Dear Family and Friends,

It’s Friday morning in Juneau, Alaska. Temperatures are still at 50 degrees however we hear from Detroit that they are melting at nearly 100 degrees! I guess weather wise we are in the right place.

I’ve now been without a hat or scarf (I didn’t bring the wig on this trip) for two days. I do get a lot of stares so I don’t think I can go without a head cover for a while. The hair length is still too short to go without notice – so much for that idea!

This laid back vacation has provided time to ponder in some depth my recent past and some of the reasons I reacted to cancer and the diagnosis the way I did as well as why I chose a certain treatment over another.

You know me well enough when I say that I’m not a philosopher. I don’t process my thoughts and feelings using a specific theory. In the 80’s, I taught the Simonton method to my patients. This method is a form of guided imagery and visualization used to stimulate immune response. One technique involved imaging the cancer cells away by seeing them as butter melting. I taught that method not because I thought it worked but because I wasn’t sure it didn’t work. It gave fearful patients a means of finding some internal control over the unknown. As I taught imaging, I spent time with each patient emphasizing that – “We don’t know how you are going to do with this cancer but for now we will assume you are going to survive.” For the cancer patient, spending too much time dwelling on the negative outcome can be depressing and makes it difficult for others to be with us.

In our Coping with Cancer book, we give some very specific instructions such as using a worry clock and setting time limits. For me personally, it just isn’t in my nature to spend time on the negative or the what if’s. I embrace a strenuous life. I grew up working hard and believing that I could do anything if I worked hard enough. Intelligence makes it easier but it is really all about discipline. This is probably why I’m so bothered by being forced to accept the unwelcome burden of weakness, fatigue and even the change in my pain tolerance.

The night I broke my arm I had a tremendous amount of pain but insisted it was nothing and would be better by morning. At first, I felt like vomiting and afterward I was chilled with the pain in my wrist which was constant and no relief in sight. Finally what seemed like several hours after the incident the chills subsided and I was able to get to sleep. Morning arrived and I found that if I didn’t move my wrist it didn’t hurt (much).

I went to breakfast and enjoyed not having to make it or do the dishes when I was done. An hour later Dima and I went to the spa for our scheduled manicure. David thought this idea was a bad one – I thought, “Why not?” I went with the plan that I would ask the nail technician to be careful with my wrist and it worked out okay. I had little additional pain and my nails were once again looking good. By the time we were done it was 10am and the infirmary was open so off we went to see the nurse. Her first words were, “It is broken.” She didn’t inquire or berate me for my delay in coming in but she verbalized the words I’ve been missing since the cancer diagnosis – “You must have a high pain tolerance to have gone through the night with a broken wrist and no pain medications!” A high pain tolerance – YES!! That is me. I always thought I had a high pain tolerance. Like most women I judge my pain tolerance level on how I handled birthing children so I have had such a feeling of disconnect since the cancer diagnosis. If you recall, the needles would come toward me and I’d immediately have an anticipatory response of instant pain. What a wimp I’d become!

This experience on the ship has given me hope. I am strong again. I do have a pain tolerance. I can handle this and other things like I did in the past. I’m wondering now if other cancer patients have experienced this as well. Dima said her mother could always handle pain but she just couldn’t handle the chemotherapy infusions. Why is that? Do we have a sense of helplessness and a feeling of being victimized? Is there something we can do to increase our pain threshold during treatment? I don’t know the answer yet. I need time to think through this and learn from others whether or not they too have had this experience. How long did it take to feel strong again? How long to get the pain tolerance back?

I’ll stop my thoughts for now and turn to the day’s activity – whale watching.

Prayers and thoughts are with you.

Love,

Veronica