Yesterday I chatted with a nurse who told me about her son in the military, who had been to Afghanistan, and was now looking forward to coming home for Christmas. He was being de--?
"Debriefed?"
"No, de--. . ."
"De-stressed?"
"No, de-. . .de-. . ."
"Decompressed? "
"Well that's not it, but it's something like that."
Essentially, her son was training to be 'at home' again. Where you don't have to draw your gun if you hear a noise. Where your friends don't suddenly die in conflict. Where death is not an imminent possibility, or probability, of each day.
The USA military is now taking steps to ease Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Yay!
I heard on the radio a while ago that cancer patients also face post traumatic stress disorder. Sure, the stress is certainly not that which soldiers face. But we can see how it could be the same emotion.
For cancer, you go in, sign in, have body parts removed, undergo chemical attacks on your whole body system. Tough stuff, and emotionally-jarring, too. Pretty girls have their breasts removed. Cool guys have their prostate under the knife. Sorry, that leg has to go. And would you like to sign up for an additional chemical trial?
Some cancer patients and caregivers take a pragmatic approach to cancer.
"Right-ho! Cancer! Gotta have surgery, and chemo, so be it. But we might as well use this experience to benefit all!"
And so they face cancer with not too much panic, but with good intentions, helpfulness, humor, prayer, good diet, exercise, whatever. Looking good. It's tough. It's a year of being sick, probably hairless. The family calls daily. Old friends resurface with cards and presents. People on the street see the bald head and offer hugs and prayers. Many cancer patients thrive on all of the goodness that their family and community gives. The impact is 10 times more than the effort, and we TOTALLY appreciate it and thrive because of the many levels of support!
But THEN the cancer goes away.
This is where the PTSD comes into play. . .
The Tumor is gone. The hair is back. The patient has readjusted her wardrobe/gait/sex life to accommodate the life-altering body changes that came with surgery.
No-one on the street sees this new (yet quietly weakened) self as a cancer patient. They think she's just a little slow-moving.
Friends are pleased that you're better, family has ceased to book plane tickets to visit now that you're not about to die. The cards stop coming. Cancer's over.
Bye! Have a nice life!
Surviving cancer has a secret downside that nobody talks about. It's like going to the hospital to have a baby and you come back home without the baby, and you feel empty and crushed because you had totally restructured your life for no result. And even your family will not send congratulatory cards if there is no actual baby. You're done.
And so now you're expected to turn your life around in a complete revamp AGAIN to make it full of life when all you can think about is. . .
The good part is good. Soldiers come home.
But the bad part is that cancer patients can't just wake up one day and say "Oh, OK Everything is fine now so let's forget all about what happened."
We're still in the throes of this. . . we still need the support that we had when our needs were more obvious. Our entrails that were hacked out still leave scary shadows.
But when we go into remission, most of us can kiss our support group goodbye.
My friend just got through hubby-with-cancer. Her hubby survived quickly, but has decided to not ever mention cancer again, while my friend, as we figured out, is in PTSD.
"That's why I called," I said. "Once it's all done, that's when you REALLY need support!"
We talked about it. Does nobody realize that there are repercussions to the trauma of cancer?
"So how are you getting through this?" she asked.
"It's easy for me," I said, "because I'm back into chemo."
Love sending selfies to my supportive friends. . . is that dysfunctional?
"Debriefed?"
"No, de--. . ."
"De-stressed?"
"No, de-. . .de-. . ."
"Decompressed? "
"Well that's not it, but it's something like that."
Essentially, her son was training to be 'at home' again. Where you don't have to draw your gun if you hear a noise. Where your friends don't suddenly die in conflict. Where death is not an imminent possibility, or probability, of each day.
The USA military is now taking steps to ease Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Yay!
I heard on the radio a while ago that cancer patients also face post traumatic stress disorder. Sure, the stress is certainly not that which soldiers face. But we can see how it could be the same emotion.
For cancer, you go in, sign in, have body parts removed, undergo chemical attacks on your whole body system. Tough stuff, and emotionally-jarring, too. Pretty girls have their breasts removed. Cool guys have their prostate under the knife. Sorry, that leg has to go. And would you like to sign up for an additional chemical trial?
Some cancer patients and caregivers take a pragmatic approach to cancer.
"Right-ho! Cancer! Gotta have surgery, and chemo, so be it. But we might as well use this experience to benefit all!"
And so they face cancer with not too much panic, but with good intentions, helpfulness, humor, prayer, good diet, exercise, whatever. Looking good. It's tough. It's a year of being sick, probably hairless. The family calls daily. Old friends resurface with cards and presents. People on the street see the bald head and offer hugs and prayers. Many cancer patients thrive on all of the goodness that their family and community gives. The impact is 10 times more than the effort, and we TOTALLY appreciate it and thrive because of the many levels of support!
But THEN the cancer goes away.
This is where the PTSD comes into play. . .
The Tumor is gone. The hair is back. The patient has readjusted her wardrobe/gait/sex life to accommodate the life-altering body changes that came with surgery.
No-one on the street sees this new (yet quietly weakened) self as a cancer patient. They think she's just a little slow-moving.
Friends are pleased that you're better, family has ceased to book plane tickets to visit now that you're not about to die. The cards stop coming. Cancer's over.
Bye! Have a nice life!
Surviving cancer has a secret downside that nobody talks about. It's like going to the hospital to have a baby and you come back home without the baby, and you feel empty and crushed because you had totally restructured your life for no result. And even your family will not send congratulatory cards if there is no actual baby. You're done.
And so now you're expected to turn your life around in a complete revamp AGAIN to make it full of life when all you can think about is. . .
The good part is good. Soldiers come home.
But the bad part is that cancer patients can't just wake up one day and say "Oh, OK Everything is fine now so let's forget all about what happened."
We're still in the throes of this. . . we still need the support that we had when our needs were more obvious. Our entrails that were hacked out still leave scary shadows.
But when we go into remission, most of us can kiss our support group goodbye.
My friend just got through hubby-with-cancer. Her hubby survived quickly, but has decided to not ever mention cancer again, while my friend, as we figured out, is in PTSD.
"That's why I called," I said. "Once it's all done, that's when you REALLY need support!"
We talked about it. Does nobody realize that there are repercussions to the trauma of cancer?
"So how are you getting through this?" she asked.
"It's easy for me," I said, "because I'm back into chemo."
Love sending selfies to my supportive friends. . . is that dysfunctional?
And for a little more fun, follow this link to an ABBA song on You Tube. . .you know you want to.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S68Sc_SoelY&spfreload=10
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S68Sc_SoelY&spfreload=10
