Yeah, the story of the hormones never ends. For those who came in late, I’m taking progesterone because my cancer cells have receptors for it. As a result, progesterone reacts with the cancer cells by stifling the hell out of them and helping me live longer. But I don’t get that for free. Progesterone comes with side-effects. I.e., BANG! Menopause is back!
Well, actually, it isn’t––it’s just the symptoms. But hey, if I have to endure night sweats and hot flashes, it’s a small price to pay. And I so wish that was all, but it ain’t. There are also disturbances in mood, in particular, anxiety.
Antidepressants have kept me functioning smoothly for quite a few years now but sometimes even my rather unusual cocktail of meds is no match for progesterone-induced anxiety. I just have to ride it out, remember it’s a side-effect and it’s temporary, not a sign that my meds need tweaking.
Anyone who’s ever had an anxiety attack––which is practically everyone I know––will understand what a neat trick that is.
Anxiety doesn’t give a crap about what’s real. It doesn’t arise from rational thought. It has nothing to do with how intelligent you are, even if you’re actually as intelligent as you think you are, and it doesn’t matter how much you have to do, or want to do, or that people are relying on you. You could be the most well-adjusted, sane, non-neurotic person on the face of the earth but none of that matters when neurons in a certain section of your misfire. You know how sometimes people actually go to the emergency room thinking they’re having a heart attack, and it turns out to be an anxiety attack? It’s not because they’re silly people or hypochondriacs who think every time they hiccup they’re dying or because they need to stop being so neurotic. Anyone who has to endure chronic anxiety attacks is going to get a little neurotic, but being neurotic is not why they’re having anxiety attacks.
Personally, I haven’t been able to leave the house in over a week. No hot flashes, no night sweats, just can’t do anything, can’t go anywhere, can’t walk it off, can’t think straight, can’t punch my way out of this wet paper bag.
I thought that my blog entry on admitting to my problem with anger management was the hardest one I’d write. But surprise! Owning up to this is a lot more embarrassing. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because it’s so personal; maybe it’s not my idea of being strong and positive about living with cancer (as opposed to dying of it).
Well, things like anger and anxiety are part of living, too, cancer or no cancer, and while life itself is sweet and far more desirable than the alternative, it’s also messy and shambolic, inconsistent, unruly, ungraceful, and sometimes it even smells bad. It’s bad hair days and having to apologise when you screw up and some days not knowing what the fuck to do. Or what the fuck, period.
For my fellow travellers in Cancerland, for anyone fighting a chronic illness, for all the people who love and support them: even when you’re doing well, you won’t do well all the time––even when you think you ought to be doing well. Life is a messy proposition. Even when it’s good, it doesn’t always feel that way. Take the days however you can, whether you can go out and punch the world in the face or kiss it on the lips…or you can’t bring yourself to leave the house. If it’s the latter, well, it is what it is. There will be days like that.
And then there will be other days, when there are hot flashes and night sweats instead of anxiety. Because at least the damned side effects don’t double up on me––I don’t have to sweat and be anxious. It’s been over a week since my last hot flash and right now, I’m sweatin’ up a storm. It will be nice to get out of the house again.