Focusing on the Big Picture

           As I travel the cancer and mental illness journey, I have discovered that often the big picture gets lost.  When different aspects of my illnesses demand my attention, I forget that I am still alive and functioning.  I don’t do this on purpose.  It just happens.

            My depression and anxiety have taken a downturn in recent weeks.  I am struggling.  I recognize that it is my mental illness.  The low mood and constant feelings of panic are not who I am.  They are manifestations of my mental illness.  I find myself withdrawing into myself.  I fight to get myself out of my house, even though I know I do better when I get myself to the Coffee Bean to write.  I try to talk back to the thoughts that tell me I can’t continue.  My response is weak, and I wonder if my mind even notices my words. 

            The anxiety that consumes me is obsessed with test results and every pain I feel.  It tells me the cancer is getting worse.  The anxiety tells me I am not going to survive.  I try not to listen, but its voice is so loud.  Anxiety tells me that when I don’t hear from my oncologist or my primary it is because the news is bad.  A nurse tells me that the results are okay, and I immediately wonder what that means and question it.  Anxiety sucks.  

            In my head the pain over my liver means the cancer has returned.  The rash on my abdomen must mean something is wrong.  The pain and discoloration on my nails must mean something is wrong.  My oncologist said two of these are nothing to worry about.  I haven’t asked her about the rash.  Despite her words, fear persists in my head.  I can’t make it stop.  

This is the battle that comes with having cancer and mental illness.  Each of these illnesses is difficult on their own.  Together the intensity of that difficulty is almost unbearable.   I struggle to remember that my last scans were good.  I question the bloodwork because I see one of the numbers increasing.  My primary’s nurse tells me one of the tests indicates perimenopause.  I don’t know what that means or what is next, but I hesitate to ask.  It leaves me with so many questions.  

I know I need to focus on the fact that my oncologist says I am doing well.  My mental health team says the TMS will start to work, and my depression will soon lift.  On one level I believe them.  On another level, I am scared as hell.  

In the big picture, I am alive.  Yes, I have many health concerns.  I need to receive treatments frequently.  I must take care of my health, take medications, and receive therapy.  But again, in the big picture, I am alive.  

None of this is easy.  Often, I want to ask questions of my health care team but can’t figure out how to formulate the questions.  Other times, I know what I want to ask, but I feel stupid asking.  I worry that I am wasting their time.  When I reach out to their nurses with questions or concerns, I worry that they are tired of hearing from me.  I know much of this stems from my mental illness.  It controls my thoughts.  Knowing this doesn’t make it any easier.  Every day is a battle.  

Talking to my mental health team helps.  Attending the cancer support group lets me know I am not alone. Friends and family help, but I don’t want to burden them. These are my illnesses to bear.  It’s the in between times that are so difficult to face alone.  I can see the big picture, but so much gets in the way.  I know I need to keep taking steps forward. Sometimes I don’t know how.  The big picture becomes blurry, and I need help refocusing. Living with illness colors my life.  I need reminders that in the big picture I am still here. I am not lying in a hospital bed or worse, in a coffin.  I have the ability to fight.  I have the support I need to battle my illnesses.  I need to remember that.  The big picture needs to be my focus.