Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Sometimes you just wake up in a funk

I awoke the other day to sun and blue skies. It was a beautiful day, with only good things planned. But I was in a funk. I had no idea why. I was almost 90 days post-transplant, and in many ways functioning at a nearly normal level despite a low hematocrit that continued giving me trouble with my energy.

I tried to shake it off. I had breakfast, congratulated the dog for not peeing on the floor, chatted with Katie and then put on my tennis clothes and went to meet my friends for a doubles game.

I played really well. One friend even asked if I had taken another lesson. I was enjoying myself. But I almost started to cry.

I took a minute for a quick “therapy” talk with my partner, Deb.

It’s great to have friends who will stop the game to give you emotional support. Deb listened while I said, “I’m doing all these normal things and feeling almost normal, but I forget that I’m still in the recovery process.”

I said it was kind of jarring sometimes. Part of me was having trouble keeping up with the other part of me. Plus it takes a lot of extra energy to do so-called normal things.

I’m not sure that makes sense, but it helped to try to express it. We finished two sets and then I went to Deb’s house and sat in her backyard for about an hour.

We talked some more, and I felt better. She gave me a purple popsicle, which helped wash away the funky feeling.

Eating a popsicle kind of makes me feel like the kid I was before anything bad ever happened to me.

On the way home from Deb’s, I had a raspberry popsicle.
That one tasted great too.

Later I thought about the times my late mother sat with me while I cried. My mother was with me during my first round against leukemia but “missed” the relapse and the graft failure.

“You’re entitled. It’s perfectly normal to cry,” she would say.
I can hear her saying it now.

6 comments:

Brian Koffman said...

Ronni,
That is quite the story. I thought 1 transplant was plenty.
Myself, I find some of the hardest times are when there is no imminent crisis, but also no clarity. It's tough to sit in the dark when you don't know if there are any snakes in the room. Especially when you've been bitten before. I get scared and anxious and low energy, so I would say the occasional funk on your part is well earned. Let me know if I can help.
Stay strong
Brian

Susan C said...

Ronni, I'm so happy that you have your good buddy Debbie to play tennis with and, more important, to listen, let you cry and feed you tongue-staining popsicles. Those things sure help me out of a funk.

Your energy and resiliency continue to amaze me, but glad to hear that you also let the tears come.

Hugs,
Susan

Jim said...

Rosie Greer, NFL football star, said it best in his song: "It's alright to cry ... It gets all the sad out of you. It's alright to cry ... It might make you feel better."

Korby said...

Ronni, this is a very cool "blog" I just poked around it a little more. How do you do this? You have great stories and pictures. Very cool indeed! Korby

Vytas said...

Oh, stop w------ :-) You're leukemia free, counts in the right direction and look fabulous !!!!!!!!

dan said...

Hi Ronni,
My late wife Christine taught me a great deal during her triumphant fight against her untreatable cancer. I say triumphant because of the quality of her life, not the longevity. Occasionally but now often she would find her self approaching a “pod” of sadness, as she called them. Temporarily rejecting the insidious power positive thinking she’d let herself go, saying it allowed her to get in touch with a part of herself that was buried trying to make others feel better. Ultimately processing whatever it was that triggered the “pod” gave her more peace and serenity than the constant stiff upper lip so often required by others of a survivor.

I find myself faced with these same moments and have learned to become grateful for the direct connection to an important part of who am. Then again, I laugh most of the time in spite of having been widowed twice to this rotten disease so there’s also the reassurance that I’m not entirely an idiot. Well, at least I'm reassured-you might want to ask around.

A dear friend from Spain calls waking up to moods like this mala leche, bad milk. No great analysis-just mala leche. I don’t know why this helps me so much but it does.