The other day I received an email from a friend regarding my second post (about a health issue overriding any thought of working the garden). She had recently received similar messages from other friends and understandably found the glut of bad news depressing—and wondered what all that had to do with gardening, anyway. She said she would be more interested in hearing what lessons cancer has taught me than about the "horrors of treatment."
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| Recliners, even! |
I can understand that. So, I'll try to answer briefly (briefly for me that is), and then I'll happily wander over to the garden.
On the continuum of dedicated gardeners, I'm down there on the "ho-hum" end. On any given day, the garden is likely to be a smallish part of my life.
It's almost never the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning. (
That thought is usually: "Has Bob made coffee yet, or do I have to do it?") Most of the time there are likely to be three or four things going on that are more important than gardening, and maybe one of those will be something about which I really have something to say...unless it's got to do with politics or religion, and then the better angels of my nature usually whap me upside the head and remonstrate with me: "What are you thinking? Do NOT go there!"
(They are not gentle angels.)
So the garden has never been the priorest priority in my life, except now and then when I decide to take a dedicated Dirt Break. (I used to take a whole week of vacation in May to play in the dirt, and my co-workers thought I was out of my mind.) The older I get, the more I find other things regularly taking priority—and almost everybody I know finds the same thing happening in their lives to a certain extent. I have several friends who right now are dealing with moving aged parents into new living situations. They are not thinking about their gardens. Others, of course, are dealing with illnesses of their own.
(I ask myself: should we be thinking of this as "bad news," as in "something that shouldn't be happening to us?"
Shouldn't we try to reframe it as just the ordinary reality of our own aging selves?
Accept and adapt?) We all relate to our gardens in different ways, and for me, playing in the garden is akin to reading a good book. It's integrated into the tapestry (or the kaleidoscope, or the smorgasbord) of my life, along with lots of other things, like what Bob is making for dinner, or unexpected company dropping in, or having the oil changed, or running by Vassey Nursery to see what they have on my way home from chemotherapy. I expect that when I write about what's happening in the garden, it will usually be in the context of all the other things that are happening in my life in general. That's how my brain works! (I've been reading Roger Ebert's excellent blog, and it's about lots more than just movies. And does that man have a cancer journey to write about! Mine is a cancer mosey by comparison.)
Back when I started on this journey in 2009, I was astonished at how different it was,
as a physical experience, than what I had been conditioned to expect. As I went through diagnosis and treatment, I sent email updates on topics such as "What it's
really like to have a bone marrow biopsy, or, No they don't drill into your hip with a Ricoh drill from Home Depot." (I've never felt an urge to write about the emotional/philosophical/mental aspects of the cancer journey—but a friend gave me a copy of "It's Not About the Hair" by Debra Jarvis, which opened a lot of mental doors and windows for me.
I highly recommend it.)
Then, gradually, I found out that my updates and messages, which were just to reassure my friends and family that I was doing very well, were being circulated widely to
their friends and family who were starting out on their own cancer journeys in fear and trepidation. The comments I heard back were along the lines of "This helps me understand what my friend is experiencing" and "My brother/sister won't talk about it, and I appreciate having some idea what's going on."
Almost without exception, in talking to other people dealing with serious illnesses, not just cancer—this is true at least for those of us being treated in the Pacific Northwest—I've found that the standard of care, at every level, puts a strong emphasis on making the patient comfortable, alleviating pain and fear, and making us part of the planning and decision-making for our own treatment.
It's not just about attacking the disease as an entity apart from the patient; it's not an impersonal, heartless, indifferent experience.
(If that's what you're experiencing, speak up!). It was a big lesson to me not to anticipate the worst—which actually is a pretty good life lesson in general. So if I do write about my treatment (which will be seldom), I won't write about the "soft," subjective side of this experience, because that really is a very personal thing and everyone responds in their unique way.
But every bone marrow biopsy, or CT scan, or port insertion is going to be pretty much like any other, and as I went through those procedures, I discovered my inner Investigative Reporter paying attention to what happened. Every once in a while, when I learn something new that's concrete and general enough to be useful to anyone, I try to share it—just in case someone out there is gnawing her nails with anxiety, not knowing what to expect.
So on that note, here are a few useful things I've found out since being diagnosed with Chronic Lymphoid Leukemia (CLL) and Small Lymphocytic Lymphoma (SLL, a form of non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma). This will be useful to you!
First:
Mindset! My fantastic oncologist, Dr. Sibel Blau, told me at the beginning that, "There are cancers that you have to cure, or they will kill you.
That is not what you have." There are many cancers that are chronic, slow-growing, and respond well to treatment; these can be managed over a long time, and oncologists have come around to the idea that long-term management may be the smarter approach—easier on the patient with an equally satisfactory outcome.
Chemotherapy (the only form of treatment I've had) is very toxic, and sometimes the treatment is harder on the patient than the disease. As a patient with a chronic, manageable cancer, I've gotten used to carrying it around inside me. It's not like a bug down my back—"Get it off! Get it off!" It's more like the extra pounds I'm carrying; I'd like to get rid of them, but they're not stopping me from doing anything I want to do, except wear a couple of dresses that haven't been out of the closet in years. If you can get your mind off the fear of having cancer inside you, then you can live your daily life without feeling like there's a chattering monkey on your back.
Second:
Vitamin D3! I had no idea. Vitamin D3 is a hormone, cholecalciferol, which the body manufactures from sunlight and uses in mysterious ways, its wonders to perform. Lack of sufficient Vitamin D3 has been linked to various cancers (leukemia, lymphoma, breast, ovarian, prostate, and I forget what else) and Multiple Sclerosis.
Next time you have a physical, make sure your blood tests include a Vitamin D3 level. Mine was 28 the first time it was checked (low) and now is a good 54. I take Vitamin D3 every day, and I'm not going to say how much—that's for your doctor to tell you.
Third:
Nutrition! If you're in treatment for any serious disease, try to find a Registered Dietitian to help you manage the nutrition aspect of your treatment. I work with Kimberly Mathai, RD, CDE (yournutritiondesign.com), who communicated with my oncologist as I went through treatment in 2009 and helped keep me "nutritionally vibrant" throughout chemotherapy. (And because she's an RD, my medical insurance paid for it!)
Fourth:
Trust your doctors! I'm a horticulturist; what do I know about cancer treatment?
A friend who used to work at Polyclinic told me about a pharmacist colleague there who "took great pride" in putting together the exact combination of drugs for each patient that attacked their cancer and effectively managed the side effects.
So I made up my mind to do whatever my doctor and nutritionist told me to do, not to do anything without asking them first, and not to take the well-meaning advice of people who are not cancer professionals.
People will recommend herbal supplements and all sorts of products and treatments that worked for someone they knew—and they only want the best for you—but they can literally kill you with kindness, so just say "Thank you, I'll talk to my doctor about that."
Here's something I didn't know:
vitamins and supplements are not subjected to the manufacturing standards of pharmaceuticals, and can be contaminated with bacteria.
(Caveat:
the FDA has new rules in place that might make this statement incorrect.)
Cancer patients are vulnerable to bacterial infections (oh, how I long for a salad with bleu cheese dressing!), and some OTC medications you take on your own can prevent your prescribed treatment from working.
So tell your doctor everything, and if you don't trust your doctor, find one you can trust.
Because that person is trying to save your life.
Okay, this is not short.
I'm on steroids; I have blabberfingers.
So I'll close this now, and work on a much more fun post—which will appear above this one—all about a great Martha trick for tulips and other fun, garden-related-only stuff!
Thank you for listening!
