Tag: patience

SILVER LINING

by Maasaisis

I woke up feeling as if I’d been dragged behind a running horse. I had to keep my breath shallow so my ribs wouldn’t expand against the hot pain wrapping beneath my breast and around my back. I immediately sensed that something was terribly wrong. The reflection in the mirror confirmed my dread—a wide, bright, red welt wrapped around me on the outside of where I felt the pain inside. This significant change occurred rapidly during a disturbed sleep after a mind-fucker of a day. Perhaps my discombobulated state that day was a foreshadowing of what was to come.

Something was undoubtedly wrong, but it was Sunday. I’d been visiting the local oncology department regularly lately; the last thing I wanted was another hospital visit. In the blue welcome packet I received from the oncology nurse was a special neon pink skip-the-line slip. Having this slip was supposed to expedite any emergency visit for a cancer patient. Guess I might as well play my cancer card, I thought. I slung my arm around my husband, and he dragged my limp body into the ER like a big sack of potatoes.

There should be no contest to suffering; everyone in that room was suffering profusely. Slumped in the waiting room, overwhelmed with pain, fever, and nausea, I sobbed like a child, completely helpless. Even in that state of despair, the common thread of suffering in the ER connected me to a greater force. What bound me was compassion and the indivisible nature of suffering.

Hours had gone by with me in and out of consciousness by the time I was assessed and diagnosed. It turned out I had a staph bacterial infection that had spread from my tumour. Out of the bloodwork and cultures taken, one sample showed that it was in my blood. I was immediately put on IV antibiotics in hopes that I wouldn’t go into sepsis.

The doctor on duty did not have the best bedside manner. I could tell he was annoyed, dealing with a tedious patient and a case file he needed to comprehend thoroughly. ‘You’re in rough shape, and you’ve got a lot going on you should be concerned about,’ he said matter-of-factly. I didn’t have the energy to stand up for myself, a concern in itself. I just nodded and let him be who he was. He suggested trying to needle aspirate the pulsing red protrusion of my tumour in hopes of drawing out some infection. The last thing I wanted was this man sticking a giant syringe into my breast, but that is what happened, and unfortunately, there was no pus, only a bloody mess to show for it. Thankfully, that was the last I saw of him as I drifted in and out of delirium.

I slept in between bouts of nausea that would wake me up and bring me back to my predicament. Eventually, I was given the option to continue to stay in the ER or go home, as there was nothing more that could be done except continue IV antibiotics every 24 hours. I was torn between staying under the care of physicians and wanting to be in my own space with my family. I didn’t trust what my body was doing and was afraid of how compromised I felt. It was a terrifying feeling that I couldn’t shake even in the comforts of my home.

For the following 5 days, I continued to receive treatment in and out of the ER. The oncology nurse suggested I take a break from the targeted therapy drug I was taking in conjunction with the hormonal therapy medication. She told me that it’s an immunosuppressant and would hinder my healing from the staph infection. I suddenly understood what had most likely happened. I’d been on my cancer treatment plan for just over 2 weeks, during which time I was more immunocompromised than usual.

I’d been battling skin rashes and inflammation around my tumour for months. Fevers would come and go, but never did it cross my mind that the cause could be an infection. The oncologist waved it off as a cancer symptom, and I accepted the pain that came with it. I believe I’ve had this infection going on for a long time, and my immune system would fight it off every time it reared its ugly head. With the new medication that suppressed my immune system, it finally broke free into its full expression as a nasty staph infection.

I’m one to always look for the silver lining even amidst dire situations. Every day my body improved with antibiotics pumping through my veins. As the raspberry-red giant welt began to recede, I also noticed that the evidence of rashes that plagued me for months started to disappear. The pain in my breast slightly alleviated, which also has to do with the infection leaving my body. So even though this was a horrid experience building up for months, I’m grateful that it happened so that it could be addressed.

My way of being continues to morph through my experience with this disease. Time has stretched out like taffy, soft and malleable, unlike how I used to feel pressed up against it, always trying to stay ahead. I’m learning that I create my own suffering by planning how to fill the space of time. Life is happening to me in ways that I cannot control or predict. It’s asking me to be gentle and present with whatever is happening, and it requires a whole lot of compassion. To hold myself in high regard, to be worthy even when I’m responding to life from my couch.

LESSON: PATIENCE IS NOT WEAKNESS- Detective Katagiri from Tokyo Vice

THE PATIENT PATIENT

by Maasaisis

I’m battling the Saboteur, determined to resist its attempts to tarnish the glow following a delightful stroll in the sunlit forest. It lures me into exchanging it for a darker version of my circumstance. During the walk, I was impressed by my ability to maintain a brisk pace without compromising my stamina. Even on the uphill climb, I sensed newfound strength compared to my previous treks.

Returning home, exhaustion engulfed me, my focus latched onto the energy being syphoned out of me. The electric pain travelling through my body brings my attention to a new, suspicious discolouration under my breast. Now, the Saboteur transforms into the Victim, and a sense of helplessness drags me into shutdown mode. The mind, once uplifted in the forest, now succumbs to weightier thoughts-dragging me into numbing sleep.

Negative thoughts possess a density capable of overshadowing the light without a moment’s notice. They filter out the wisdom I’ve gathered into a blank void. The Victim induces temporary memory loss of all that I have to be grateful for. It’s evident that I’m not a patient patient, and I’m frustrated with life revolving around the central axis of my health. I’m frustrated with being frustrated when I know the only way through this is to allow it to be whatever it is. I’m looking for ways to escape but this will follow me wherever I go.

A sickly-looking woman is gazing back at me in the mirror. She has a shaved head with patches missing and dark spots decorating her skin. Who is this person looking back at me? What is her purpose?

The judgement values that have served as a measure of my self worth is suffocating me. I can no longer rise to the gold standard to satisfy the insatiable need to achieve more. These unreasonable expectations, even at the best of times, demand ‘you should be’ orders, kicking me while I’m down. Curled up with my hands pressed on my ears, guilt washes over me.

A chasm exists between the part of myself witnessing this self-abuse and the one perpetuating it. The witness sees the dominating pattern that has been running the show all my life. She shakes her head with her hand on her heart while the abuser is barking orders, pushing me to do and be more. The irony lies in the fact that the relentless drive to achieve more has been a fundamental building block shaping who I am today. Now, I’m being forced to find a new way to satiate the need to do more to feel of value.

It feels like the stripping away of what used to give me a sense of purpose is bringing me closer to my real purpose. I still don’t know what that is, but I sense that I’m immersed in it without fully recognizing its value. This is where the healing needs to happen. Instead of feeling weak and aimless, how about translating it as a sign of healing? How about taking this exhaustion and the need for rest as a sign of my body recalibrating? How about viewing my unstable emotional state as a reflection of the beauty of my vulnerability, rather than something to dismiss with a smile? How about the grace of love to be enough as I am now?

Perhaps a deeper alchemy is unfolding beneath the biological changes induced by these medications, maybe budding beneath the layers of depression and exhaustion. This slow, sticky, stagnated state could serve as the perfect incubation ground for whatever needs to be realized and embodied in preparation for my next phase. At some level, I’m still in denial about what is happening inside me, clinging to the idea that life should continue just as it did before. Amidst the complexity, there are numerous layers—some more readily peeled away, while others need to be left as they are, forming the foundational base of what is to come.

LESSON: PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE