Anger squeezes out
Two years ago cancer claimed my health, work, independence, home, and threatened my future. I grieved for all those things, a process which has turned out to be much more lengthy than the treatment for the cancer.
Apparently there are five components to our reaction to catastrophic news: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. It is not a linear process, a person may not experience all five, they may feel several at once, and even flip back and forth between them.
The major components for me have been anger and depression. Depression focuses the mind inwards, to dwell on past events and the unfairness of life. Anger squeezes out in unanticipated ways.
With all the crappy aspects of my life I feel I deserve a break in other areas, to balance the scales: the flexible work arrangement that allows me to live in Leeds; sitting in a priority seat on the bus so I don't have to shoulder my rucksack longer than absolutely necessary; the holiday I was entitled to accrue while I was off sick; a small shopping trolley at the supermarket; people giving me a wide enough berth that they don't bang into the lymphedema arm.
The trouble is that I feel angrily defensive over these small concessions. For instance, while no one might question my use of a priority seat on the bus, I stand ready to argue my special need. If someone comments on the amount of vacation time I have coming I itch to tell them "well I'd happily gift you the holiday time, if you'd like to take the cancer too." This is how the anger has been manifesting.
Over the last month I've noticed my mood has been lifting, and my focus is shifting away from the past. I can chart my progress by my blog entries, reading back over my more angst ridden blog entries I can see just how far I've come.
Many of the labels I'd used in categorising my posts (illness, cancer, chemo, brca1, lymphedema, anxiety, coping strategy) no longer felt appropriate. The cool green colour scheme and images related to cancer (a photo of yew leaves from which the chemo drug taxotere is made; a diagram of the lymphatic system; a diagram of the milk glands of the breast; the structure of the brca1 protein; an image of a metastasising cancer cell) seemed overly heavy. So I've given the colours, images and labels a makeover in what was a curiously cathartic process.
I believe I've reached a turning point, and that maybe I've reached the acceptance stage.
I'm calm, happy and relaxed.
I can only hope it lasts.
Apparently there are five components to our reaction to catastrophic news: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. It is not a linear process, a person may not experience all five, they may feel several at once, and even flip back and forth between them.
The major components for me have been anger and depression. Depression focuses the mind inwards, to dwell on past events and the unfairness of life. Anger squeezes out in unanticipated ways.
With all the crappy aspects of my life I feel I deserve a break in other areas, to balance the scales: the flexible work arrangement that allows me to live in Leeds; sitting in a priority seat on the bus so I don't have to shoulder my rucksack longer than absolutely necessary; the holiday I was entitled to accrue while I was off sick; a small shopping trolley at the supermarket; people giving me a wide enough berth that they don't bang into the lymphedema arm.
The trouble is that I feel angrily defensive over these small concessions. For instance, while no one might question my use of a priority seat on the bus, I stand ready to argue my special need. If someone comments on the amount of vacation time I have coming I itch to tell them "well I'd happily gift you the holiday time, if you'd like to take the cancer too." This is how the anger has been manifesting.
Over the last month I've noticed my mood has been lifting, and my focus is shifting away from the past. I can chart my progress by my blog entries, reading back over my more angst ridden blog entries I can see just how far I've come.
Many of the labels I'd used in categorising my posts (illness, cancer, chemo, brca1, lymphedema, anxiety, coping strategy) no longer felt appropriate. The cool green colour scheme and images related to cancer (a photo of yew leaves from which the chemo drug taxotere is made; a diagram of the lymphatic system; a diagram of the milk glands of the breast; the structure of the brca1 protein; an image of a metastasising cancer cell) seemed overly heavy. So I've given the colours, images and labels a makeover in what was a curiously cathartic process.
I believe I've reached a turning point, and that maybe I've reached the acceptance stage.
I'm calm, happy and relaxed.
I can only hope it lasts.
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