Oh, the shame!

I've spent a lot of time thinking about what kind of patient I am - and what kind I'd like to be. I've always been stoic about pain. And private. 

There's a certain amount of shame in being sick or injuring yourself. Shame, disbelief and in my personal experience, trying to "fix" it myself. 

Once, at church day camp when I was probably nine years old, my big toe was busted open by a heavy metal door opened at the wrong time. I was barefoot and everyone knows that feeling of stubbing a toe. Every time it feels like your toe has literally fallen off. I remember shaking my foot and thinking "Oh my GOD that hurts"... and then looking down to see the blood. I didn't cry or run to an adult - I hobbled upstairs to the bathroom to rinse it off. The adult counselors found me by following the trail of blood. 

(In the end, I did need to go to the emergency room to release trapped blood under my toenail and fix the skin that had been torn. Pretty gross.)

Right before seventh grade, I fell off a neighbor's scooter and bent my left elbow the wrong way. I remember waking up on the ground and my father winded from running down the street to pick me up.  My joint was already swelling up to the size of a grapefruit and needed smelling salts to stay awake. Also, pretty gross! 

In the emergency room, I remember two different doctors giving two different opinions. First doctor said I would need a pin put in my elbow to fix the fracture. That caused immediate tears and panic. The second doctor said, "Let's put it in a cast. Should heal just fine". Now, that was exactly what I wanted to hear. We DID put my arm in a cast -- which then led to unsuccessful physical therapy, a surgery to put a pin in place 6 months later and another 3 months in a cast. The harder option initially had been the right call. Would have saved us months of rehabilitation and probably a few thousand dollars for my parents as well. 

This is how I've felt about the doctor's decision to recommend chemotherapy. I felt like my 13 year old self...wishing the doctor would tell me it would be a simple fix. Just put a cast on it (or in cancer terms, let's surgically cut it out!). Not that surgery is an easy way out - but literally no one on the planet would be relieved to hear that chemotherapy is the recommended treatment plan. So I am reminding myself that what's shitty in the short term might just be the best option for long term health and healing. 

As for the emotional elements of health, I don't know if it's my private demeanor or conditioning to be a *good* patient. I'd love to deliver good news to every person that asks how I am feeling. It's like being asked, "How are you?" and wondering whether you give the truthful answer, or the answer everyone would like to hear. I was actually embarrassed to report (1) that I have cancer and (2) that is had spread to my lymph nodes. It still feels like a personal failure. 

I started 2023 by reading some really incredible books. One was Daring Greatly by Brene Brown. It focuses on shame and how our behavior is SO influenced by it. I've had to get over a few ideas I had about health and image and how to be honest with myself and others. Do I feel shame in the fact that my body has created these tumors and no amount of exercise, good practices and nutrition stopped it? Absolutely. Do I think of a curated, "good vibes only" response when I'm asked how I'm feeling? Yup. Do I still think of myself, my self image, as a "healthy" person? I do. All of this conflicts with the inner and outer self. 

What DOES make me feel better is that for whatever reason, my brain always conjurs the image of Pumba when I think of shame as a concept. I hear, 

" And oh, the shame

(He was ashamed!)
Thought of changin' my name
(Oh, what's in a name?)
And I got downhearted
(How did you feel?)
Every time that I-
Pumbaa! Not in front of the kids!
Oh... sorry

Hakuna Matata!

Not much has changed since I was 13.