Fish Farts

     Both of my chemo regimens involved the platinum drugs, like carboplatin and cisplatin. One of the many side effects of this class of toxic drugs can be ringing in the ear, or tinnitis. I have developed  this weird tinnitis, like a clicking sound. When I reported this to my oncologist, he smiled slightly, shook his head and said "I don't know about that". I have struggled to describe this sound. Today I found a video that has the exact sound. My tinnitis sounds like fish farts. Seriously, I hear fish farts.

I wonder if this will make the medical literature?

Return to Wholeness

My recovery from cancer treatment is complex. I struggle daily with medical issues from lingering side effects of chemotherapy. I take massive amounts of basic electrolytes to maintain normal blood levels. I shuffle around on numb feet. I regularly attend a cancer support group to learn from others and maybe to help others. I see a psychologist to help myself integrate what has happened to me with what I will become. I go to physical therapy to rebuild my wrecked body. I rely on interaction with friends and family to help me return to society. I don't work yet, hell, I can't really walk yet. I do all of these things in faith that I am recovering, a little bit every day.

But I am feeling schizoid. I have divided my online transmissions into sectors. I blog about books on LiveJournal. I update my medical progress on Pharmgirll Wire. I tweet. I blog here about my state of mind. I post on Flickr. I post crafty things in Creation Corner. I post food in Kathy's Kitchen. (I like alliteration.) I journal on Inspire. Mostly, I update on Facebook. I started all these different areas as a means to avoid boring you. I realize now that I have been presenting only one facet of myself on each site. A fractured facet, if you will.

Recovery is about returning to wholeness. Trauma fractures you. (what..too soon?) I am striving to find wholeness in my life. I am ultimately looking for purpose and reason, but I will settle for being whole, not only physically, but also emotionally and spiritually. Not that I know how to do that, yet. I am going to propel myself a few steps down that path by consolidating my profiles. My day to day life will leak onto these pages. Now that I am thinking about it, that is exactly how recovery can work. Each day can bring a little bit of normalcy, a little less about cancer and a little bit more about cooking and crochet. That sounds nice.

The C-Train

I read a blogpost today in which the writer described having cancer as taking a train. The train moves forward whether you are ready or not. You might want to stop and get off, but you cannot.  If you have a moment to look out the window, you will see the world whizzing past you. Most likely you will only notice this when the train stops for a moment, affording you a break. The car  is always full. People get off and  new people get on, so the car is always full.

I love the analogy of the train ride. I imagine the "C-train". I see a car full of people, some standing and holding those overhead straps. The buzz of conversation is loud. Then the train lurches and everyone falls silent for a moment, remembering that we are all riding the C-train and it's moving forward...again.  We look around and catch each other's eyes for just a moment, just long enough to recognize the solemnity and the fear of the moment. Then we all resume, the buzz of conversation building again. We might have been interrupted, but we will continue.