I so like this way of putting things:
“Impostor Syndrome is that voice inside you saying that not everything is as it seems, and it could all be lost in a moment. The people with the problem are the people who can’t hear that voice.”
It reminds me of the Betrand Russell quote:
“The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubts.”
“The people with the problem are the people who can’t hear that voice.”
(Thanks to John Gruber for putting this in my news feed.)
So, I had my fifth chemo session last Thursday. As I recovered quickly after my previous session, I was of course silly enough to expect the same thing this time. Silly, indeed, because I started feeling nauseous as soon as I entered the hospital, even before I got any chemo into my veins! And I still get waves of nausea today… (I’ll spare you the details.)
You see, it’s all in the mind: apparently, some patients get sick as soon as they enter the hospital. I’m trying to come up with strategies to make my mind work for me in that sense. Thinking about nature (polar bears, river valleys, our dogs, …) certainly helps to feel better. Discussing my health (or writing about it, as I discover now) doesn’t help at all. Doing Work Stuff helps. Watching an exciting game of soccer helps too. As does watching Monty Python’s Holy Grail, after so many years, for the first time with my kids… (Any excuse is fine to include a Monty Python clip in my blog posts!)
There’s a Bigger Theme here: in the FIFA soccer world cup, it seems to me that the mind plays a big role too… The Netherlands played awfully against Spain in the first half and then superbly (well, somewhat…) in the second half. Same players. Different mindset? The Belgians didn’t play that well in their first three games. Really hope their mindset will be different this evening.
And I often see this with my students too. As a teacher, my main role seems to be to make them believe that they can solve the problem they’re working on, and maybe motivate them a bit to do so. And then they can actually do it. If I put them in a negative context, they can hardly remember their own name.
Hey, I’m like that too: sometimes, I’m in the flow, it all comes naturally, I (have the feeling that I) get loads of things done, etc. And, sometimes, I put a lot of effort into achieving … very little if anything at all.
Hmm, something to keep my mind wondering about. Maybe that’ll help with the nausea too. If not, nice cards like this one will. (Thx, Els!)
Suppose someone told you earlier today that your latest work was ‘a significant improvement’… How would that sound? Kind of good, no? Not just an improvement, but a significant improvement! Still, you would also hear a certain hesitation, a hint that things need to get (should I say significantly?) better still. There’s a bit of a negative-wrapped-in-a-positive in that ‘significant improvement’. Kind of like ‘better, but not good enough yet’…
So, that’s what I was told about my PET scan last Thursday: it’s a significant improvement over the original one. Many of my lymph nodes are back to normal, but I still have some smaller tumors in my neck and armpits. So, we will do at least two more sessions of CHOP chemo and then I will have another PET scan in about six weeks from now. I sure hope for more significant improvement by then!
Now, it may sound like I’m not over-enthusiastic, and I sure would have preferred to have been declared tumor-free, but ‘significant improvement’ sounds a lot better than ‘no improvement at all’, or ‘things have gotten much worse’ ;-) !
Also nice: I was up and about on Friday, the day after chemo, and fit enough to go for a walk on Saturday! The longer this takes, the smoother it goes, so it seems, which is kind of different from what you often read about other people’s experiences… Good for me!
Even nicer: I keep getting nice gifts, like this one, from my students:
What can I say. I’ve had my third chemo session last Thursday. And I’m fine.
One can get used to a lot of things. And, a bit in contradiction with what I read and thus expected, I actually seem to recover better as we move along this chemo thing. That’s good. I do get more unexpected waves of nausea with no apparent trigger, which is a bit less good.
Anyway, this may have been the boring chemo session. Right before the next one, I will have a PET scan that will tell us whether the chemo is working. That will be a bit more exciting. The then next one, my bone marrow will be tested: it should be clear enough of cancer cells to be able to take my own stem cells for an autologous transplant a bit later. That will be a bit more exciting too. And the then next chemo session, if all goes well (fingers rather strenuously crossed), will be my last ‘normal’ one. Thereafter, I will have a Real Big One, the one that requires the autologous transplant of my own stem cells in order to recover. That should all be quite exciting too…
But, for now, a little bit less excitement is fine and I’m happy to have passed my most boring session. I think I will go enjoy my cancer card a bit… (Thank you, Ilke!)
