After all, we are all
(emotionally) wired differently, as each of us navigates our own unique set of
circumstances. Add chemotherapy into the mix and you can expect some serious
mood swings throughout the cycles of treatment.
As a patient, you do get to
know your own pattern of emotions on the days and weeks following a chemo
treatment. Drowsy, tearful, angry and foggy were amongst mine, but
usually by the third week I’d be back to ‘almost’ me again, just in time to
face the next cycle of treatment.
I was very fortunate to have
had good support from my friends and family who checked in on me regularly but
without suffocating me with sympathy. My daughters were my lifeline, and my husband
steered me along the way; they learned to ride along with my erratic emotions
and always continued to treat me as me.
There were times when as a
family, we reached out for help, and there were also countless times when we
needed complete space and privacy – and we didn’t want to feel guilty for this.
I know just how (over)
sensitive I was at times, but because I was free to ride these mood swings, I
would emerge from them feeling ok, and fit to embrace the next phase of the
journey.
In my book, ‘See the Colour in
the Clouds’ I recall how I lost the plot completely when my sister-in-law
arrived to make up batches of soup for my freezer. She had made a 200 mile
round-trip to make this happen, buying ingredients on route. Looking back on
this now I try to understand why I reacted so badly. I think it was the
‘turning up as a surprise’ when my mum was staying to help me, that threw me
and sent me spiralling into frustration, feeling incapable and like an
invalid.
Another ‘NO-NO’ for me was when
people attempted to give me advice (to try to make me feel more optimistic)
when they had no certainty or understanding of the complex facts. “No news is
good news” was a prime example of this. I would strongly urge people to never
ever say this to someone, because quite simply, this is often not the case.
Overwhelmingly, if I meet
someone facing a cancer diagnosis, I try to approach them with sensitivity,
open-ness and honesty. Letting someone know that you’re there for them is
really important, but even more so, is respecting their wishes on the way in
which you might help them.
I often try to pass on the best
bits of advice I had from some close friends who work in the field of medicine.
Firstly, the importance of keeping your routines and daily rituals as normal as
humanly possible so as to not let cancer rule you. Another nugget of wisdom was
to take small steps, day by day, so that the enormity of it all doesn’t become
completely consuming. In my experience, the path you tread through cancer
treatment can be prone to a few detours on route and so taking small steps
forward gives you the flexibility to regroup.
One of my friends made me a
chocolate and Guinness cake because she knew I had an iron deficiency. She
didn’t ring the bell – just left it on the doorstep, disappeared and texted. It
was a wonderful heartfelt act of kindness, and the cake was delicious! Others
sent cards, letters, magazines and books as extensions of their bonds.
Receiving these gifts in such a quiet way was such a genuine gesture of friendship.
And whilst it’s never easy
trying to get the right balance and stay tuned to the changing moods of someone
you care for, it’s always worth remembering that you can just ask ‘if’ and
‘how’ you may be able to help them. There is no doubt in my mind that they will
thank you for letting them lead the way.
‘See the Colour in the Clouds’
by Stefanie Sixsmith
– Autobiography and Memoir
Published 30th November 2021 by Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®
Available to buy from:
www.austinmacauley.com/book/see-colour-clouds
Also available from: Amazon.co.uk. Amazon.com Waterstones Barnes & Noble
and other retailers.
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