Gone Fishing
There is more than one fish in the sea. That applies to males, females, hair stylists, plumbers, dentists AND doctors! There are always alternatives if you are unhappy with the butt crack of the Rotor-rooter man. I’ve gone through four psychologists so far in the search for the tools to cope with life changing brain surgery. The ups and downs can be extraordinary and despite my great internal fortitude, this has put me on my ass. Didn’t see that coming.
I put a ton of pressure on myself by expecting to be the perfect, brave hero that cancer survivors are known to be when my heart and soul live deep in fear and disappointment. The mask is thick and heavy and my breath makes my face sweat. I want to learn to live without a mask. Thus, my search for the right shrink.
Just after surgery, in my opioid induced fog, I didn’t understand why I would even need a psychologist. I’m not crazy, I just have brain cancer. It didn’t take long for me to figure it out. The anger began to boil over as the severity of the situation sunk in. That soon gave way to all encompassing sadness...then tag team kind of stuff, you dig. Okay, maybe a little crazy.
The first shrink was wonderful, sweet and in inpatient rehab therefore, temporary. The second had just lost her brother to brain cancer and the situation was too close to her own sense of loss. The third dude definitely thought I was a nut job but due to the chemo treatments or what is called “chemo brain.” To the curb with you.
Not one ever suggested a plan or goals to help me grow to understand and cope...until #4. For the first time since my world spun out of control, someone heard me. We talked, I cried and we came up with a plan to address my issues, one at a time. She even suggested that the surgery and subsequent effects on my body might be the straw that broke the camel’s always dependably strong back. I’m not sure about that but we’ll see. We set a 90 day plan and I felt positive after only one session so let’s hope I caught the right fish this time.
