I’m bastardizing this title from another Medium post by an acquaintance of mine, Kaethe Weingarten. Her title was Nine Practices to Cope with a Looming Catastrophe. The title had integrity for her. She and her husband have suffered more health crises than I expect ever to come near. Yet, I find her nine practices helpful to me in my own physical and psychological issues.
Here they are:
Practice One: Is there something I can do now to prepare for the future?
Practice Two: Is Something Happening Right Now?
Practice Three: Is Now a Good Time to Fully Absorb New Information?
Practice Four: What is Sky, What is Clouds?
Practice Five: What Really Matters?
Practice Six: What Are the High Cards in My Deck?
Practice Seven: What “Sticks” Will Help?
Practice Eight: How Useful is This Story?
Practice Nine: Why NOT Me?
Practice One: Is there something I can do now to prepare for the future? Until recently the future, my future, extended indefinitely. At 77 I didn’t expect to live forever, of course. But like many relatively healthy and active older adults, I assumed that I could keep doing what I wanted to do and keep having satisfying experiences and relationships for at least 10 more years. I didn’t think about my future much unless it was to plan the next trip or the next course I wanted to teach other older adults. Consideration of that future changed drastically with the removal of a small red lump on my right shoulder.
Without boring you with too many insignificant details, the aftermath of that relatively simple procedure pointed to a renewed need to address my usually invisible leukemia. The medication chosen by my oncologist caused more serious health issues due to its side-effects. My future looks a lot more complicated than it did six months ago. Is there something I can do now to prepare for a future that includes long-term use of specialty medications for both cancer and heart disease?
I have sought information from my cardiologist, my oncologist and my primary care physician. I have made contact with a clinic that helps patients navigate their own needs and their possible futures based on various priorities. I have decided to start taking a new cancer medication if my fifth CT Scan of the year shows renewed growth of the lymph nodes in my chest. My cardiologist tells me that if I do this(even at a lower dose than my prior medication), the heart issues will be exacerbated. “But don’t worry,” he further says, “your heart is strong and can withstand the issues caused by the cancer drug.” Thanks, I think?
While still in information gathering mode, I also find that my emotional stability is unpredictable. I get irrationally angry at a computer program. I whine that my husband is not doing enough for me. Friends come for lunch and I barely keep the lid on, but as soon as they leave, I’m weeping.
A friend called after reading my prior post about looming catastrophe, and wanted me to know that she had had a similar emotional response to surgery three years ago. She cried while watching fairly innocuous television programs. She raged at other drivers on the freeway near her home. Her doctor diagnosed her condition as having post traumatic stress disorder. Would it be easier for me if I also self-identified as having PTSD? I don’t think so. It’s enough to have heard from this friend that what I’m feeling is “normal,” under my circumstances.
I’ve written back to my cardiologist and asked what he recommends if not the cancer drug I was taking. I’ve updated my primary care physician on my contact with Mettle Health, the clinic outside of my healthcare system, and have talked with one of their counselors. I’ve asked my primary care doc for a referral to Kaiser’s palliative care team and to a social worker who can help me find part-time domestic help. So, I’m not doing anything more today.
For the remainder of THIS day, and to prepare for the future, I’ll pick up Vietnamese sandwiches for lunch (yum), and sit in my backyard reading Obama’s 700 page memoir. And I will not catastrophize (until maybe tomorrow).
