Episode 24: On Being Strong

Hello Dear One,

I'm writing to you from my hotel's computer in the activity room. There is a boisterous game of Euchre going on behind me. Yesterday, the gang showed me how to play. I am now living in London Monday-Friday while I receive daily radiation treatments. I don't know the exact number of treatments yet but it will likely be 33, so three down, thirty to go. The Cancer Clinic has a deal with the hotel so that out-of-town patients can stay here at no charge during the week. I'm just guessing but I would say that there are about 30 people who stay here through the Cancer Clinic program. We are very well treated, including three meals a day at a much-subsidized rate. As cancer patients, we are all at different stages and receiving different treatments so we are a very transient bunch but there is a lot of camaraderie as we all can relate to the trials of living this way and needing to look after each other.

I'm happy to report that the chemo part is over for me. My final treatment was July 28th, a little over a month ago. My hair is about 2" long, although very transparent and, although I'm still achy in the bones and easily winded, I can feel myself getting stronger every day. Yesterday, I used the stationary bicycle for five minutes and went a distance of 1 km burning ten calories. Today, I used the stairs several times from the lobby to the third floor and also back and forth to the second floor.

I want to write today regarding the topic of being called strong. Many times this year I have been complimented by people about how strong I am and that I can "do this". I don't want to offend well-meaning people who are genuinely trying to encourage me but, in truth, this is a compliment that does not sit well with me. It's taken me months of mulling to understand why but I think I have it now.

Just for fun, let's start with some definitions. Strong is:
- someone who comes off as confident; someone who is comfortable in there (sic) own skin; someone who can take on the world; someone who should be very proud of themselves (Urban Dictionary)

- Having passive physical power; having ability to bear or endure; firm; hale; sound; robust; as, a strong constitution; strong health; Solid; tough; not easily broken or injured; able to withstand violence; able to sustain attacks; not easily subdued or taken (www.thinkexist.com)

- not easy to break or damage (Merriam-Webster)

The only definition above that I'll accept for myself is having a strong constitution and being able to sustain attacks. I continue to endure. I think, though, real strength is like courage. It's the ability to do what needs to be done in spite of ones fears when given a choice. I did not have a choice. I had to go through the treatment and I don't deserve the label. Legally, yes it was me who signed the consent form but that's a moot point. There really was no choice or discussion. Knowingly leave my children orphaned: never. Leaving my husband widowed (widowered?), not good. Leaving my parents to bury their child, unthinkable. I will do everything I can to protect my family. You would do the same thing. Don't call me strong.  Also, you don't know how many times I cried on my husband's shoulder, "I can't do this anymore." or how many times Neil brought me meals in bed so I could rest or how many times my children have hugged me to hold me up physically and emotionally, "Mom, you'll be fine. You can do this. You're better than you were yesterday." or how many sleepless nights my parents have had worried about me. Don't call me strong. Watching and carrying on while someone you love suffers is where the real strength lies.

Let me tell you about a lady I spoke with today who could be called strong. Let's call her Betty (because that's her name). She's lovely. She's vivacious, energetic, entertaining, and plays a mean game of Euchre. She's also 75 (looks about 60). She tested positive for the HER2/neu hormone which means that her brand of chemotherapy is especially brutal. Because she's 75, her family of grown children was divided about whether or not she should take the treatment. Her case went before the London Cancer Clinic Review Board. The Board was also divided. The decision became exclusively hers. How do you decide something like that? Choosing or not choosing treatment meant agreeing with some people and disappointing others. That's strength. When she told her family doctor that her decision was to get treated he took her hand and said, "I'm so glad." He explained that when the Review Board looks at a case all they see is a number: 75. When he, as her family doctor, looks at her case he sees her with all her energy, drive and faith. When she told her family about her decision to receive treatment and add a number of years to her life she told them that those who agreed could support her decision and those who didn't agree, if they couldn't encourage her, they should at least not say anything. I was mesmerized by her story and just kept thinking, "Now, that's strength."

Bless you all, my dear ones.