Orientation

Orientation.  I've had a couple of those in my life.  One for when I went to college.  One when I started a new job.  I would even consider taking a class on having a baby for the first time a type of orientation.  I can honestly say all of those orientations were a bit cheesy, a bit ridiculous, and really did nothing to prepare me for the real thing (ie CHILDBIRTH).

On Thursday of this last week, Jeremy and I went to what we have dubbed "cancer orientation."  We went to the hospital's cancer care center and there we were given a tour of the place that will be my home for 3 hours a day, Monday-Friday, for the next four weeks starting tomorrow (gulp).  Before going, I pictured this experience to be a lot similar to when Jeremy and I went to this same hospital to take a class on having a baby.  I pictured a room full of chairs with couples sitting in them all a little nervous and anxious to hear what was going to be shared with us.  I pictured the person giving the orientation to be dry and not really wanting to be there but had to because it was their job. My expectations were extremely low and since my dad passed away from colon cancer 11 years ago, I also felt I knew everything already from his battle with cancer.  Plus, I went with my dad once when they gave him chemo.  Really - what more could they share with me?  I felt I knew and experienced everything.

I WAS WRONG.

First of all, there were only four of us in this class.  Me, my husband, another cancer patient and her very close friend.  The nurse in charge of this orientation ushered us into this room that looked and felt like a cozy living room with very comfortable chairs (not the folding kind, but like a real to honest, sink my booty into and read a good book for hours chair).  The nurse left to get us some refreshments and all four of us immediately, I felt, became instant friends.  The other cancer patient asked me what cancer I had and we exchanged our information - Me: Melanoma.  Her: Breast Cancer.  I introduced my husband and she introduced her friend. We were all a little nervous but were able to find humor in our situations as well.

Our nurse came back and she sat down and began our "orientation."  There were no movies we had to suffer through or a script she had to follow or there were no role playing stuff either (I really hate that kind of stuff).  It was only her many years of experience as a nurse in oncology that gave her the right to be our orientation leader.  Since my cancer treatment is different from my new friend's cancer treatment, our nurse took turns addressing us specifically on what we can expect from start to finish with our treatments.  While she talked to my new friend about her treatment, I would ask questions about it.  When she would talk to me about my treatment, my new friend would ask questions that I didn't think about asking about what I could expect as well.

We were suddenly a team and I LOVED IT.  Since being diagnosed with stage 3 melanoma, there has been a little part of me that felt alone.  Just a little part.  Rather minuscule.  Actually, until that "orientation" I never labeled that feeling in me as feeling "alone."  I am surrounded by an amazing family - immediate and extended and all my in-laws are wonderful - and amazing friends - old and new, ones that live close by and ones that live far away.  I have never felt alone in that sense.  Those people are here for me when I need to vent, cry and attempt to explain how I feel.  And to just hug me or make me laugh or let me make them laugh.  I am incredibly blessed.  Really, REALLY blessed.

But our nurse shared with us what that "alone" feeling was.  At least for me.  She said what were going through was a "loss."  A loss of predictability, a loss of time, even a loss of self.  She told us it was normal and it was a sense of grief.  And to let ourselves grieve.  I think as a whole, we grieve for the most part when someone we care and love have passed away.  That is one of the ultimate losses in our lives.  But, when our nurse used the world "loss" I felt all the pieces fall into place and a burden was lifted off of me.

I do feel a loss.  I had plans.  I was diagnosed in April while still in school.  I remember going to Chemistry that very day, an hour after finding out I had cancer and all I could do was sit there in class and repeat in my head, "Oh my gosh.  I have cancer.  I have a very aggressive cancer." over and over again. There was a loss of 50 minutes of Chemistry (I admit - to some that may not have been a loss.  But I loved that class!).

My first surgery was in May and my recovery took about 3 weeks.  I couldn't walk.  I was in a lot of pain. And I didn't get to ride my bike with the kids to their school on their last day of school.  There was a loss of my physical self and the chance to hang out with my kids and celebrate their last day of school.

Because they found the cancer in my lymph node, I had to go in from 8 am - 3 pm to get a series of scans done (PET and CT).  No one wants to be at the clinic/hospital for a whole day.  Unless they are getting paid to be there.  Here, there was a loss of time.

Those scans were done on Wednesday.  We didn't find anything out until we met with our oncologist on Friday.  Those were the longest days of my life.  One of my main losses was sleep.  Jeremy too.  We spent lots of hours at night just talking about it.  Truth be told, I was scared.  I remembered what it was like when the oncologist came into my dad's hospital room and literally gave him a cap in his life.  3 months to 3 years was his life expectancy.  I DID NOT WANT THAT.  I didn't want to be that person.  I was already that other person who somehow attracted two different types of cancer.  But I wanted to LIVE.  I think it's safe to say I lost a little of my mind those couple of nights as well.

I could go on with my "losses" but I think you have the gist of it.  I am grieving.  I am feeling losses.  But that minuscule part of me that felt alone no longer feels alone.  Heavenly Father, God, the Big Guy up there, the Great Spirit - that one person a lot of us pray to and believe that he is there for us - anyway, I believe and know he takes care of me the best through other people.  And on Thursday of this week, it was through my new friend who is fighting her battle with breast cancer and the nurse who gave my feeling a label.  And that that feeling was mutual and normal.  And I love them for that.  Yay for orientation.