emotional chemotherapy

I have never had cancer. I have never gone through chemotherapy.  But, the way I understand it is that you basically try to kill the cancer cells before they kill you. It is a very aggressive thing to do to your body.  It kills a lot more than cancer cells.  It ravages your body and, in the end, you are alive, but barely.  And hopefully it actually killed the cancer. You go in for several treatments.  I imagine you are horribly sick after a treatment.  You probably start to feel a little better just in time for your next treatment. Then, you get to go in and do it all over again.  FUN!  Part of you is literally dying, but your vital bodily functions continue to work.  It isn't supposed to kill you, but you may feel like it is killing you (or you may wish you were dead). You have "good days" and "bad days," but if were being honest, the good days are nothing like you felt pre-cancer.  They are just good considering the fact the you have a life threatening illness that you are fighting.

I feel like I might be going through something called emotional chemotherapy.  That isn't a medical term. I made it up.  I feel like I do okay sometimes, but then get knocked over with another treatment.  My "treatments" aren't scheduled, so its always a surprise. Sometimes the fall out of the treatment is short...sometimes its long. It's not very predictable.  I feel like my vital functions are mostly working, but a big part of me feels dead.  People say I am "strong" and I wonder if they see all of my hair falling out and me vomiting for days after a treatment (I mean that metaphorically, of course). Well, I don't feel strong.  The treatments vary. Sometimes they are brought on by nothing at all. Sometimes its by seeing a bumper sticker or hearing a hallway comment.  It is usually a common and ordinary thing that causes a treatment to start.  I know some things that trigger me to have a treatment, so I try to avoid those all together. It's exhausting and I wonder if this isn't supposed to kill me.  But, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?  That's a nice sentiment if you don't feel like you are going to die.

Here's another way to understand some of my emotions. I feel like I don't have firm footing right now. I feel like I am in an ocean.  I don't really see the shore.  I know it's there, but I don't know how far away it is, and I would feel better if I could see it.  I am swimming.  Sometimes the water is relatively calm, but I am still treading water, so it gets tiring.  If a wave comes, there isn't much I can do.  I can't put my feet down and try and bear up under the weight.  I just get tossed around. Some of the waves are bigger than others.  Sometimes you go under the water and you can't figure out which way is up.  Sometimes it is sunny. Sometimes it is pitch black and you wonder if JAWS is going to eat you.  Everyone tells you that he won't really eat you, but when it is dark you wonder a little. But, you also realize that you could never tread water as long as you already have.  You failed that part in swimming lessons. So, someone must be helping you.  Someone is showing you which way is up when you are buried beneath the waves.  You wish that someone would just take you to shore in His motorboat while you sip hot cocoa and eat a mint truffle. But, He is taking you to shore. He does it His way, and it is a better way than the hot cocoa idea.

And for one final analogy that I have talked about before: When your arm gets chopped off.  When your arm gets chopped off, everything hurts your open wound.  If someone looks at your arm it might bug you. If someone doesn't look at your arm, it might bug you. If you accidentally brush it against the wall it will hurt. The air hurts it. Everything hurts it. It is just so sensitive and you are constantly changing the bandages making sure it isn't infected. You don't think about anything else except caring for this horrific wound. You try and protect it and may even do strange things in an attempt.. like putting your whole body in a big, plastic bubble. If you stay in the bubble, you will never hear a comment that will hurt you arm.  No one will brush up against it.  A dark tinted bubble would be better so no one could make eye contact with you.  But, we can't totally live in a bubble, and God wouldn't want us to anyways.  That's Satan's idea. You need people to bring you bandages and help you dress your wound; remember that you only have one arm left and its hard to put on your own bandages.  You haven't learned how to function without that arm yet.  It scares you to let anyone else near you wound. But when you do, it is actually quite helpful.  Even if they bump your arm a little, you don't care because they are trying to help you and that's enough.  At first, you might only let certain people help you take care of your wound.  You really have to trust these people and their medical expertise.  You want people trained by the motorboat driver.  He is also a doctor.  In time, you will trust others to help you too. You don't know if anything will ever matter to you again... now that your arm is gone.  You wonder how other people are walking around with missing limbs. But, like an amputation, the actual wound does heal over in time.  You will still have phantom pain. It might still be bothersome when people look or don't look at it, but it won't be as bad as it was at the beginning.  You won't be bothered by the wind or a raindrop on it.  It will get better, but it will never grow back.