This whole breast cancer thing is really beginning to take a mental toll on us. I am beginning to wonder what is going to happen this summer when my wife is doing chemo and radiation and we are really running ragged. If we are this flaky now, then this summer should be interesting.
Our mood is like the weather these days: periods of sunshine followed by afternoon clouds and storms with a 20% chance of wanting to put my fist through the wall. She filed her FMLA intermittent request forms with her office yesterday while I, after a call with my immediate supervisor and HR, got my ball rolling today. It is amazing how drained I was after I was done speaking with them -- I've been using work to keep me from thinking about my wife and it was hard to focus on her and her disease, even for just a few minutes.
My wife continues to exercise like a mad woman to take out her frustrations. She finds the working out to be very therapeutic. The other evening, she told the karate instructor at her woman's self defense class to not go easy on her because she needed to beat the crap out of something. So far she hasn't broken any machines at the gym and has happily noted that she has lost 4-5 pounds in the last month with all the exercise (she also doesn't have much of an appetite and we generally heat healthy, low calorie meals so she is actually forcing herself to eat some of the junk food lying around her office just so she gets some extra calories). She is starting to worry about losing too much weight but, depending on the treatments, her exercise routine will be sharply curtailed soon and the chemo medication may make her gain weight to boot, so might as well lose as much ahead of time and get as fit as possible.
I have been doing something similar. For the last few weeks I have been transitioning to becoming a home based employee (basically working at home 4-5 days a week in lieu of 3) and have been using my commuting time to spend more time at the gym and, in lieu of walking around campus during my lunch hour, taking the dogs for a nice walk or, when the weather is poor, as it has been for most of the last month, or so it seems, hitting the treadmill for a good sweat. Streaming Dr. Who episodes from Netflix on my iPad is not a horrible way to spend 42 - 46 minutes (well actually 21 to 23 minutes -- I usually split the episodes, half of one on Monday, the other half on Tuesday) and burn off some extra energy so I can concentrate on my work when I head back to the laptop. Unlike my wife, who tends to not eat when stressed, I am the opposite and there is only so much celery, grapes and other fruits and veggies I can eat before my daughter's cheese sticks appear on my radar screen. Fortunately, at least, the extra exercise is combating the extra calories.
My wife continues to exercise like a mad woman to take out her frustrations. She finds the working out to be very therapeutic. The other evening, she told the karate instructor at her woman's self defense class to not go easy on her because she needed to beat the crap out of something. So far she hasn't broken any machines at the gym and has happily noted that she has lost 4-5 pounds in the last month with all the exercise (she also doesn't have much of an appetite and we generally heat healthy, low calorie meals so she is actually forcing herself to eat some of the junk food lying around her office just so she gets some extra calories). She is starting to worry about losing too much weight but, depending on the treatments, her exercise routine will be sharply curtailed soon and the chemo medication may make her gain weight to boot, so might as well lose as much ahead of time and get as fit as possible.
I have been doing something similar. For the last few weeks I have been transitioning to becoming a home based employee (basically working at home 4-5 days a week in lieu of 3) and have been using my commuting time to spend more time at the gym and, in lieu of walking around campus during my lunch hour, taking the dogs for a nice walk or, when the weather is poor, as it has been for most of the last month, or so it seems, hitting the treadmill for a good sweat. Streaming Dr. Who episodes from Netflix on my iPad is not a horrible way to spend 42 - 46 minutes (well actually 21 to 23 minutes -- I usually split the episodes, half of one on Monday, the other half on Tuesday) and burn off some extra energy so I can concentrate on my work when I head back to the laptop. Unlike my wife, who tends to not eat when stressed, I am the opposite and there is only so much celery, grapes and other fruits and veggies I can eat before my daughter's cheese sticks appear on my radar screen. Fortunately, at least, the extra exercise is combating the extra calories.
But, even with the extra exercise to calm us, this is starting to take a mental toll on both of us. I find my temper, which can be short, especially when the kids are yelling at each other and the dog is barking, getting shorter. Just recently I totally blew up at my daughter's dance school because of something stupid (I was mad at them anyway for lack of emails and communications with us but this time it all came out which actually made me feel worse). I growled at one of the workers at the Y that a few of the TV controllers weren't working properly (there are 10 TVs spread around the ceiling, many of the machines have devices you plug headphones into so you can tune into a specific channel -- that was actually a worthy growl as I was able to explain in detail what was wrong so the maintenance people would know what to look for).
