I see you

I see you…

I see you as you open your eyes in the morning, already weary and fatigued after such troubled, uncomfortable sleep, to yet another day at the whim of your cancer. 

I see you as you ponder the day ahead with trepidation… the appointments with results, the surgery, the scans, the procedures… while you disconnect your nasogastric tube from the overnight feeds. 

I see you as you gingerly rise, already feeling faint and lightheaded, leaving more hair on the pillow than remains on your head, feeling the brain fog already settling in with great force.

I see you as you examine your wasting, pale body in the shower, with lines coming out of it, with bones protruding, with a bloated abdomen and sunken eyes, looking like a shadow of who you were before.

I see you as you try to turn on a cheery smile for the other members of your household, as you long desperately to return to bed and darkness. 

I see you as your eyes pause on the medications all lined up, trying to summon energy to voluntarily swallow pills without gagging, knowing that those pills are the very reason you’ll be doubled over with nausea later on. 

I see you as you attempt to choke down food, supposedly to keep nausea at bay, while other family members engage raucously in conversation, the noise of which gives you a headache.

I see you as you travel in the car on your way to your first appointment of the day, ruminating negatively on possible bad news, perhaps hoping that you’ll be pleasantly surprised because your life revolves around test results, and you REALLY want to have a reason to smile. 

I see you as you await your name being called into the Doctor’s room, surrounded by lots of other faces with sunken eyes and no hair, all intensely focused on keeping themselves together as their cancers wreak havoc within.

I see you as you sit contemplating the possible opposite outcomes of today, knowing that with one seemingly-innocuous result or word, your future could become very bleak. 

I see you as you try to interact with the doctor politely, but can’t think properly, with a brain fog laced with cortisol fueling irritability, emotion and hypervigilance. 

I see you try to convey results in simpler terms to those ‘on the outside’, who have no idea of your internal turmoil, with all of the consequent implications.

I see you as you attempt to participate in small talk at a social event with young, content, well-looking people, who appear to have healthy, happy families and career success, who don’t seem to have been challenged or dealt with anything traumatic in their lives.

I see you lying on the couch, observing your children play joyfully but being unable to participate, or watching other family members/friends work hard to help you – both inspiring much guilt. 

I see you as you endeavour to re-focus your brain to plan and figure out the logistics of tomorrow. 

I see you as you count down and swallow the medications for the umpteenth time that day, as you collapse into bed utterly exhausted and wondering how you’ll get up to face yet another day, when no one truly understands. 

But you do… 

… because I see you as you do it all over again.  

Written by Dr Emily Isham