That wasn't something I'd noticed during Mom's treatment and I didn't address it in Mom's Cancer, but as I thought about it I realized my correspondent was right. Most patients' chemo was done on a regular schedule so you tended to see the same people every session. Mom's peers included an annoying loudmouth that Mom prayed wouldn't sit next to her and a young Hispanic woman who always switched the television to Spanish-language soap opera. In a situation so frightening and uncertain, it was impossible not to compare and compete: Who went bald first. Who got fat or thin. Who looked better or worse. Who stopped showing up at all. "Winning" meant living.
I thought this was a great insight and considered adding a new chapter to the book about it. But since I hadn't noticed it in my own family's experience I had a hard time writing about it, making it "real," and fitting it into the flow of the story around it. I couldn't figure out how to express this abstract, internalized concept in drawings. I couldn't make it work.
Instead, I drew a new spot illustration that I thought touched on the idea, and hoped that we might use it to fill out the book's page count. It turned out that 128 pages filled up faster than I expected and the new drawing wasn't needed. So that's the story behind this never-to-be-published piece:
3 comments:
FYI-- During chemo your Momma was very competitve and would even make comments on who's head looked better bald--It's true!
Rehab really brought out the true competitor in her though.
Often she would try to compare her progress to others. She would say things like, "At least I have a chance of getting better, I just can't move my right leg... did you see that person in the activity room?"
A little game she would play was to not share what ailment she was suffering from rather, she'd let strangers guess away. Guess she got tired of being pigeon-holed. In her defense, it was a long-winded explanation how someone in lung cancer remission could have mobility problems.
I remember her getting really down one day when a physical therapy assistant had commented that Mom wasn't "progressing like the some of the other people do". I said something like, "Oh really, how many other cancer survivors with mets to the brain & lyphatic system, 2 1/2 years post treatment, had her therapist taken care of that day? Her head shot up and the twinkle in her eyes was back. "Oh ya, no kidding, I forgot I am a living miracle".
She was never prouder than when she won a pair of purple shoelaces when she beat everyone else in BLACKJACK! Clearly they didn't know who they were up against!
XO,
Nurse Sis
Lynne, Thanks for the insight. I really appreciate your perspective and suspect you speak for a lot of people. Sis, you should write a book.
Wonderful drawing, Brian (love "Mom's" sidelong sizing-up of her fellow patients) and wonderful story, Nurse Sis.
And Lynne... it is amazing to me that I continue to learn something significant and new from "Mom's" story and its ripple effects at least once every few days. Your comments are a BIG part of that process - thank you!
ronnie
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