The idea of tasting the toothpaste, feeling the bristles, spitting in the sink, brushing my tongue...it is all absolutely terrifying. It is the absolute last thing I do in the morning, and I procrastinate until the very last second--really until I have to leave the house.
You see, when I first began chemo, I was very, very pukey all the time, and brushing my teeth would always make it worse--you swallow a little bit of toothpaste here and there, it mixes with the nausea you're already feeling, or the toothbrush triggers your gag reflex...it's a terribly dangerous game, the brushing of the teeth is.
It is one of many things that plague me to this day. I just can't brush my teeth with the same whimsical innocence anymore try as I might. I've tried it all too--I bought a fun mechanical toothbrush...to no avail. I even use Dora the Explorer Bubblegum Orajel training toothpaste to improve the taste of tooth-brushing--no luck.
I need help. I need professional help for my fear of tooth care, my chemo brain, and the suppressed memories that I refuse to call post-traumatic stress disorder.
BUT. I miscalculated. I miscalculated in the worst way. You see, in all my cancer power and warrior-ness, when treatment ended, I thought I could close that chapter of my life for good. Write it off as a terrible experience that I can tuck away in the depths of my brain for another day--I didn't need therapy right now. I'd look to get therapy once I'd restarted my life. It's something to decide upon later.
I saw a few counselors here and there...but have been reluctant to see anyone steadily because I know I'm going to have to unlock certain parts of my brain that I've tried like hell to keep quiet.
I love my family, and I can't blame us for the way we tried so hard to resume a normal life immediately after my treatment. It was what we fought for for so long...to be "normal". To go to the grocery store and not be bombarded by people asking about my health, to go wherever we wanted without having to worry about germs, or blood counts, or white cells, to have the ability to make plans that aren't scheduled around chemo dates, radiation times, and neupogen shots. As soon as we got the all clear...we tried to wipe the slate clean.
And I can't speak for my entire family...but I can tell you that at numerous times during my treatment, I thought they were going to have to take me to Psych. Whenever we drove out of the Upstate Hospital parking garage we would drive past Hutchings Psychiatric Hospital, and each time I'd point out the window and say, "you're gonna have to put me there. As soon as we're done at Upstate, you're gonna put me in there." I was mostly joking. But not entirely.
I know it's not entirely surprising that I was severely depressed during my treatment. I probably suffered more mentally than I did physically if we're being totally honest. Looking back, I understand that in many ways the depression caused more damage than the chemo...sure, the chemo did it's job, and totally wrecked my body, my cells, my organs. But it's absolutely amazing, the ways of the human body. The way our bodies are programmed to endure, to replenish, to fight, and to survive.
But the mind? The mind is another story, the mind is trickier...and I severely underestimated its power. Because while the body has that amazing ability to recover, the mind has the ability to recall. And sometimes what the mind can recall--consciously and subconsciously--can be just as dangerous. I have vivid memories of locking myself in the bathroom, sitting on the floor, crying and banging my head against the wall. I have nightmares about the tiny hall washroom where my mother held my hand as my father shaved my head. Squeezing my eyes closed so I couldn't see the hair falling...the tears that seeped out no matter how tight I shut them them. They were absolutely the darkest times of my life. Dark, icky, and not fun to remember.
I've been lucky in a lot of ways, because even though I tried to skip over the "mental recovery" phase, I've been able to keep myself in check. But a lot of comments I get from friends and in emails are compliments on how put together and well-adjusted I seem in my blog. And while I appreciate it...I have to say that I've fooled you.
I'm not all that okay. I'm messed up in the head. Pretty bad. It just hasn't been something I really like to talk about because it's important to me to appear strong. Sure, I've talked about my anxiety, my OCD, my antidepressants.
But I think it's important for me to lay it out in black and white. So here it is. I suffer mentally. I really, truly do...and I think most cancer survivors would agree that some of the biggest scars are the ones they've endured in the mind.
Mental illness is still such a taboo topic in society, and when I was a younger girl dealing with OCD it was something I wanted to keep hidden from everybody else. But as soon as my physical ailments became public knowledge--all discretion went out the door. I don't care who knows:
I'm depressed. I'm anxious. I'm damaged. I'm angry.
And I'm not ashamed. Not one little bit.
Whether you've had cancer or not, life is often a heap 'a shit. I firmly believe that suffering is not the human condition. Living is the human condition. If I've learned anything of substance from my experience, it's that the most important thing to worry about is waking up tomorrow. When I have rough days...I take a step back and ask myself how I'm going to get myself to tomorrow. And tomorrow, I'll figure out how to get to the next day.
I neEd thaaa rehAbBb lyKe mAhh GurL aMy. (R.I.P.A.W)
Not only because I'm afraid of brushing my teeth...there are a slew of other quirks that have come up as a result of chemo. Certain smells set me off...I have to drown myself in perfume sometimes to rid myself of a certain stench. I was in someone's car last week and it smelled so vividly like ifosfamide and I thought I was going to punch a hole through the dashboard and escape down the highway. There's nightmares...there's survivor's guilt...I'm gonna be a messed up crazy bitch for the rest of my life.
Now that I'm almost a 5 year survivor...it's time to take care of myself mentally...time to deal with the demons. This summer, I'm planning to see a woman who works specifically with people who have been touched by cancer. I talked with her once before, and left her office feeling a million times better.
It's never wrong to need help. No one should live in fear of the toothbrush.
Jesse
PS:
On an unrelated note, I would like to take this opportunity to tell you all that unless you have had the responsibility of taking care of a long blonde wig, then you have NO idea how unreasonable it can be. THAT SHIT IS HIGH MAINTENANCE MY FRIENDS, and when you're caught off guard and told you're being arrested...there is absolutely NO TIME to fix it up...it's just not realistic. Everyone needs to take a STEP BACK and re-examine the critiques they are making on Amanda Bynes' recent hairdo. Because it can AND DOES happen ALL THE TIME:
(Amanda Bynes) (Umm. Unknown female.)
The way I see it is Amanda can wear whatever the hell she wants because she's young, she's rich, and she's livin' it up. So. There. She's doing better than I am, if that means anything to her. She probably reads my blog all the time...
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