look back and wonder when I ever took it easy! I rode my bike and walked more. I could still exert myself in the cool of the evenings. I quit a belly dancing class I had been taking with a group of neighbors. I continued my friendships with many of these new friends.

A few of the friends in that dance group began a support group for one among the group who had an inoperable cervical cancer. Karen was a young mother with a new husband and two elementary age children.

Karen lived very near me, so I often visited with her. We had many discussions pertaining to our respective cancers. The dance group, and some other friends, organized a band of women who took turns helping Karen with her children, personal care and a rotation schedule providing food to her family. Eerie is the only way to describe the experience of Karen and I discussing our possible impending deaths. We would cry at times, especially as Karen became more desperately ill than I was, and several times we discussed how unfair her situation was. It was sometimes difficult for me to visit with her, because I dreaded those conversations that touched on my own fear of "what if".

When I worried about the incontinence that I experienced, Karen was in diapers. She had metastatic uterine cancer and went months prior to her death without bladder or bowel control. She was paralyzed from the waist down because her tumor put pressure on her spinal cord. I quietly and anxiously practiced kagel and anal sphincter exercises, just grateful to be alive. Sometimes I felt guilty that I had no sign of active cancer. When I left Karen, I would feel an uncanny and sometimes euphoric since of well-being. It was short lived. It was generated by her support of me! I never spent time with Karen that she did not ask me how I was doing. She was often in pain, became incoherent, and eventually unable to move on her own. I visited with Karen several times while she was a hospice patient, and her concern for me was always expressed. This woman’s tenacity for life was an inspiration for me. Karen died about a week after I last saw her. I was in Texas visiting my daughter. On the day that Karen died, I found a note of hope and encouragement that she had mailed to me a few months earlier. She sent the note from another state, where she had gone for a desperate treatment that she hoped would give her more time. Lessons I learned from Karen’s struggle to continue "being" inspired the following poem: