Tingly toes and fuzzy brain

A couple of months ago one of the treatment nurses asked me if I’d been experiencing neuropathy, tingling in the extremities from irritated nerves. At the time I wasn’t aware that this was a side effect of the drugs I’m taking. But I did have such sensations, and since that time I’ve noticed that the condition is nearly constant. Apparently, it can become severe enough that patients hurt themselves because they can’t feel their feet; they trip, fall, burn themselves in the shower, step on sharp objects. I’m nowhere near that point, but I am aware of the sensation most of the time.

At the other end of my anatomy, my head is giving me troubles too. It’s not physiological. At least, it’s not anything that shows up on my scans. My mood is decidedly down, my focus is off. I feel like I’m caught up in a giant Ponzi scheme that’s spiraling out of control; I’m continually preoccupied with my physical and financial health to the point where it disturbs my sleep. I don’t have enough work to keep my plate full, but I also don’t have the energy to market for new prospects. I'm at once hyper aware and trapped in a fog; it's all very worrisome.

I discussed this with my doctor and nurses at last Monday’s appointment. They suggested I might be depressed, (a distinct possibility given my family history), and prescribed an anti-depressant. I was reluctant to add a new medication into the mix, but decided to give it a shot and started taking Effexor the next day. It’s probably too soon to judge its effect on my mood since anti-depressants work in a cumulative fashion that can take a couple of weeks to gear up, but I’ve definitely noticed other effects that may or may not be from the new meds; things like dry-mouth, ringing in my ears, increased energy and agitation during sleep. I’ve been waking up two to three hours before the alarm every morning and sometimes can’t get back to sleep.

One of the most disturbing things about this cancer trip I’m on is that I’ve lost touch with my body and its functions. I used to pride myself on knowing what I was feeling and why. Starting with the day the diagnosis fell from the sky and crashed into my world, nothing feels normal. Symptoms come and go without announcing their genesis. Much as I love and trust my medical team, their response tends to be one of throwing more drugs at the problems. That’s not a surprise, given their training and perspective, but it leaves me feeling further and further from my self.

Overheard

I couldn’t help but hear the conversation on the next couch in the waiting room. The man had just gone off, rather cheerily, to the phlebotomist’s office to have blood drawn. His wife stayed behind to talk with a couple of friends they ran into there. Her tone was a bit desperate, pleading, disbelieving. It was all about the patient.

“He looks like he’s lost weight, but otherwise, he looks pretty good,” one of the friends commented.

“He looks thinner, but his weight is the same. He doesn’t sleep. He says he doesn’t sleep all night.”

“When that happens to me, I eventually doze off,” said Friend. “Is he in pain?”

“Yes, and they can’t tell us the source. The doctor says things are the same, but they can’t say where it is, why he’s in pain.”

“He says he’s full of anxiety,” Wife continued, “and the thoughts wake him at night and he can’t get back to sleep. Then he spends the whole day in bed. He doesn’t get dressed. He’s showered once in three weeks. He doesn’t come downstairs except to eat. He only goes out to come to these appointments. When we’re out, he comments how good the fresh air feels. I encourage him to go out and take walks other times, but he just stays in bed.”

“It sounds like he’s depressed,” said Friend.

“Yes.” Wife was certainly willing to accept the diagnosis, but she wasn’t finished rattling off her catalog of complaints. She didn’t know what to make of him, so she repeated his transgressions, louder and louder, maybe in hopes of scaring off the offending signs of anxiety and depression.

I can certainly relate to that patient’s feelings. I’ve been there. In fact, I never know when the anxiety is going to overtake and kick the wind out of me. I can relate to his wife’s reaction too. I’ve endured no end of criticism from the Wife who sits inside my head suggesting I exercise, seek out more client work, organize and finish my own paperwork, just do something. But it’s not that easy. There’s always the monster waiting around the corner, and he’s not at all shy about taking over my mood.

I wonder sometimes if it’s easier going through a life-threatening event like cancer alone, or with someone else close by. I can certainly see the downside of being by myself, and I’m very grateful for the many people who have reached out to me with kindness and made themselves available.

On the other hand, I’ve seen too many partners lash out at each other. Both sick and non-sick feel helpless. One or the other nags, and one or the other runs away. It’s a very sad and complex problem with a lot of wrong answers. The more people there are involved in the core of the situation, the more expectations get in the way, and the more opportunities exist for things to go bad.

The right answer is that there is no right answer. It's just a matter of facing this thing day by day, and trying not to hurt too many people in the process.