I'm not explaining this to gripe, but rather, to take a bit of time to try and allow some people into my own personal head-space.
Cancer is a tricky thing, and cancer treatment doubly so. I was very frustrated early on in this process to discover that almost every book focused on the subject at a local bookstore was aimed toward the caregiver/loved one and that they were almost all centered around dealing with loss/grief. Am I the only one who feels this is a little less than encouraging? There I was, suffering from the disease, looking for someone to relate to, and all I can find is the collective authorial assumption that I'm a goner and my loved ones needed to start coping.
Wow.
Fact of the matter is, treatment itself is a highly individualistic process. It's different for everyone. The frustrating and demeaning part of a lot of it is having to deal with friends who no longer feel they know how to approach you. I understand that it's a difficult thing to comprehend and cope with, and I don't hold that against my friends - they've done a fantastic job of being there for me. What I want to do is list a few of the general feelings and frustrations that you as an average reader may not be aware of when it comes to the emotional roller coaster that is chemotherapy.
Mortality - Come to grips with it. Please. Much of the frustration that a lot of cancer patients (most of whom are NOT terminal, mind you) experience stems from the fact that our circle of friends hasn't yet quite accepted that there could be someone among us that drops dead at any given moment. I accepted years before this mess that I have an expiration date. I know that my time on this earth is finite, and I don't weep or bemoan that fact, because I believe there is something better. Does that mean I ignore this experience in lieu of the more desirable one? No. I still enjoy every moment I have, and frankly, you should too. STOP looking at me like I'm the ghost of Christmas yet to come pointing at your own headstone.
I'm not made of glass - While weakness and fatigue are a fairly universal issue when it comes to chemotherapy, it's a good idea to recognize that I'm not going to shatter like a porcelain doll and that you don't have to walk as though on eggshells when you're around me. I take precautions of my own to protect myself, and I will ask for help when I need it. One of the first things that cancer and chemo break down is any sense of pride. I always considered myself to be a strong person, but the first time I woke up and found myself unable to move due to a lack of strength, I was reminded how feeble my human existence really is - and as such, I don't hesitate to ask for assistance.
Use the "C" word already - Say it with me: "cancer." Thank you. Avoiding the word makes me feel like the elephant in the room.
I don't feel normal - This is a big one. At no point once you start this process (and frequently before) do you feel normal. The best I've managed to achieve is about 70% of normal. Don't coddle me, but understand that I need extra time to adjust to the world around me, as my body is too busy fighting itself to be bothered with everything else going on.
These are the biggest ones, and I guarantee I could fill a book with other little complaints and such, but these are some good ones to understand and keep in mind when dealing with people who are going through this.
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