An upshot of my cancer specific counseling is the discovery of my unerring belief that the disease is out to get me. The whole thing since diagnosis has felt personal; ridiculous as it might sound to you, it strikes me that cancer came for me deliberately and determinedly, on a mission to take me down along with so many of my loved ones. I can’t shake this – however hard I try.
It has become clear that I have given cancer – not just my cancer but all cancer – human traits and qualities; none of them particularly good ones. I do wonder how much of this comes from campaigns like the Race for Life – Cancer We’re Coming To Get You, Jog On Cancer, Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman In Pink – because it’s provided me with that feeling of an enemy to focus my anger on.
Up until I was diagnosed it felt like cancer was the common enemy, but after diagnosis I knew that was all just lip service. Sure we can all ‘fight’ cancer, but how many of us have to live through, with and after it? Where’s your fight and your pink and your face paint now when I’m crying in the bath every morning wondering how I’ll make it to the end of the day? That particular fight got up and left.
Cancer is not like having a cold. You don’t just get better. You don’t just stop having cancer because the gift it bestows is the grim longevity of fear. I might never have to face cancer again in my life but no doctor can tell me that. All they can tell you is to be vigilant, to examine, check and check again. And then the paranoia kicks in. Is it a lump? Is it scar tissue? Is it a dimple? And so it goes on.
I’ve talked about the paranoid thoughts before a bit and I’m annoyed to say they haven’t got any better; in fact they’ve got considerably worse. There is something I seem to be able to link this to – Tamoxifen. Tamoxifen is vital to my recovery because my cancer is estrogen responsive. This is – according to Google – how it works:
To grow and reproduce, breast cancer cells require the female hormone estrogen. Tamoxifen is an "anti-estrogen" and works by competing with estrogen to bind to estrogen receptors in breast cancer cells. Tamoxifen is formally known as a selective estrogen receptor modulator.
In layman’s terms it stops the cancer cells from sticking. Kind of. This is what Google says about the side effects:
The most common are menopausal symptoms including hot flashes, vaginal dryness, low libido, mood swings, and nausea.
Lucky me.
There is a much more comprehensive list at http://www.drugs.com/sfx/tamoxifen-side-effects.html which includes some real gems such as feeling sad or empty, discouragement, stomach cramps, dizziness, and confusion. Of course it’s nice to be warned about these things but there’s one thing not written down in those lists; Tamoxifen is a monstrous drug and it will change how you look, think, feel, act, eat and sleep. This, coupled with the monstrous mental health legacy left by cancer is, simply put, a recipe for disaster. So does it really take a monster to kill a monster?
I’m not a scientist, I can’t answer that, but I am going to go and speak to my oncologist about whether or not there’s an alternative to Tamoxifen, because the monsters being created in my mind by this heady mix have pretty much reached saturation point.
I’ve had several Tamoxifen Rages (that is actually a thing, here’s a link to just one of the blogs that mention it http://cancercrapness.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/tamoxifen-rage.html) and they’ve been getting steadily worse.
I spoke to my therapist about the feeling of being out of control and I think this is the thing that scares me the most. When I’m in one of these rages I become the monster, I can say anything, do anything, and I know I’m doing it but I cannot stop myself. I want to scream, kick, punch and yell. I don’t want anyone near me or with me or talking to me. I want to stop the world from turning and get the hell off it. In those rages, I want out.
There are so many monsters in my brain, too many, and one always begets another. Once, after a rage, every time I closed my eyes I heard new paranoias in my head and I said out loud every time I close my eyes there’s a new monster waiting for me. I might have hoped saying it out loud would make them go away, but it didn’t. I’m often hopeful that this time I can beat it, that this time will be the last one, but I don’t trust myself.
From the outside, everything is normal, from the inside I am trying desperately to fit myself into a shape I shall never belong in again. Sometimes it feels like the worst monster in all this is myself.
Then I come full circle; cancer’s out to get me, if it couldn’t take me down physically then it’ll take me down mentally, and there are some days – like yesterday – I think it might be easier just to let it. Then I have a day like today when I’ve been asked to do a feature for another website and my spirits are lifted and my confidence boosted. At the moment there aren’t enough days like this.
