Stephanie J. Hammonds

Editor’s Note: This piece was submitted by a contributing writer and does not represent the views of CURE Media Group.

 Once I began dealing with a cancer diagnosis, there was much to take into consideration, including how to adapt to how things are “now” rather than how they were “then.” I’m one of those folks who thought I had pretty good health, since I don’t smoke or drink and had no serious chronic problems. But when cancer comes along, that can all change. A life can change.

Treatments are numerous and often with various side effects, schedules that have to be met, prescriptions to obtain, testing taking up time and perhaps hours commuting to the place of treatment. Friends and relatives may be more necessary to us for help and support. There may be ongoing worry and concern about our health. This is what is called the “new normal”, adapting to a way of life that wasn’t planned on, wasn’t asked for and wasn’t on anyone’s bucket list.

Often, job schedules have to be modified, by part-time hours or telecommuting, especially on particularly challenging days. It may be necessary to depend on friends or neighbors, people we hadn’t previously counted on, to pick up children, help us with errands, housework, cooking, shopping or to offer moral support. Our “old” normal self may not have needed this extra help or accommodations in our professional lives. But now, we may find we have to spend more time resting, conserving energy or adapting to a totally different way of life, perhaps unable to do all the intensely mental or physical things we used to enjoy. This maybe only temporarily, but it is all part of our “new normal.” And yes, it often comes right through the door along with serious illness, including cancer.

I’ve heard several patients with cancer say, “I wish I could just back to being my old self. I wish I could go back to being who I was before I got this.”

I’m betting that a great percentage of us who have cancer feel the exact same way. And I know exactly what those statements mean. “I want to go back to being a person who doesn’t worry so much, fill my mind with serious thoughts, have so many appointments, so much uncertainty and so many concerns. I wish I didn’t have to think about illness and that I could come and go as I please and not think about treatment, tests and procedures. I wish I could just be my old self.”

But, for many of us, it's not possible to go back to the old self. It's a challenge to adjust and accept this new normal. For me, it's trying to accept my illness, not let the anxiety overwhelm me, and appreciate the good things I still do have: family and friends, and the medical team members who help me. Of course, some days are better than others. But then a new day comes along, and like thousands of others, I get up and try again.

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Adjusting to Cancer's "New Normal"

During or after treatment, thoughts of cancer loom high in my mind. Just when I think I have it under control, it pops back up again. It’s sort of walking around with a cloud over my head; not necessarily a dismal rain cloud, but a cloud nevertheless. There are days and weeks I don’t go for infusions or even tests, but the thought is still there. There are times that any old ache and pain can make me think of it, and so does the odd upset stomach, a reaction to a new skin cream or soap or when a slightly “off” day comes along.

Why is this? I ask myself. Before I was diagnosed with cancer, I was on a steady, even keel. Now I’m rocking way too much. What happened?

Listening to others in my shoes and reading about other patients’ feelings, I found that I’m not alone in this thinking. Cancer is a strange ominous being that has the ability to control what we think or feel even when we don’t want to, and, many times, has the ability to take the joy out of life. It upsets me to think that even in a stable period, I’m still suffering just thinking about cancer. My challenge was and is to push it out of my mind in any way possible-- to back up, and go in the opposite direction.

For me, that means staying true to what makes me super happy, lifts my spirits and doesn’t allow me to sink into those anxiety-inducing cancer “thoughts.” My lifelong hobbies of artwork, music, dolls, toys and writing help me every hour and every day. I love to write cards and letters, listen to music and keep up with drawing, paper dolls and floral painting. Submitting magazine articles, reading, studying British history, sketching and watercolors keep my mind completely immersed in pleasantry with no room there for scary old cancer.

Cancer tries to control my thoughts, but I’m determined not to let it. Yes, it’s a serious challenge that is as tough as the disease itself. I don’t win this race every minute. It pushes towards me and tends to creep in; it’s a very tough adversary. But, with my hobbies, interests and first loves, the things that make me who I really am, is where my ammunition lies. I've been an artist all my life and will continue to be. As long as I stay immersed in what I really, truly, enjoy, I will try to control what I’m able to: my happiness.

