Krabbamein - glíman við óttann.

Útdráttur úr grein blaðakonunnar Jeanne Sather sem lést stuttu eftir að þessi grein birtist í Seattle Weekly í desember 2003:

Running With Fear.  Confessions of a breast cancer poster child by Jeanne Sather. 

"My career as a breast cancer poster child began in October 1998, shortly after surgeons removed my right breast. Just a few weeks later, the first chapter of Jeanne's Diary went live on the now-defunct OnHealth Web site, with 13 more chapters to follow over the next nine months or so. I wrote each chapter in the moment—in the early morning when the whole world was asleep but me, or whenever I was overwhelmed. I wrote about my fear of chemotherapy, insurance problems, going bald (twice!), a woman in my support group who died, and about my children, who struggled with their fears that I would die.

..

FEAR: THE LIST

 I live with fear. I think every cancer patient and every cancer survivor does. Ever since that first bout with breast cancer more than five years ago, the fear has been like an alien hand, sometimes squeezing my throat, making it tough to breathe, sometimes wrapping itself around my heart.  We do our best to make the fear go away, with drugs if possible. And it's a brave doctor who says the "F" word—fear—to a patient. Usually, it's "anxiety" that we are coping with, or "stress." Here are my fears, large and small: Dying, of course. Leaving my children without a mother. Pain. Needles and nasty medical procedures. Being unable to support myself, or perhaps, even to brush my own teeth. Oh, the indignity of that. And, always, the constant fear that the cancer will return

 WHOSE DISEASE IS THIS?

I'm the one with cancer. It's my disease, and I get to make the decisions about how I'm going to live with this disease and what treatments I will agree to do. My doctors, bless them, understand this. But many friends and family members don't. They try to tell me what I should do, despite the fact that I have never asked for their advice. One relative, who happens to sell high-priced vitamins, pushed me to add her brand of vitamins to my regimen while I was in chemotherapy. When I told her that my doctor asked me not to take vitamins during chemo, because they may interfere with its effectiveness, she said, "Doctors don't know what they are talking about." In fact, my doctor does know what he is talking about. But that's not really the point. It's my disease. I get to make the decisions. If I want to eat peach pits and douse myself with holy water from Lourdes, it's my decision. At this moment, I'm battling with a friend who thinks she knows better than I do about my life and my cancer treatment. I told my friends in an e-mail dated Oct. 1, "I do not want to discuss the treatment that I will be getting, reasons for the treatment, or anything related to that. I am satisfied with the recommendations of my doctors, and find it exhausting to talk about. . . . " Despite that message, this friend keeps trying to tell me what to do. Now you might be thinking that I should be grateful for the many friends I have who are concerned about me and want to help. Yes, I am grateful, but being badgered to revisit decisions that I made and am comfortable with is no help at all.

KEEP YOUR FEAR TO YOURSELF

This whole long article is about my fear, and how I take that fear and make lemonade out of it. I think I cope pretty well with my feelings, and I'm always available to my children, to help with whatever problems or fears they might have. But I cannot cope with other people's fear, and it's astonishing how often friends and family come to me—the person who is sick—to help them feel better about the fact that I am sick and may die soon. I have literally spent hours on the phone with my grieving friends, telling them that it's OK, that I will be fine . . . and when the conversation is over, I am exhausted. An offshoot of this is telling a person with cancer all your personal cancer horror stories. Don't do this. This is unkind. A friend reminds me that it is a common coping mechanism to automatically mention that your father or mother or brother died of cancer when confronted with someone who has the disease. And he goes on to suggest that a thoughtful friend would listen and offer support, without dumping his own cancer tragedy on someone who is sick, and in that way find comfort for his own loss.

I agree, and I'm not suggesting that the people who care about me don't need to vent their emotions, including their fear, but not to me. I can't handle it."

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Þessi stytti útdráttur fjallar um óttann og er einungis hluti af blaðagreininni allri.  Ef til vill birti ég fleiri útdrætti síðar, því skrif  Jeanne Sather heitinnar um viðhorf krabbameinssjúklings bæði inná við og útá við er bæði raunsætt og skynsamlegt - að auki jafnvel leiðbeinandi fyrir aðstandendur.