My wife, who has always been foggy (her term), is getting even more forgetful. Last Friday she forgot to pick up our daughter from the karate school (our son has a 2.5 hour session on Fridays) to take her to babysitting at the Y where she can play with other children. That was bad, but I chalked it up to a change in her routine for the day. This morning I found the container of cinnamon my wife sprinkles on our daughter's pancakes in the microwave (no reason it should be there) and she plated my son's toast before putting the toast in the toaster oven, meaning both the plate and bread went in. Good thing I cook dinner.
We don't sleep well anymore, both of us waking up in the middle of the night, unable to easily fall back asleep (unless totally exhausted). Even then, my dreams are haunted. In one dream I threaten to leave my wife because she wouldn't come back from the gym early so I could go (not sure what that means, fear that her health issues will prevent me from maintaining my own health when my family needs me to be strong?). In another I severely punish our son for trying to run into the car while it is moving (pretty sure that stems from the death of my younger brother from car surfing when we were teens). At least I bounce out of bed now when the alarm goes off as I'm usually half awake by then (of course that could also be because daylight is now creeping into the sky at 5AM, which enters our room as the shades are up to let fresh air in, so I'm naturally starting to stir). A vacation we had planned while our floors were being repaired from a leak is cancelled, in part because my wife will be recovering during that week from surgery, also in part that once the breast cancer arose, I stopped getting bids and didn't even get the pets to the vet for their border shots (usually have a neighbor watch the pets, pets have to be out of the house while wood floors are fixed) or make them their reservations.
I still haven't decided whether to be insulted, relieved or amused that so many in our congregation are willing to provide meals for us while my wife recovers on the assumption she does all the cooking. First of all, we've always been a working couple, meaning we end up splitting domestic chores. While she still does more than I (child care) I do all the grocery shopping and cooking. That started back when I was a teenager and my mother's health started to fail. It was either frozen microwave dinners, eat out or cook for yourself. And while I, like most people that age, did take the easy way out and just nuked food, that eventually gets old (and makes you fat) so I learned how to cook. I also learned how to do laundry, though my folding standards never reached my wife's approval (she worked in a GAP during college and still folds to those standards -- maybe we can get a GAP employee in here on laundry day).
My wife, who has always been foggy (her term), is getting even more forgetful. Last Friday she forgot to pick up our daughter from the karate school (our son has a 2.5 hour session on Fridays) to take her to babysitting at the Y where she can play with other children. That was bad, but I chalked it up to a change in her routine for the day. This morning I found the container of cinnamon my wife sprinkles on our daughter's pancakes in the microwave (no reason it should be there) and she plated my son's toast before putting the toast in the toaster oven, meaning both the plate and bread went in. Good thing I cook dinner.
We don't sleep well anymore, both of us waking up in the middle of the night, unable to easily fall back asleep (unless totally exhausted). Even then, my dreams are haunted. In one dream I threaten to leave my wife because she wouldn't come back from the gym early so I could go (not sure what that means, fear that her health issues will prevent me from maintaining my own health when my family needs me to be strong?). In another I severely punish our son for trying to run into the car while it is moving (pretty sure that stems from the death of my younger brother from car surfing when we were teens). At least I bounce out of bed now when the alarm goes off as I'm usually half awake by then (of course that could also be because daylight is now creeping into the sky at 5AM, which enters our room as the shades are up to let fresh air in, so I'm naturally starting to stir). A vacation we had planned while our floors were being repaired from a leak is cancelled, in part because my wife will be recovering during that week from surgery, also in part that once the breast cancer arose, I stopped getting bids and didn't even get the pets to the vet for their border shots (usually have a neighbor watch the pets, pets have to be out of the house while wood floors are fixed) or make them their reservations.
I still haven't decided whether to be insulted, relieved or amused that so many in our congregation are willing to provide meals for us while my wife recovers on the assumption she does all the cooking. First of all, we've always been a working couple, meaning we end up splitting domestic chores. While she still does more than I (child care) I do all the grocery shopping and cooking. That started back when I was a teenager and my mother's health started to fail. It was either frozen microwave dinners, eat out or cook for yourself. And while I, like most people that age, did take the easy way out and just nuked food, that eventually gets old (and makes you fat) so I learned how to cook. I also learned how to do laundry, though my folding standards never reached my wife's approval (she worked in a GAP during college and still folds to those standards -- maybe we can get a GAP employee in here on laundry day).