Thought Control: Can Anything Take My Mind Off Cancer?

 Little did I know in the weeks following my cancer diagnosis in 2009 that I would get advice to watch comedy. One urging even came from a childhood television idol I watched in fourth grade.

Humor: could it help me find my way back through this time of illness to my former healthy state and perhaps a better mood? I do like comedy, but I like drama also. Did I have to choose? Did these recommendations to funny shows have to be exclusive? What if I didn’t feel like laughing? It didn’t sound like it would be helpful. Maybe I shouldn’t take any of these referrals ... seriously.

Several weeks after my first surgery and treatment, I realized I wouldn’t be able to get out as much as I liked, and the days began to drag on. I relied on my beloved artwork projects of paper dolls and flower illustrations to keep me going, but soon I decided to try a little time with DVDs. I set the dramatic shows aside temporarily. And, yes I tried comedy. British comedy, or “Britcoms” as they are known. My first choice, "Keeping up Appearances,” the “laugh out loud” stuff. And, every time I laughed, I felt a little better. Laughing and humor did help take my mind off of this annoying cancer situation. With cancer came worry, anxiety, pain, sadness and scary thoughts. Laughing eased much of it. My mood lifted quite a bit! I was more relaxed. I wanted to laugh!

When I came home from a chemotherapy treatment, I would watch a comedy show. When friends came by to visit, I would put a DVD on, and we would laugh together. Jackie Gleason came next, the “Honeymooners”, then lots of other funny series including “Doc Martin” and “Are you Being Served?” It felt so great to laugh-- so nice to feel almost like my former self again. I had a recurrence in 2015 of my old illness, and I’m still watching comedy. It still helps uplift me every time I have a good laugh, or sometimes a roaring giggle.

“Watch comedy” they said. They were right.

Comedy: Would a Few Laughs Help My Cancer?

Finding out I had cancer and needed lots of treatment was difficult to take and a lot to absorb. First there was surgery, then months of chemotherapy. It was painful both physically and emotionally, but nothing prepared me for my loss of hair. You'd think that compared to the more serious aspects of having ovarian cancer, vanity and hair wouldn't matter as much. You'd think that it would seem tiny in comparison. But that wasn't how it was with me, and I suspect many others.

Losing one's hair is sort of the "straw that breaks the camel's back.” Looking as lousy as I felt and feeling sorry for myself sort of all came together the day I saw that first brush full of hair. Winter and the cold weather was coming on fast, so I kept what I had for as long as I could, then resigned myself to a trendy little wig. I faced it, overcame it and did the best I could. I realized that, for now at least, I would live without my usual look. That should be the end of my tale.

It was the thoughtless remarks that annoyed me as much as losing my own hair! Several people asked me whether I was going to shave my head. These were women who had never taken chemotherapy drugs or dealt with this dilemma of unwanted hair shedding. Since I hadn't indicated I was going to take my hair off, why should anyone ask? Also, my hair loss wasn't just an emotional problem, it was painful. My scalp hurt and felt sore, so I had to keep a soft flannel hat on most of the time.

I see it now as just another bump in the road of my healing process of several years ago -- a side effect of the medicines I took. My hair grew back and, like so many others, I got over the pain. But I could have done without the insensitive comments which added more angst to my situation. Cancer did make me rather thin-skinned. It's easy to get upset when you’re already on edge. Let's think before we speak, before offering unsolicited advice or questions to those who are hurt and dealing with cancer. Let's be gentle (and thoughtful!) with the remarks.

Stephanie J. Hammonds

Adjusting to Cancer's "New Normal"

Thought Control: Can Anything Take My Mind Off Cancer?

Comedy: Would a Few Laughs Help My Cancer?

Yes, Cancer Is Making Me Lose My Hair

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