Having always thought of myself as a reasonably adept wordsmith, one of my pet peeves is the inability to find just the right word to describe a feeling or event. I like to believe that for every emotion, tone, attribute, or circumstance there is a way to precisely describe it; even if, for no other reason, than to keep me from becoming complacent with my language skills. Unfortunately, there are some things in life that seem to defy description. Chemotherapy is one of those things. Everyone has a different experience but when chemo hits hard, it hits
hard and defies explanation.
I got a little chuckle the other day. I was having lunch with a friend and a few of her friends whom I had never met before. One lady asked me how I was doing and I answered her that I was doing well, "just tired". Another lady said, "Oh, I know how you feel." My friend gave her a look and said, "No, you don't." She was right. No one can understand chemo unless they've been through it. For my part, I'm teaching myself to take "I know how you feel" out of my repertoire. I like to think I'm being empathetic but really I'm just being presumptuous. I know how you look. I may know what you need. I may know how to give you comfort. But, I can never know how you feel. That is something that belongs to you and you alone.
A few weeks ago, my father and I were making some cosmetic renovations to my house. He is an extremely talented craftsman. My husband, myself and two teenagers live in a very old, not large, but well-kept house. Any time I want something done, I call Dad-1-1 to the rescue. I love my old house. It was built in 1876 and still has the original hardwood flooring, baseboards, door frames, bannister, etc. Over the years, it has had many additions and renovations. When my parents-in-law first bought the house in 1979, they gutted it and re-did all the important stuff. The wiring and plumbing was all brought up to new code. The walls were opened up and redone from plaster and lathe to gyproc. Insulation was upgraded to better than code. My parents-in-law were very wise people. I have all the amenities of a brand new house in the classic charm of an old Victorian style house. My husband and I are trying to keep the renovation tradition going - new kitchen, new washroom, new laundry, new windows, new paint.
As I said, a few weeks ago, my father and I were making some cosmetic renovations to my house. As we were working (he worked, I pulled out nails), I was reminded of the renovations that my parents-in-law had made 35 years ago and how they had gutted the house in order to make improvements. I looked at my father with a "light just came on" kind of look.
"That's it!" I said.
"What?"
"I was gutted." I said.
"What?" (He's a man of few words.)
"Chemo! I was gutted. Everything on the outside looks the same. The framework is still there. I still look like me. But the inside. It's all ripped out. I was gutted."
"Oh." (Few words.)
So, here's hoping that the extensive renovations made on me are better than code while maintaining the classic charm.
Cheers, everyone.
