A little bit of PTSD can go a long way

Illustration from Skincancer.net

I'm trying not to duplicate what I write in the blog and what I write for the skin cancer and blood cancer platforms of Health Union. So, I probably didn't share on the blog how I had cryosurgery that made me cry.  If you go to the link you can read all about it. Or not.

I got the biggest blisters on my hands and on the top of my nose. Good thing it wasn't date night. I knew I shouldn't have done it but I popped a few of them. They were ballooning and just asking for it. I left one alone. Guess what? The one that I left alone healed faster. I also wrote one about the problem of skin picking.

The other night I had a nightmare that conjoined some of my trauma and anxiety. Also I realized that something from the news had seeped in.

I dreamt that I was in a bed in a hospital room where relatives were sitting. My doctor said he was going to stick a needle in me and do a major procedure. I would go under. If I came out on the other side, I would be healed. But I might not make it through the night. He said someone should stay with me all night. But then my bed was in the hall and I didn't know where people would sit. Analysis: Stem cell transplant, coma, touch-and-go night when they really weren't sure I would make it. And the thing about the bed in the hall: those melodramatic ads against Question 1, the nurse-patient limits, which featured patients perishing in the hall because nurses had been pulled off to meet requirements in other places. (It failed.)

In another part of the night, I dreamt I forgot my tennis racquet and had to play with something that had a little handle and a brush at the end. I tried to do it but then realized I couldn't possibly hold onto it. The scene cut to a match. My opponent was bouncing around. She looked pretty good. I said I realized I couldn't play with the racquet. Then I realized mine was in the car. She said to go ahead and get it. I said but then I would be late to the match and she said it was OK, we could start and one-all, and she wasn't good for more than one set anyway.

I ran out to get my racquet but then realized my keys were locked in a room. Then I couldn't remember exactly where the room was. Oy.

I was still in transit when I woke up. I guess the good news was that my opponent was being nice about it.

I also wrote a piece about PTSD but it hasn't been published yet. When I did a little research, I found a story that stated many cancer survivors suffer from PTSD.

The National Cancer Institute calls it Post Traumatic Stress, or PTS. Apparently it is not as severe but it can rear its head at any time. Such as in nightmares that go back to the time of crisis.

After that nightmare I woke up feeling blue. I don't know why the saying is "feeling blue." Blue is one of my favorite colors. It should be "feeling gray."

In any case there was nothing much to do about it except to go on with my day.

Acorns fall, tennis balls fly

It's raining acorns here in New England.

They roll around underfoot and shower from the oak trees so hard and fast that you worry about getting hit in the head. I googled "acorns falling early" and saw a ton of entries, dating back a couple of years. Many blamed it on the greenhouse effect and weird weather. We certainly had strange weather this summer: rainy and cold for most of June and July, stifling for a patch of August, and, lucky for us, beautiful weather for a couple of weeks, just when we were on vacation.

Anyway, you could almost call these acorns a health hazard. Sometimes I think, wouldn't it be "funny" if I tripped on an acorn patch and bled too much due to my low platelets and needed an emergency transfusion. It might reinforce my place in the category of "patients with weird problems."

I think I landed in that group (imaginary, of course,) when I went in for my second transplant with my arm in a sling. My major complaint that time was not about complications from the chemo but rather from the intense pain in my shoulder. I had played doubles the day before, determined not to fall on my Hickman catheter. Which of course is what I did. Wham. I tripped and could almost see the fall coming in slow motion. I tried hard to stay on my feet. That only made it worse. My friend Mike took me to the emergency room, where they said I had a separated shoulder. I have a bump as a souvenir. My doctor at the time, Dan DeAngelo, looked at me and asked, "What did you do?" I mumbled something about tennis, and he smiled. One of our tennis teachers later told me, "You have to learn how to fall." Hmmmmm.

I saw this same teacher the other day when I was going onto the courts to "play" doubles. He said he was glad to see me back on the court. I told him that I wasn't really playing, because I couldn't take more than a step or two and I was afraid of falling. "No excuses!" he said. "Get out there and run!" I didn't run, but I did smile.

I've played doubles a few times, and although it feels great to get my serve in, to hit a solid serve back and to actually get to the net for an angled volley, I let a lot go by. I think I should stick to just hitting with friends or playing an occasional set or two with people who know where I'm coming from and don't mind a slower game.

The other day I played with two of those and with a very nice woman whom I haven't seen for a while. She was on the other side. She's a good player and she seemed to have fun, but I felt bad that I wasn't giving her a good game. Also, maybe she couldn't help herself, but she didn't need to slam the ball at me so that I had to jump out of the way. She could easily have won the point by hitting a more controlled shot, just not one right at me. I don't want to be babied, although I appreciate and get a laugh out of an occasional "gift." (Thank you Donna for hitting it right at me at the net so I can put it away and feel so strong.) But I don't want to be killed, either.

Speaking of tennis, I made a tiny investment in the future. I've been afraid to plan anything, out of fear that the other shoe will drop. But I went to the Cape with the kids, and then to New York, and nothing happened other than a good time.

When playing tennis, I noticed my racquet really needed new strings. I can't describe it very well, but when the ball hit the strings, they seemed to complain. It wasn't a pretty noise. When I took lessons last fall from another of our coaches, he said not to restring until I was playing regularly. I don't think he anticipated the extended leave. So a few days ago, I took the racquet to a local tennis and golf store, and the man who took it for restringing said the strings were very soft, way below where they should be. After I get it restrung, it will take much less effort for me to hit.

So I made another small investment in the future. That should be good, as long as the acorns don't trip me up.