I can’t let the monsters win.
Follow me on Twitter if you fancy...
@Baldybitesback
It has become clear that I have given cancer – not just my cancer but all cancer – human traits and qualities; none of them particularly good ones. I do wonder how much of this comes from campaigns like the Race for Life – Cancer We’re Coming To Get You, Jog On Cancer, Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman In Pink – because it’s provided me with that feeling of an enemy to focus my anger on.
Up until I was diagnosed it felt like cancer was the common enemy, but after diagnosis I knew that was all just lip service. Sure we can all ‘fight’ cancer, but how many of us have to live through, with and after it? Where’s your fight and your pink and your face paint now when I’m crying in the bath every morning wondering how I’ll make it to the end of the day? That particular fight got up and left.
Cancer is not like having a cold. You don’t just get better. You don’t just stop having cancer because the gift it bestows is the grim longevity of fear. I might never have to face cancer again in my life but no doctor can tell me that. All they can tell you is to be vigilant, to examine, check and check again. And then the paranoia kicks in. Is it a lump? Is it scar tissue? Is it a dimple? And so it goes on.
I’ve talked about the paranoid thoughts before a bit and I’m annoyed to say they haven’t got any better; in fact they’ve got considerably worse. There is something I seem to be able to link this to – Tamoxifen. Tamoxifen is vital to my recovery because my cancer is estrogen responsive. This is – according to Google – how it works:
To grow and reproduce, breast cancer cells require the female hormone estrogen. Tamoxifen is an "anti-estrogen" and works by competing with estrogen to bind to estrogen receptors in breast cancer cells. Tamoxifen is formally known as a selective estrogen receptor modulator.
In layman’s terms it stops the cancer cells from sticking. Kind of. This is what Google says about the side effects:
The most common are menopausal symptoms including hot flashes, vaginal dryness, low libido, mood swings, and nausea.
Lucky me.
There is a much more comprehensive list at http://www.drugs.com/sfx/tamoxifen-side-effects.html which includes some real gems such as feeling sad or empty, discouragement, stomach cramps, dizziness, and confusion. Of course it’s nice to be warned about these things but there’s one thing not written down in those lists; Tamoxifen is a monstrous drug and it will change how you look, think, feel, act, eat and sleep. This, coupled with the monstrous mental health legacy left by cancer is, simply put, a recipe for disaster. So does it really take a monster to kill a monster?
I’m not a scientist, I can’t answer that, but I am going to go and speak to my oncologist about whether or not there’s an alternative to Tamoxifen, because the monsters being created in my mind by this heady mix have pretty much reached saturation point.
I’ve had several Tamoxifen Rages (that is actually a thing, here’s a link to just one of the blogs that mention it http://cancercrapness.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/tamoxifen-rage.html) and they’ve been getting steadily worse.
I spoke to my therapist about the feeling of being out of control and I think this is the thing that scares me the most. When I’m in one of these rages I become the monster, I can say anything, do anything, and I know I’m doing it but I cannot stop myself. I want to scream, kick, punch and yell. I don’t want anyone near me or with me or talking to me. I want to stop the world from turning and get the hell off it. In those rages, I want out.
There are so many monsters in my brain, too many, and one always begets another. Once, after a rage, every time I closed my eyes I heard new paranoias in my head and I said out loud every time I close my eyes there’s a new monster waiting for me. I might have hoped saying it out loud would make them go away, but it didn’t. I’m often hopeful that this time I can beat it, that this time will be the last one, but I don’t trust myself.
From the outside, everything is normal, from the inside I am trying desperately to fit myself into a shape I shall never belong in again. Sometimes it feels like the worst monster in all this is myself.
Then I come full circle; cancer’s out to get me, if it couldn’t take me down physically then it’ll take me down mentally, and there are some days – like yesterday – I think it might be easier just to let it. Then I have a day like today when I’ve been asked to do a feature for another website and my spirits are lifted and my confidence boosted. At the moment there aren’t enough days like this.
I can’t let the monsters win.
Follow me on Twitter if you fancy...
@Baldybitesback