I can't lie, this has been a rough week.

By Claire Pennline

I can't lie, this has been a rough week.  The side effects were more intense and more debilitating. I spent more time in bed unable to move because of nausea and pain; I threw up more often; my hair started falling out in great big handfuls. Eating was hit or miss and anti nausea meds don't work if you throw up right after you take them. 

Parenting like this is hard. So is watching my Mommy clean up her baby girl's emesis bags and chunks of hair. Not the experience you want to give to your parents at this stage in life. Cancer sucks.

But on Monday of this week, I was feeling pretty great.  The pattern has definitely shown that my body takes a beating and then works hard to get back to a good place.  And this experience reminds me of a chapter in one of my favorite books of all time, "Untamed" by Glennon Doyle.

In the chapter called Invaders she offers "five pro tips for those who live too high and too low". Tip #3 is "Take Notes" and she has this to say,

"When you start sinking into the gray, get out your phone or a notebook and write a few notes from your Down Self to your Up Self.  Write about how you feel right now. This does not need to be a novel, just a note.  Here is one of my notes from my Down Self:

It's all gray.

I can't feel.

I am all alone.

No one knows me.

I'm too tired to write any more.

...

When you sit down with the doctor, you don't need to remember or translate. You just need to say, "Hello, This is me, all showered and 'fine' looking. I don't need any help for this Up version of me; I need help for this version of me." Take out your note and hand it over.

...

When you've returned to yourself, write yourself another note. 

Months ago, I threw away my umbrella because I was dry. Two weeks later, I'd just finished snapping at the kids for the millionth time and my people were looking at me sideways with scared eyes. I was going through the motions, making lunches, writing words.  I just couldn't remember the point of these motions anymore. I realized that I was gone again. But I also felt confused. Maybe this is just who I am, actually. I can't remember.  

So I went to my jewelry box and pulled out the note that my Up Self had written to me.

G,

You love your life, (mostly).

The smell of Tish's hair makes you melt.

Sunsets blow your mind. Every time.

You laugh twenty times a day.

You see more magic than the average bear.

You feel loved. You are loved. You have a beautiful life that you have fought hard for.

I called my doctor, got back on my meds, and returned myself to me. "

Glennon wrote this advice for those taking medication for depression and anxiety. I've adapted this advice somewhat for my current situation.  Right now at the end of a tough week I feel like crap. I can easily write my note from my Down Self. It would include things like, "I can't do this anymore. This is too hard.  I can't even cry because my damn tears have chemo in them and hurt like hell. I just want it to be over. I don't want to feel sick anymore.  Every time I stand up too fast or move my head to look at something I want to throw up." It could go on and on. 

But I also have my note from Up Self that I wrote on Monday and it says, "Actually I can do this. I am strong. My body is amazing and resilient. I can create the conditions necessary for this amazing chemotherapy drug to find and eliminate the threat. I have all the support I could ask for. My kids are doing fine, in fact they are showing themselves to be strong and capable too.  This won't last forever.  Each time you feel sick, you recover.  Be patient. Breathe through this."

It is honestly hard to believe this right in this very moment but I wrote it myself and I know that when I wrote it, I meant it.  They aren't wishes that I hope might be true some day. I actually felt like that just a week ago.  So I'm following my own advice and trying to breathe. 

There's something about naming these two states that gives me a tiny sliver of separation from my experience, allowing me to be curious about what I'm experiencing and observe it instead of being drowned by it.  That separation makes it less all encompassing and allows for the possibility of it not lasting forever. 

Claire Pennline is a mom to two high energy kiddos who keep her on her toes, growing and learning all the time. Claire was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer in May 2021. She is currently in active chemotherapy.