I am really getting pissed at the doctors who don't leave messages on my wife's voice mail (she has a job that requires her to leave her cell on buzz or silent so instead of leaving her a message they call my cell so I can email her to call them -- augh!). Seriously, leave a message or, if you reach me, tell me more then we'll call her back. She works full time. You will not reach her at the house, her cell is on buzz and she is rarely at her desk. I can get her by text and email, just leave me a message of who you are, really important with all the different people calling, and a phone number. Saying you are X, without any context such as X from where means nothing. The privacy laws under HIPAA don't mean you have to be so cryptic that you can't tell me that you are X from my wife's breast surgeon's office and are calling about the FMLA letter my wife needs for work. We are under enough stress already, don't add to it.
While it is nice to get support from friends and people in our community, we are getting tired of the looks of pity we are noticing. While it is understandable, and trust me, we both see those same looks in the mirror, it is starting to get to us. We are all over the place emotionally. One moment we are thrilled that the mother of one of our daughter's friends, who lives a block from the karate school, said our daughter can come over during karate this Friday, while my wife is in the city for a few per-surgery doctors appointments, and then we crash when we think of all the other child care arrangements we have to make (and that is with many people volunteering to help us out). While it is wonderful that we have people who can help us out getting the kids to and from school, we still need to make sure they are mentally prepared to see strangers, or at least people they don't know well, in the house. Not helping is that we won't know until the day before surgery next week when we will need the help. Just adds to the stress, and mine is relatively nothing compared to my wife's.
While it is nice to get support from friends and people in our community, we are getting tired of the looks of pity we are noticing. While it is understandable, and trust me, we both see those same looks in the mirror, it is starting to get to us. We are all over the place emotionally. One moment we are thrilled that the mother of one of our daughter's friends, who lives a block from the karate school, said our daughter can come over during karate this Friday, while my wife is in the city for a few per-surgery doctors appointments, and then we crash when we think of all the other child care arrangements we have to make (and that is with many people volunteering to help us out). While it is wonderful that we have people who can help us out getting the kids to and from school, we still need to make sure they are mentally prepared to see strangers, or at least people they don't know well, in the house. Not helping is that we won't know until the day before surgery next week when we will need the help. Just adds to the stress, and mine is relatively nothing compared to my wife's.
Let's face it, I'm not the one facing being cut open, having some of my body extracted, then being poisoned the rest of the summer with chemo and radiation -- and that is if things go well and the cancer is not more aggressive than the doctor thinks and that it has not spread into the skin (tumor is very close). I'm not the one facing a life and death situation and believe me we have had that discussion too. My wife keeps wondering if she did something wrong. Maybe this started back in 2009 when the last birth control pill she took, before deciding on the diaphragm, screwed up her hormones and estrogen levels (this cancer is fed in part by them). Maybe it was something we ate, we only recently got very serious about what we eat. Maybe it is just the luck of the draw. Maybe the Xanax she was prescribed will help her take her mind off all this. At least it is less caloric than the alcohol she can't have anyway (but I can, I had bought her a good bottle of 18 year old Scotch for Mothers' Day -- hey don't judge until you have children -- which, though I am making sure won't reach 19, will probably still be around when the doctors give the ok for drinking again -- I'm not one of those who can down scotch after scotch, 2 drinks in a night is a lot for me and 2 nights in a row is still rare -- an evening cup of tea is more my thing these days and, fortunately, the cool weather we are having now in NJ allows me to have my tea and not have a heat stroke like a big ball of wibbly wobbly... time-y wimey... stuff ... Started well, this sentence. It got away from me, yeah -- maybe I'm the one who needs to talk to somebody).
All I know is that right now, we are tired of the waiting and wondering. We just want to get it over with and move on with the followup treatment and all the "joys" that will bring (at least she won't be the only baldie in the house). However, one problem with going with a good hospital and a good surgeon is that they are very popular and we have to wait our turn. In the mean time we continue to read the breast cancer books to better inform ourselves as to what lies ahead. We have one friend who is a nurse who joked we are the patients doctors fear -- we're analytical and informed, however I am beginning to worry we are becoming over informed which is also starting to affect us. Hopefully we don't lose our minds during the wait.
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