Cancer saves money. Really. In the past, I drove about 35.000 km per year, traveling, commuting, etc. This year, I will do less than 10% of that. Money saved on fuel, maintenance, … That also makes cancer environmentally friendly, I guess. I will also save on shampoo, haircuts, travel, etc.!
Cancer saves time. Really. No more traffic jams during my commute – I just climb the stairs to my home office (which also has a way better view than my university office). Although I do a fair amount of video conferencing, I have way less meetings than I used to. I can’t go to busy places like shopping malls or movie theatres – more time saved!
Cancer is an excellent excuse for not doing whatever you don’t want to do. Few people will argue with you if you decline a request, citing cancer as the reason. I’d really love to come speak at your event, or I’d really like to review those papers for your conference, or I’d really love to participate in that midnight conference call with you, but – I hope you understand and I do apologise – I have to focus on my health now… Always works!
You see – everything has a bright side. Not only Johan Cruyff knew that, Monty Python knew it too (and they also played football, but I prefer Johan’s version of The Game, which indeed is a form of art)
So, here’s to the bright side of … hmm … like everything!
BTW, another nice thing about cancer: it provides a nice sense of perspective. I doubted a bit whether I should post this. Maybe some readers won’t appreciate my attempt at humour. Maybe some folks will be offended. They may have relatives with cancer. But hey, why worry about those things? If I really want to worry, I’ve got better things to worry about!
After my not altogether positive experience with my first chemo session, it seems like I’m “getting better at getting better”: I had my second session last Thursday, with a different anti-nausea regime and, boy, what a difference that made! Until this morning, I slept, had a bit of Family Time, slept some more, enjoyed a few meals (!), had a bit more Family Time, and slept a lot more.
And now I’m more or less back on my feet. OK, there’s the Antwerp 10 miles race passing by our house, and I’m not sure I would be up for that yet. But I did have a walk with G and the dogs earlier today… No complaining on my side. If things continue to evolve this way, I will actually start to enjoy my chemotherapy by the time it ends! (Maybe getting a little bit carried away there…)
The other notable difference with last week? I now definitely have a ‘cancer head’. Most of my hair is gone. I had always though of that as Not a Big Deal. We went through that when G had her breast cancer treatment 10 years ago and it meant nothing to me then. I didn’t think it would mean much to me now. But it kind of did, I must admit. Every time I see myself in some mirror, I see a Cancer Patient. That’s OK. That’s what I am. It’s just the in-your-face way of putting it that needed a bit of getting used to.
In any case, my hair dresser was quite good about it. We agreed on a Really Short haircut (Think millimetres. Very few millimeters). I told him that if I ever would go for a military career, I would do so in the coming months, as I already had the required looks. Also told him that I was afraid he wouldn’t make much money off me for the next six or nine months.
My kids are good about it too: they’ve decided that I will wear a Panama hat once I’ve lost all my hair. I’m in for that. Has a nice Brideshead feel to it. Maybe I’ll start wearing a costume too…
In any case, that’s two chemo sessions down. Two battles won.
“I have been here before,” I said; I had been there before; first with Sebastian more than twenty years ago on a cloudless day in June, when the ditches were creamy with meadowsweet and the air heavy with all the scents of summer; it was a day of peculiar splendour, and though I had been there so often, in so many moods, it was to that first visit that my heart returned on this, my latest.
A good opening sentence is especially powerful – ‘Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.‘ is a nice example.
There are two kinds of creation myths: those whose life arises out of the mud, and those where life falls from the sky. In this creation myth, computers arose from the mud, and code fell from the sky.
Not bad. A bit below, he writes
The stored-program computer, as conceived by Alan Turing and delivered by John von Neumann, broke the distinction between numbers that mean things and numbers that do things. Our universe will never be the same.
Ok. So, of course, now I’m reading the book. I don’t think I will be using a marker to highlight notable sentences. I may need an un-marker to downlight the few not notable sentences – if I can find any…