Report from the wee sma's

It's been a rough week; the pain has me up very early each morning, pacing around my kitchen (I'm afraid if I pace on the hardwood floors I'll wake up my neighbours; the walls are pretty thin). During the early part of the day, the pain is often manageable, especially if I walk around (what a difference from the spring!) But as the day wears on, it becomes unbearable. I am swallowing Tylenol 3s like candy, and I gave in and restarted the Naproxen. Tonight I had lots of stomach complaints, too, not surprisingly. Felt pretty rotten.

It's 3:15 a.m. right now. I always thought that an inability to sleep because of cancer pain would be my worst nightmare. It's bad enough losing sleep and being in pain, but I dreaded the loneliness and fear that could rear their heads in the silent darkness. But I'm finding it almost calming to be awake at this time. I guess it's because during the day, despite not working, I always feel busy and pressured; at night, aside from sleeping, there's nothing I need to be doing, so I feel more relaxed. And I know I don't have to perform in the morning, so I'm not panicked. It's a time for reflection, as well, and a time to savour being alive, oddly enough. So even when the pain subsides, I can still be found at this hour doing crossword puzzles or reading The New Yorker or meditating in the dark. Of course, if the pain doesn't subside, I get pretty cross.

I believe I've mentioned in this space the blog of Tasha Westerman, a spirited and generous woman in Calgary who is living with a triple whammy: she has breast cancer, her husband has brain cancer and her best friend has leukemia. And she has a small son. She is in the news a bit for her involvement with Rethink Breast Cancer, the charity that targets younger people. Anyway, her husband is being kept alive by the drug Avastin, which is costing them a fortune, and people have been donating money to keep him going. If you're interested in what seems like a worthwhile charity effort, here's Ryan's blog with details on how to contribute.

Sometimes I feel sorry for myself because I don't have children or a husband to see me through this, but sometimes I think it would be worse if I had to worry about leaving a family behind, especially little ones.

Pollyanna moments:
Hmmm...

• Got to babysit young Natalie for a short while last night and found I was thankful I don't have to practice long division on a regular basis!
• Read Dr. Robert Buckman's autobiography, Not Dead Yet, which was only moderately funny; still, I nearly wet myself reading his account of his first time attending a birth, during which he was called upon to translate the senior physician's words into Italian, despite only rudimentary knowledge of Italian. Buckman's shtick is using humour to help one live with illness, and as I clutched my poor middle with one hand while his book was in the other, I hoped my laughter was helping me in the long term even though it hurt like the devil in the short term.