Meltdown (# 1 of ???)

So it happened... I hit the wall. I thought I had this whole cancer treatment thing "figured out". I knew what to expect to feel each day, what foods to eat at which stage of recovery, etc. I had an "itinerary" of how to get through not only each treatment, but the entire experience as a whole. I could do this. I knew exactly how to get to the light at the end of the tunnel.

And then all it took was one treatment that wasn't like the rest of them.

Unfortunately, my anti-nausea medicine didn't work this time (or, something else went wrong... but that'll take further investigations with my doctor). I'm used to nausea, but have managed to not vomit. This is a good thing, as I'm supposed to stay very well hydrated, and vomiting obviously dehydrates you. But, just like on Seinfeld, no matter how hard one tries to hold back, sometimes the streak just has to end.

About 3 hours after my treatment, my body was shaking uncontrollably. I had a chill that I just couldn't escape. I was wearing multiple layers, covered by numerous blankets, and had the heat on in my bedroom... and still I was freezing. After about an hour, the vomiting began... and continued, several more times. Finally after about 2 hours total, the shaking passed, and I managed to keep down some ginger ale shortly thereafter. I attempted to rehydrate, but obviously was still queasy and slow to recovery. I couldn't eat the foods I normally would, nor as much as I normally would. And thus, my whole recovery plan was thrown out the window.

I think in addition to having my "plan" fail (which always frustrates me in any situation), I have a shame/mental block about vomiting. Mostly anyone who knew me as a child remembers I had tremendous anxiety, which almost always led to puking at life's big (and thus, inopportune) moments. The old plastic coin bucket from Atlantic City that was under the car seat... yea, that was my bucket. But somehow, magically, around age 10 or 11, it all stopped. Since then, I VERY VERY rarely vomit. It's almost become a matter of pride. A "see how far I've come" award that I can display to others, and that reminds me of how much I've grown. Even with all the drinking I've been known to do, it's still extremely rare that I puke. I may be nausea like crazy, but I don't let myself puke... and it passes.

And so, this treatment (which I thus mentally categorized as a failure) threw me. Though it was a weaker/slower physical recovery, I did eventually get my strength back and by Monday was feeling pretty much on pace. But I was still emotionally messed up... and all it took was a commercial for the Cancer Treatment Centers of America that was on during The View for me to lose it completely. While Whoopi and Barbara continued to talk about "Hot Topics", I became a hot mess. I cried from 1130 am to 530 pm... straight! I did take a 1 hour lunch break from crying (during which I also watched an episode of Modern Family). But at 230, I curled up in bed with a book that my Aunt Anne had sent me, and it was back to crying again.

I needed it. (As crazy at that might sound) I needed to just let it all out. I needed to gain a new perspective... to write a new "plan" that was a bit more flexible. I needed to find and list the fears I had and come up with constructive ways to face them... which, in all honesty, is exactly what my Dad used to tell anxious six year old puker Ryan.

I'm a firm believer that sometimes you do need to completely meltdown into a pile of wax in order to sculpt yourself back into what you need to be moving forward.

(As an FYI, I have not cried today... I'm much better, with a new outlook, and once again feel that I know how to get to the finish line of all this)

Another point worth sharing from my meltdown came with clarifying the "Why me" aspect of all this. In his book, Cancer on Five Dollars a Day, comedian Robert Schimmel (who had non-hodgkins lymphoma... but close enough) talks about his realization that cancer is just bad luck... and he's been the fool of bad luck all his life. Yet, he ultimately acknowledges that his life is fantastic despite all that bad luck, and he wants to go on living.

As I reflected on that, I took it a step further. I realized that I can't question "why cancer" or any of the other bad luck that's occurred to me without simultaneously questioning any of the good luck too. To ask "why did I get cancer?", I would also have to ask "why do I have such a loving family?" or "why have I traveled so extensively?" To question or challenge good luck (blessings) in the same way we do bad luck just seems absurd. And so, I'll just have to resign myself to having such a wonderful family, seeing so much of the world, and yes, cancer... which is only for now. It hardly seems like such a tough break in that context.