Spring and summer are such rich times of year for adventures with family and friends, and we had a few stacked up for this year. But one of the first things I had to do when I got the diagnosis was to cancel all the plans.
First was the Sea Otter Classic – a century ride I was going to be doing in Monterey with old high school friends last weekend.
Then the invitation to camp out on a friend’s beautiful land in Big Sur for Easter weekend – Amy would have joined, but we had to wipe it off the table.
Most years, I get the generous invitation to go backpacking with my friend Ward – in Ventana Wilderness or elsewhere. Those plans hadn’t been set yet, but I was looking forward to it – off the table.
I usually make multiple trips to Morro Bay to spend time with my parents and explore the splendors of the Central Coast – now that’s completely on hold until late summer.
And then the big one – we had been planning a late-summer trip to Scotland – combination rail, driving, and hiking, that we were so looking forward to.
It’s not that I can’t do anything but sit around the house – it’s really three things:
- I can’t interrupt the 35-day chemo-radiation cycle even a little — I’ve got to be there every day. So nothing longer than a weekend is possible.
- What would happen if I had a medical problem and was away from my doctors and hospitals? What if I couldn’t get any emergency treatment at all? This is a bit subjective, but it just feels like now is not the time to be far from my doctors, or to be taking any unnecessary risks.
- There was no way to anticipate in advance how hard the treatment would be, what kind of shape it would leave me in at any point in time, or how long the painful recovery process would be.
So here I am today, feeling a strong sense of FOMO and sadness about missing the Big Sur camping weekend. Yeah, technically I could have been there and it probably would have been fine. But there’s more to it – the “chemo brain” is setting in more by the day, and I feel “thick” – my body is moving more slowly, I am thinking more slowly, and need lots of naps.
Somehow the idea of being surrounded by dozens of active, enthusiastic people in a hiking and party mood just doesn’t appeal right now. I need to be able to lay down for a spontaneous nap whenever the mood strikes. This is slow-down time. For now, I’m on the outside looking in.
I’m OK with the FOMO – I know it’s all in the service of a bigger picture – healing to the point of being able to enjoy these sorts of things for the rest of my life. It’s worth it.
Hi Scot, I went through all of those thoughts too. Being close to people who have colds, OMG, using Handy wipes at the gas pump. Not touching anything without hand sanitizer.
I left work early one night and stopped by the Post office, got my mail, got back in the truck and fell asleep for almost 3 hours. After that, I made the decision to leave work.
Everybody reacts differently. I had to go to the ER twice, so staying close is the thing to do.
Yes that’s a great point too, which I didn’t mention – we are immunocompromised during treatment, and need to be extra careful about exposure to crowds. Thanks for the reminder. The ER twice! Yikes that is sobering. Thanks for the supportive words.
The “unnecessary risks” comment made me make internal nervous laughter. I’ve engaged in that mode of living for the majority of my life knowing it will catch up to me in subtle and not so subtle ways. Your discipline today will pay off in years of camping trips in Big Sur and hiking parties tomorrow.
I hope you’re right! The alternative outcome is regret that I didn’t maximize every opportunity when I had the chance.
it’s like you’re an explorer or on a secret mission. there are sacrifices and danger but you will pull through and have stories to tell next summer around the campfire,
excited for you to do all those things next spring and you will so massively appreciate it all in a new way!
You and me both, sister!