“You don’t look sick.”
“You shouldn’t be working so hard with cancer; please take some time for yourself.”
“How can you remember everything? How can you keep a job?”
“Why are you so open with your cancer?”
“You are too young to have cancer”
The questions, feedback, constant updates, and trying to balance everyone’s interest and concerns about my cancer can be time consuming, overwhelming, and emotional at times. However, it never bothers me or prevents me from being an open book about my adventures with cancer. Mental health is critical to my functional well-being and survival from cancer.
However, I know that my own mental health issues are completely normal in adulthood because there are so many challenges of being an adult with cancer right now. I am almost 35 years old, working full time with two jobs (three if you count writing these articles), fighting cancer and the typical responsibilities in the world of an average working adult (paying bills, owning a home, car repairs , etc.) .
In addition to normal tasks, my own brain doesn’t work as well due to the medications I take and the side effects of chemotherapy. I call it my “Dory brain.” I found so much love many years ago with Dory in the movie “Finding Nemo”. Who knew that years later, she would be my spirit animal.
During chemotherapy, my nurses warned me about “chemo brain”, which is how chemotherapy can drain our energy and make us feel tired and forgetful, as well as when we try to think, it feels a bit “fuzzy”. Our thoughts can take longer, tasks can be harder to complete, and basically, the chemotherapy wants to make us nap more often.
Now, with stage 4 disease, several of my medications give me permanent chemo brain. My “Dory Brain” is with me forever.
I’ve made peace with my Dory brain. Don’t get me wrong, he has his bad days where I get tongue-tied and can’t remember anything for five seconds. I get stuck, I go in circles and you might find me on my way to Wallaby Lane, Australia, just like in the movie.
For me, however, every day is a new day. Every morning, I barely remember the day before. Some of my most painful memories of the last few years, I remember. I can also remember very good ones, but I’m lucky in the sense that if it’s just a BLAH day, it doesn’t register on my scale of good or bad. I know deep down that my health and emotional well-being have been tested in the past few months since my last scans and progression, but I can’t remember all that pain. So I thank my “Dory Brain” because I’m lucky it wasn’t so horrible registering on my scales (fish joke!)
Working two jobs is hard, and some days I wonder, “How do I handle it?” I have my full time job where I work typical hours of the day, that gives me my health insurance (much appreciated). Then I work another 25 hours part-time at a home decor store to help pay medical bills, generate some extra income, and save for our next bucket list item: a trip to Italy. It gives me purpose, creativity, motivation, something new to learn, and most of all, hope: hope that my body hasn’t stopped working at 34 to do all of this, and to keep going despite the toxic drugs I’m taking. my blood; I hope cancer hasn’t stopped any part of my work ethic from setting goals for myself and my marriage; I hope I can handle this because I am young and not aging like the 87 year old I feel most days with this disease. Working two jobs has been a blessing in disguise; it has really helped my mental health the most for the last three months.
In September, after my recent scans informed me of progression of stage 4 breast cancer to my right hip, sacrum, and additional spinal injuries, I sank into a depression. I didn’t even know it at the time that I had some depression, but I immediately told my primary care doctor that I thought I needed help.
I asked for additional anxiety meds, which helped a lot. I started getting additional migraines so my neurologist increased my migraine medication which also helped. I also started new cancer drugs and fired my oncology team. I was no longer receiving the mental, emotional, or physical care that I needed. Each blood draw was 12 pricks, and I mentally dreaded each IV draw because I knew it was a one-hour test. I regained control and got rid of the toxic mind fugue.
After firing that care team, I switched to a different care team, making it the fourth care team, under-fives. That fact alone stresses me out, and I knew I had to get it right this time. It turns out that I did, however.
Each blood draw and IV preparation is one sample, two at most, with an IV ultrasound machine. There is an oncology support team to help make appointments and there is a social worker there as a go-between for additional support. Between all that support and having my two oncologists now, I feel incredibly supported and championed. I no longer feel like I have to continually fight for my own body and protect it the way I used to. As a result, my own mental health finally began to improve. Previously, on my last care team, my mental health suffered so much that I honestly didn’t see it through to the end.
What I’ve learned the most about my own mental health through all of this is that even as cancer patients, we’re still drawn to comfort and routine, and starting over is especially hard. Whether it’s starting over at a job, on an oncology team, on a new medication, or even a new day, mental health is critical to our daily lives. It is part of who we are, how we behave and affect our moods and emotions, and how we interact with others.
If you’re like me, and you’re struggling in any way, it’s okay to ask for help, extra medication, a second opinion, a different doctor, a different nurse, a different medication, or heck, boundaries because you just might need a little space. Just remember by December, we’ve made almost another trip around the sun, and we should savor the days, especially the good ones. They are worth remembering, take it from Dory!
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