pet peeves of cancer.the small stuff i hate. go ahead and add your own

I just lost 15 pounds in one week due to a hospital stay and low appetite.

BTW – I hate steroids, too!

I hate when somebody looks at me and while he/she does not say a word, he/she is clearly thinking “I thought people were cancer LOST weight. What’s up with her?”

I am just a family member, it’s my mother who has CC. I’ve been back on this website multiple times a day since a week ago Friday when my mother was told her CC had returned after her resection July 2009 and chemo through December.

I’ve avoided reading this one post, too afraid to read first-hand what you all hate about this disease the longer you deal with it. I should’ve read it sooner though, I have laughed, cried and gained more of an understanding of what my mother must be feeling, and what she may start to feel as it progresses.

Even though I’m not a CC patient, and not even a caregiver (yet), I’d like to add a few:

– I hate that my mother is only 63 and facing this beast.
– I hate this question that’s usually just below the surface of my subconscious and occasionally very much on the surface: why HER of all people?
– I hate that my kids, ages 9 and 11, won’t have her around longer. And that my sister’s youngest, who is 4, eventually may not even remember her.
– I hate that I can’t say or do anything to help her feel better emotionally. I feel like it’s my “job” as eldest daughter to help cheer her up and keep her mind on happier things. But we don’t have the deeper, “tougher” conversations. I guess that will come.
– I hate that there is no solution, no cure, no way to make this go away. I am a “get it done” kind of person, and there’s nothing I can do to fix this.
– I hate that my mother’s soul mate, her husband of almost 46 years, can’t be her rock during this awful time. His dementia has taken our “old Dad” from us and he just isn’t the same. She needs him, we all do. He was always the strong one in the family, the one we all relied on.
– I hate that I can’t sleep well anymore. That my brain kicks into high gear when I turn the light off at night, that I wake up every 2 hours or so, that I lay in the dark and vacillate between optimism and total despair. I swear most nights I hear this faint whisper in my head saying “cancer… cancer…” over and over.
– I hate all the not knowing. Not knowing what the plan is yet for palliative measures for this recurrence, how long she will live, what the symptoms will become as it progresses. Not knowing how I will function as a human being once she is gone.
– I hate that my husband doesn’t understand. He is the most incredible husband, father and son on the face of the earth. He bends over backwards to help me, emotionally as well as with the kids, the house, etc. Always has. But sometimes he’ll ask, “What’s wrong?” Why doesn’t he realize that my mother’s cancer is on my mind 24/7? I feel like that, unless it’s your own mother, you just can’t understand how I feel.
– I hate that many of my friends aren’t sure what to say. That they feel like not talking about it somehow helps me.
– I hate that I never had any desire for any profession in the medical field, that’s always been my sister’s calling. Yet here I am, able to spell cholangiocarcinoma, I know the difference between hemoglobin and hematocrit, I can read a CT scan, that I even know what a tumor marker is let alone normal ranges. That I actually enjoyed watching the TV monitor during my mother’s lower GI procedure – I thought it was the coolest thing.

Whew. OK. That was waaaay more cathartic then you can ever imagine. Honestly, I feel more clear headed than I have in almost 2 weeks.

Irene – I’m so with you on those two pet peeves.

“You look good” – right now I am orange and hairy.

How about: “You don’t LOOK sick!”

Donna9,

I like that idea much better and actually comforts me. I was at a July 4th picnic today and was told that my suffering in this life was redemptive and was helping my deceased brother in the afterlife. I really didn’t know what to say to that.

Betsy