Fear.
It comes in many forms. I won't bore you by listing them, we all know what they are. We've all experienced them at various times in our life. Instead, I will share some of mine and how they have manifested over the last few months.
Fear of vomiting.
Anyone who knows me, knows that I have had a life time phobia of this. Seeing it, doing it, hearing it, the possibility of doing it. It has taken over more of my life than I care to think about. Naturally, when I was told I would be getting chemotherapy, this was a huge concern of mine. The kind nurses assured me that there are so many anti nausea medications that they would do whatever was necessary to help my tummy. I didn't believe them but I did what I was told and took all of the strange tablets. Something I would never normally do without a fight.
Cycle one was the most difficult. I wasn't eating because of the shock and fear of vomiting and just general lack of appetite. I quickly found out that the more I starved myself, the sicker I felt as there was nothing to absorb the medicine. I came very close to vomiting on more than one occasion and had to just stop what I was doing and remain motionless until it passed. After that, I knew I had to eat before treatment to avoid this happening again.
I consider myself very lucky to have escaped this side effect. Even as I type this, I can hear someone loudly vomiting a few beds away. I feel immense sympathy for them but at the same time I get an instant warmth in my tummy and stop breathing every time I hear it. The patients change and still, night after night, I awake to the echoed sound of someone violently vomiting. If I thought that all of this exposure would cure my phobia, I was mistaken. All it has done is contribute to my constant state of anxiety.
Fear of the unknown.
The more time I spend in here, the more I worry about everyone I love. I tell myself I'm strong enough to handle this if they are all safe. If I have the people who are most important to me, I can do this. I can stay positive and put up with the endless demeaning punishments my body has had to endure. There's a reason why people don't talk about what happens during the few weeks after your chemo has been administered. I believe most people couldn't look you in the eye if they knew what your body had been through.
As I lie in my isolated bed, listening to the hospital noises and unable to sleep, my mind starts to wander. 'The floor in the kitchen is really slippery.. what if someone spills water on it and slips and falls but I'm not there to help them'. Another popular one is 'What if they're so stressed about me that they make themselves really sick and I'm partly responsible for that'.
All I ever want to do is look after the people I care about and be self reliant. In this ward, I am trapped and unable to help anyone. When I get to a certain stage of sickness, I am not allowed walk through the doors of the ward into the rest of the hospital because the air isn't filtered and I will catch something but have no defences against it. So I lie in bed, night after night, worrying about everything that could possibly happen to those I love because they are stressed and tired.
Fear of death.
We all have this fear at some stage or another. Especially with endless famous people dying of cancer at relatively young ages. We fear losing someone we love. We fear what's on the other side. Lately, I find I fear this more than most things. From the moment I got my diagnoses, death has been a frightening reality. I don't want to die. Not for a long time.
I try not to dwell on this topic for too long when it comes into my head. I allow myself the odd cry on the rare occasion I get any privacy in here. I do my best to think of all the positive things the doctors have told me and I think about everything I can do during my recovery time. I will have time for all my hobbies again, guilt free. Sadly, all it takes is one small thing to push me back to the dark side of my reality.
It could be my bedtime in the hospital. The cheery nurses are chatting away while checking me over, talking to me about everything and nothing. My general mood will be good and I'll be thinking about how much I can't wait to see everyone I know, when suddenly, I'll see another patient walking very slowly past my door. They could be very old or middle aged or somewhere in between. They are wearing pretty much what I am. Pyjamas and a soft hat to keep their head protected. The difference is, they have no hope in their faces anymore. I start to wonder how much they've been through and then I remember that I'm in the same High Dependency Unit as them and immediately I feel sorry for myself as well as them.
I know everyone has a different history of health, different genes, different variations, but there's something very sobering about seeing someone, older than me, suffering from the same disease, with absolutely no glint of hope in their eyes. It makes me terrified that I am going to be one of those young people you read about. 'She fought a brave fight'. No matter what I do, those words enter my head at least once a day.
Fear of not surviving a brave fight would have to be my current worst fear. I can only hope and try to convince myself that some day, many years from now, someone will write these words instead.
'Humiliated Cancer and lived the life she wanted'.
