Feeling Better

Spent Wednesday night through Saturday after breakfast at my zen center in Champaign, which calmed my mind considerably. I think also the Effexor (antidepressant) is beginning to kick in. Anxiety still licks around the corners, but I have Lorazepam for that, so I am actually looking forward to my trip to Mexico. I'll be leaving early Tuesday morning, returning the following Tuesday evening, June 3. A couple of friends have told me that I am beginning to seem like my old self, and I will say that I am starting to feel better, although I do believe my old self will never be the same. The therapist I saw last week observed that I am moving from acute illness into the chronic illness phase (although my zen teacher warns against believing the label "chronic illness.") The fact remains that I am going to have to live with the idea that the illness can reappear at any time, and with the practice of getting CT scans every three months to see what's happening and determine if anything has changed. This will take time, I realize. I am also going to have to go back to work soon, as I'm living on savings. I'm already doing a little work, but I'm not up to full capacity. Finally, I have to get stronger. I haven't been to a gym in months, although I have been walking and going to yoga, but not regularly. Your ongoing expressions of support, concern, love and compassion, in all their various forms, are of great support and comfort. Many thanks.

Still Struggling

Don't worry, I haven't done myself in, but I'm still struggling with anxiety and depression. Am on Lorazepam for anxiety, which helps, and Effexor for an antidepressant, which hasn't yet kicked in full force. I've had two sessions with a Ph.D. psychotherapist, who tells me he doesn't think I need a psychiatrist, that he and my primary care doctor should be able to manage me medically. I am trying to keep busy and active, and will be heading down to Champaign tomorrow for a few days of a zen intensive retreat, returning Saturday after breakfast. I will be leaving Tuesday, May 27, for Mexico, returning June 3, so don't worry if I don't blog again before June. Thanks to everyone for your expressions of love and concern. They mean a lot to me.

Breather

Since my last blog I've been on an emotional roller coaster, dealing with very intense experiences of depression and, more recently, anxiety, and trying to find professional resources to help me with these. My insurance plan has virtually no coverage for mental health: 12 sessions per year at $30/session, as long as it's with an M.D. in a hospital setting. I located a talk therapist with the Chicago Center for Family Health, a man who specializes in chronic illness and has had a lot of experience with cancer patients. I can see him for $60/session, which seems steep, since I'm living on savings, but in reality is quite reasonable these days. The earliest I can see him is May 15, which, when I'm in the tunnel, seems like an eternity, but today, when I'm not in the tunnel, seems do-able.

I have an appointment with my primary care doctor Tuesday to talk about medication for this biochemical nightmare. Working with my internist is a stopgap measure until I can locate a psycho-pharmacologist with an institution that charges on a sliding scale fee basis, but I really think there is as large biochemical component to what I have been experiencing. I can feel the anxiety and depression coming on in my innards; it's gut wrenching and agonizing.

My oncologist's physician assistant tells me it's very normal for people to sink into depression following treatment. All my resources were marshalled to get through treatment, and it was a very active time: radiation 5 days a week for six weeks, chemotherapy every three weeks, and then just trying to get through the aftermath of chemotherapy. But now there's nothing to do but watch and wait, and plenty of time for the demons to arise. Two cancer survivor friends of mine have pointed out to me that cancer changes one; Thursday morning I awoke in a cold sweat, face to face with fear of death. It's quite debilitating: every cell in your body contracts, your bowels twist, your heart pounds, and the aftermath stays with you for hours. There's a heaviness, lack of interest in anything that usually engages you, slight nausea.

I have been trying to be very gentle with myself, and to make sure that I'm getting some exercise every day, and to eat right and spend lots of time with friends and loved ones. Structuring my time seems to be key. So, friends and loved ones, call me, and let's put something on the calendar.