R.I.P

It's been a long wait, but we are resuming chemo on Tuesday this week.  In the meantime I learned a big lesson about how to deal with the loss of friends made in hospital without losing hope for myself.

 This is a picture of me and Martha Psarakis (left) taken in April, on the day we were both leaving hospital to go home. She was brought back from the brink of death the week before I got to the ward. With her family at her side, we became instant friends and vowed to stay in touch.  Martha died two weeks ago. Her son called me with the news. I told you about our accidental meeting at the hospital in May, when we both needed emergency draining. That was the last time I saw Martha. We talked one the phone, but I couldn't go to visit, because I wasn't feeling well and she lived too far away. I was upset when heard the news, but I was expecting it and I can't say that I was overwhelmed with grief.

The second 'hospital friend' I made in May was Marie Searson. She was 81 years old. A very forceful personality with a fascinating mind. We clicked instantly and when we were not too much in pain or sleeping, we were chatting all the time. We never ran out of things to say, either with her or her family and, after two weeks, when I went home, we vowed to stay in touch. She was also terminally ill, but was still well enough to go home. I arranged with her son Michael to go and visit about a week-and-a-half ago. A few days before my visit Michael called that Marie has been moved to a hospice for palliative care and was fading fast. I was devastated. I was really looking forward to my visit. I didn't think she would go that fast.

Every time I thought about Marie, I cried. Why? I was very confused about my feelings. After all, I knew she was terminal. I also realised that it was not just grief, but also fear for myself. But my situation is not terminal, so why I am crying? I went to see my wonderful cancer counselor, Angela.

Angela said that during this cancer journey one can form deep friendships in a very short time. This, she explained, was because we are going through similar journeys and understand each other. 'I may be your counselor', she told me, 'but I don't really understand what you are going through as I have never had cancer.'

Her candour surprised me, but then I reflected that she is probably right. When I was in the hospital, one of the young interns, insisted on discharging me before I was ready. When I objected, she said: 'I understand how you feel'. 'No, you have no idea!' I screamed at her, and listed a litany of reasons why I could not be discharged that day. I completely lost my cool. Later, when we discussed the incident among ourselves on the ward, I told the other women: 'How could she know how I feel, when I don't even know how any of you feel. I am not going through the same stages as you are.' So. I understood where Angela was coming from.

Today I heard that Marie died last Friday. May she and Martha rest in peace. I am so glad I have met them and even if just for a short time, we had some fun times to share. It may sound strange, but it was fun to laugh together at our various health problems and about life's foibles.

I am sad that I had such a short time to get to know my new pals, but the fear is gone. My situation is different. My ascites is almost completely gone after two incomplete chemo cycles and the prognosis is that I would go into remission after treatment. Whether it will come back again is another matter. Nobody can tell. And that's good enough for me for now. I feel much better and am ready for the next chemo cycle, which, as I said, is scheduled for Tuesday - two days from now.