Phantom effect

Anxiety is such a fickle animal and it creeps up on you in the weirdest of ways. I remember in college when I had my first panic attack. I thought I was going to die. My body started tingling and I became completely numb while my heart was racing and I began to see stars. It was closing in fast and I had no idea what was happening.

I’m not feeling that kind of stress-induced anxiety these days, but I have been counting down the days until my next chemo, the one that should be halfway through my treatment cycles. The one where I’ll have a base for subsequent treatments by having another PET scan.

I have pretty much acknowledged that I have cancer and I’m getting treatments. I’m glad to be over the shock of it. Sometimes I forget that I’m in the throes of cancer survivorship, except when I see my port scar as I’m dressing, or having to go to yet another appointment to check my blood or have a follow-up with the doctor.

I haven’t worn a wig yet and prefer to wrap my bare head in scarves, which sometimes garners me odd looks. I must look like either a hippie or someone who has spent many years in tropical climates. With the white polka dot on black scarf I wear often, I look like I could fit in at a Hutterite colony. Ethnic confusion aside, I rather like the look and just appreciate the warmth and protection of the scarves from the air conditioning and sun.

I have known people with amputations that have mentioned the phantom effect of their removed limbs. They say it feels like the limb has never left, which could be the result of the remaining nerves giving that sensation. I have discovered the same with my hair. With the wind moving through, or rather over, my hair, I remember when my hair was long and it would be pushed streaming across my face. The last few days with the storms and the winds, I find myself unconsciously pushing my non-existent hair away from my face. In an odd way, it’s like it never left.

I have been appreciating my return to work more each day, even though I can’t be around many people. It’s a welcome feeling to be part of something bigger than the nuances of my treatments. The fact that I miss working with people and books makes me feel secure about my decision to attend graduate school in library science. I miss working in a library setting and relish when I can return.

Thus far I have a somewhat normal routine. I wake up around 4:30 am to a cat patiently waiting for me to feed him. By patient, I mean, he steps on my chest and bites my nose to make sure I’m fully awake to pay attention to him. I make green juice and go about my morning until I leave for work at 5:30 am. When there are no clouds, I get to see the beginnings of the sunrise.

I surprise people when I tell them I’m a morning person. Really, if I had the option, I’d rather work earlier in the day than later. I’d become habitually confused by the time of day as a retail manager because my shifts would change daily or weekly. One day in the week I could be at work at 6:00 am, another day, I wouldn’t be home until after midnight. My poor body, with its innate biological rituals, would remain confused. I would do the cruel thing of depriving myself of sleep, loading my body with caffeine, and then expect myself to complete schoolwork late at night despite experiencing the two previous things. Naturally, fatigue would set in and I would still push through it. I’m grateful I am now forced to be more in tune with my body. Having a consistent work schedule has helped me get my body into a more natural rhythm.

I’m amazed at all the things within my body and in my environment that are at work all the time. I’ll cut myself accidentally and slowly the cut will heal. It’s reassuring to see my body fixing itself. I take this to heart as I approach my 4th chemo.

Despite all the anxiety about the treatments, I have to remember that my body will heal itself even after the damage has been done.

The cancer phantoms will soon disappear.