Starting Chemo: Cancer Blog 1

After my annual trip to Israel in March, I finally hunkered down and went to my gastroenterologist about stomach pains I’d been having. The physician’s assistant thought the problem might be excessive bacteria in the small intestine. She recommended a CT scan.

I braced for a round of antibiotics to take care of the problem. If only it had been that simple. Instead, the CT scan of my abdomen pointed to possible ovarian cancer, which has since been confirmed.

I’ve always been passionate about health, fitness and wellness. So how could I—the hiking queen, hot yoga addict, marathoner, Jazzercise bunny and YMCA aerobics instructor—have cancer?

My ego and vanity took the first hit, as I realized this unexpected journey has everything to do with living and nothing to do with playing Superwoman.

I had navigated stomach pain for a couple of months with low-level approaches, from laying off tomato products (didn’t work) to seeing my internist, who ran urine and blood tests for possible infection (negative). By the time I had a CT scan, my stomach was so bloated that I looked like I was pregnant with twins—not a possibility in menopause.

Cancer, really?! My emotions have run the gamut from hysterical to angry to anxious. I cynically recast the “Eat, Pray, Love” mantra as “Cry, Cuss, Pray.”

As a lifelong learner and seeker, I started looking for answers to the age-old question of why. My Torah teacher helped me reframe the question from “Why do bad things happen to good people?” to “Why do difficult things happen to good people?” Our exploration has helped me find peace. Some possible approaches: To help one become greater; to be able to help others; to grow in character; to become more compassionate; to have a finer understanding of life; to deepen my connection to God.

I can’t honestly say I’m grateful to have cancer, but I am grateful for the blessings it has brought, including healed relationships and for the physical healing already manifesting.

I am actively working to strengthen my relationship with God. I am implementing Rabbi Zelig Pliskin’s suggestion to frequently repeat the phrase “His kindness is forever.” I aim to say it 100 times a day to experience more gratitude and joy in my life.

I am trying to be more grateful. I cannot honestly say I’m grateful to have cancer, but I am grateful for the blessings it has brought, including healed relationships, and for the physical healing already manifesting.

This wake-up call puts time and connections in a new perspective. I have grown much more aware of the precious beauty around me, like the petunias and cardinals beside the pool during my morning swim. I am more tolerant and appreciative of my coworker’s corny Dad jokes. I am working to be more loving, compassionate and forgiving of myself and others, in all our humanity.

My senses are heightened. I am keenly aware of many human angels in my life. One of the gifts of this journey is feeling so loved by family and friends near and far. This takes the wind out of my sails when it comes to an old primal fear about being a bag lady and dying alone. I’m optimistic about living many more healthy years, God willing.

The angels are offering loving calls, encouragement, energy healing, rides, meals and fun dates to a movie or a restaurant. Jews and Christians across the U.S. and Israel are saying prayers and learning on my behalf. My hairdresser Song, a Hindu, also is keeping me on her prayer list. It’s daunting when I think about it. I’ve been so independent most of my adult life that letting people be there for me is a new experience.

As a journalist, I want to share my story to help others who are defending their lives in the face of their own diagnosis, whether cancer or something else. I believe a life-altering event helps us get present to what matters and what we really want to do with our one precious life. So this is the first entry of my Cancer Blog.

My First Day of Chemo, June 13, 2023

The doctor told me my first day of chemotherapy would be the longest day of all the treatments; they administer the drugs slowly to make sure I don’t have any reactions. I had a port implanted in my chest the week before this, and it will allow the nurse to give me chemo drugs without a needle stick. This is a blessing because my arm will be spared hours of injections. I don’t like needles, except for acupuncture.

My fiancé and I packed carefully for this journey into the unknown. We shlepped a cooler with ice for the cold therapy gloves and socks that I’ll wear much of the day to help prevent neuropathy. That means tingling and numbness in my hands and feet. (I’m learning a lot of medical terms I wish I didn’t have to know.) We also brought lunch, books, a laptop, blanket and cell phone charger.

The nurse attaches the bag holding the medication to my chemo port and begins Day 1, gently informing me what’s going on every step of the way. Time seems to stand still here, settled in my lounge chair with a 180-degree view of the city skyline and trees.

Time seems to stand still here.

I thought all the hours would lend themselves to meditating and reading inspirational books, but I’m not able to focus too well. One of the pre-medications is making me sleepy; I don’t like feeling out of control. Pretty ironic.

Ring the Bell

I drift in and out of sleep, noticing the assortment of people in the room with walkers, wigs, IV poles and so on. I watch a woman nimbly tie a bandana around her head; that will soon be me, after my next round of chemo. I hear whispers of conversation and stories. There’s a former teacher making small talk with a Southern lady of a certain age who says “suppa” for supper. There’s a middle-aged man playing cards who will ceremoniously ring the bell when he leaves the room today, signifying the end of his chemo treatments. Yay!

I’m actually not an observer. I’m one of them, one of us. These are my people, I realize with deep compassion. We may be strangers, but we’re kindred spirits dealing with serious medical issues. I’m rooting for us all. May we all merit ringing the bell soon.

Even though I’m a newbie, I ring the bell when we leave. Chemo 1 is over, and I’ll never have to go through it again. The hardest part was the worry, anxiety and fear of the unknown. God, may it be Your will that this treatment will heal me completely in the best way possible, with great compassion from You.