Adjusting the Sails

I've taken a writing hiatus over the past few weeks. Writers Block? Perhaps. I think this latest storm I call "Tropic of Cancer" just literally took the wind out of my sails for a while. Luckily, I've managed to patch them up for now. Its been tough on me - dealing with the stress of a new diagnosis, preparing for my Canadian College of Family Physicians Exam, working long hours and saying good-bye to my partner who was here for a short, yet perfect time to support me.

I've silently (and at times not so silently) been undergoing a pretty massive adjustment period to say the least for over six weeks. I tend to internalize a lot of the true, raw, aching disappointment and tactile anger related to my diagnosis I so frequently encounter. That is not new for me and typically through running (or in the right time, person, place scenario) I have the distinguished ability to transform those thoughts into rocket fuel of enlightenment and motivation. Every day that is singlehandedly my greatest personal challenge. "Stay positive, you know you have it in you." Getting up usually before the sun rises, no matter how tired I am and expressing gratitude for all that I have here and now, within me and around me, continues to uplift my soul that so desperately wants to shine.

I suppose a lot of people could say the "dust has settled" but actually as time passes, I find I am faced with more and more uncharacteristic emotions, undisclosed answers and periods of adaptation. I realize the unknown will become more of a comfort zone for me over time, kind of like traveling to, and further, spending time in foreign countries. At first, the culture, environment and language is all new and even exhausting, unsettling sensory overload I call it - but eventually things become manageable. Every day is like jet lag for me to be honest, but I can recognize that what I am experiencing is typical - it's just not typical for me. I am constantly reassured when I see a clinical therapist, physician or social worker this is all par for the course, I am doing the best I can. Am I? Could I do things differently? Could I be a better physician, friend, sister? If so, how?

I don't really know at this stage if I am learning to live with this illness that constantly passes through the highways of my arteries and side roads of my veins, making drop offs in my lymph nodes. Honestly, its all foreign territory to me. I am constantly forced to check in with myself - am I coping, thriving or treating this enduring physical and psychological condition the same way I have treated all periods of adversity in my life - head on and ready to persevere? Am I pushing through because my goals and dreams are so within my reach, or am I extending my stay on denial island? I would have to side with the former, because right now those goals and dreams are the motivating factor that shed light on my purpose as a person and physician, hold me accountable and responsible and assure me at the end of a day that I still have the inner drive to do anything; it is this drive I truly admire about myself. Somehow, it has managed to stay with me and not park itself along the way.

I have been adjusting my sails every day, trying to stay focused, positive and maintain who I am, when a lot of times all I want to do is sleep. Not out of sadness or hopelessness, but because I am just plain exhausted at times. I've had word finding problems that frustrate me as a result of my poor sleep, but I can overcompensate for the words I can't find in my patient and social encounters within my mental framework. I can adapt with substitutions from my expanded vocabulary (most of the time). Sometimes I wait for a colleague or friend around me to piece together what I am so desperately trying to say.

My eyes feel chronically half closed and a lot of mornings I wake up with them practically swollen shut. I'm not one to show emotion at the best of times, so perhaps its fitting that my tears fall at night with only my pillow bearing witness to my inner emotions falling from my eyes. I dread the nights when I am alone, which is often, though many would say it's good to be with your thoughts and to let them in. I have to disagree, though in the same sentence state I am not running away from them. Some nights I just want to go to sleep and wake up refreshed. When you are told you have leukaemia, I don't think you ever sleep the same again. Don't get me wrong, there have been nights I have slept for a number of hours, but I certainly can appreciate why I have less of an ability to cope in the daytime with challenges or patient encounters that typically wouldn't lead to the surface presentation of such a great deal of dramatic, emotional energy.

As my sails adjust over stormy seas, calm waters and changing tides, one thing is for certain - a smooth sea never made for a skilled sailor, right? So long, denial island.