As much as my experience with chemotherapy is better than I imagined it might be, this journey comes with its ups and downs that can be exhausting in their own right. It’s surprising what can upset your equilibrium.
It dawned on me that it’s been six months since I was diagnosed. Somehow there’s symmetry in that happening during Uterine Cancer Awareness month. And as time passes, I’m starting to recognize the triggers that impact my sense of equilibrium. I won’t say I’ve begun to process it all, since it very much is still a day-by-day ‘work the problem’ experience. Everything is still new, even when you think you know what to expect.
This chemo cycle has repeated the pattern of the first. It is both reassuring and challenging at the same time. Was the bone pain I experienced this time actually worse than the first cycle? Or was it simply knowing that it was coming that threw me? I’ve made a note to talk with my oncologist when I see her next week about pain management. It’s only 2-3 days, but this cycle definitely felt like something stronger than Tylenol would have helped for that part of this experience. Unlike gutting it out in the last stretch of a race, when your legs are screaming at you to stop, when it comes to cancer treatment, there is no prize for suffering.
And as much as I enjoyed watching Malindi Elmore take the Canadian 10k championship in Ottawa last weekend, it had me in my head wondering if I’d get to toe the line again at my favourite race. I know I will, but when I tuned in last Saturday, it seemed far off on the horizon. I’ve made it a goal to get back to Ottawa next May. What distance is an open question, but being on the 2025 start line will feel like an accomplishment.
Racing aside, it is the subtler things that stick. I’ve been working hard to be mindful of my nutrition and pay attention to body composition. I take heart that my weight is mostly stable and my muscle mass has remained constant. So a friend’s habit of asking whether I’ve lost weight when she sees me is an unwelcome trigger. I know she means well, and it comes from a place of care, but I’d rather her concern be for how I’m feeling versus commenting on my body.
In the same way, while I’m grateful that my chemo side effects don’t prevent me from moving my body, it is not ‘like you haven’t had chemo,’ as that same friend has a habit of saying. Because what chemo looks like in my reality isn’t what others (or even I) imagined before I started, doesn’t mean it doesn’t take its toll mentally and emotionally. Much as I might wish for it, there isn’t a day when having cancer doesn’t inform pretty much everything about how I move through the day — what I eat, how I interact with people, whether and how I socialize, how much sleep I get (or try to.) In this context, being able to lace up my shoes is one of my best ways to turn off my brain, find connection with the earth beneath my feet, and re-center my world.
And then there are the practicalities of navigating life as a cancer patient.
Before I was diagnosed, a routine blood panel during my annual check up showed I was unreactive to Hep A and Hep B — even though I had been fully vaccinated years earlier as part of my regular travel vaccine updates. The Canadian Cancer Society has a good overview of how your status as a cancer patient may impact your vaccine schedules. While not required, it was recommended I update these, and I had the first two doses of Twinrix before I started treatment.
It was when I scheduled my third and final dose that I discovered it isn’t as easy as going to my closest pharmacy where I normally get my shots. My pharmacist explained because cancer patients are covered by the Quebec immunization program, I should go to my closest CLSC, or talk to the pharmacy at my clinic to see if I could get the vaccine with my next scheduled infusion. Sounds easy, right? Not so much.
I started with the pharmacy at my clinic. No dice, since they only stock oncology meds. Then I tried my nearest CLSC, which is when things got really interesting. The province describes the role of CLSCs as ‘to provide routine, front-line health and social services to the people of the territory they serve.’ Sounds simple.
Long before the pandemic, Quebec’s healthcare service delivery was already in trouble. The shortage of family doctors in the province puts additional strain on CLSCs and emergency rooms. But that isn’t an excuse for poor service design for routine requests like vaccines — even when as a cancer patient you are a little bit of an outlier. This process is comical when I look back on it, but in the moment it was exasperating.
It took me three attempts — and getting stuck in phone tree loops more than once — before a human took pity on me and gave me the direct line to call to make my vaccine appointment. I was surprised I couldn’t make an appointment at my clinic and instead was referred to the closest Vaccine Service Point. So instead of a 10 minute walk to the clinic, it was a 45 minute metro ride (as an immunocompromised person, this makes no sense) only to discover when I got there that they only had adult doses of Hep B and I would need to figure out how to get the corresponding Hep A vaccine to complete my update.
Back to the phone tree and I repeated the experience of trying to unravel the best way to get through the tangled messaging. Again, I stumbled on a human who had some empathy and transferred me to a nurse, where I could leave a message on her voicemail. When she phoned me back two days later, I was able to make an appointment, only after being assessed for a second time and asked to bring paper copies of my chemo schedule plus proof that my bloodwork showed I was non-responsive to Hep A and B. This is unnecessary since both are available in my online portal which she can access as a health professional.
All this is to say that the trauma of navigating life as a cancer patient often has nothing to do directly with your disease — I’m confident in my care team and feel positive about the outcome of treatment — but rather everything to do with systems that can, and should, be overhauled to offer anyone a better experience as they manage their own health journey.
I’m over it now, but the two days lost last week to vaccine chaos had me on edge and in tears on more than one occasion, neither of which are my default. Both tell me about the trauma I know is my reality, but I keep it safely compartmentalized most of the time — otherwise the level of ‘overwhelm’ would derail my ability to navigate daily demands of just living my life.
It is why my running habit is so important to me. Regardless of whether my pace is what I want it to be, or if I default to run/walk intervals on easy runs, moving my body is the tool that best lets me ground myself and restore my equilibrium.
So far, this cycle, there’s been more walking than running, and I’ve noticed that I get tired faster on interval work. But in general, my running has stayed with me. I work out 4-5 days/week, usually for 30-45 minutes, and my base remains between 10-15 miles/week. I’ve acquired a new default that I call ‘podcast pace’ as I cycle through Nobody Asked Us, I’ll Have Another, and the Ali On the Run Show. For now, running by feel while listening to these women catch me up on what is unfolding in the running community works.
PS: Women’s running, and women commentators on our sport, are having a moment that is worth celebrating. Maybe more on that in another post.
Running from hysteria 
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