“So we’ll see you first night Chanukah, then, Ma?”
First night Chanukah? “Huh…”
“Did you forget the annual Chanukah party?”
“Forget? ‘Course not!”
Faker, I berate myself as I put down the phone.
Chanukah is in two days’ time, I calculate. I can buy paper ware this afternoon, after the doctor’s appointment and the pharmacist. But this evening I have to give myself a shot —even if I take Paracetamol beforehand, I know I will be feverish and weak. Weaker than usual, that is.
I open my kitchen cabinets. Catering for three couples and six grandkids... I shake my head. Impossible. I begin dialing my daughter’s number. But something stops me.
Aren’t you thankful to be celebrating Chanukah with your family?
Of course I am. I take paper and pen and begin writing a list. This Chanukah party will be the same—no, better—than every other year.
After all, it will count as personal Thanksgiving of sorts. The last six months have been a rollercoaster ride of surgery and chemo and side effects and drugs and hospitalizations. Seven weeks ago, the pronouncement was made: remission.
Remission. What a beautiful word. The relief, the celebration. We walked out of the doctor’s surgery on a cloud.
Remission is a wonderful place to be, but it doesn’t explain the tears that gather so easily in my eyes.
While I’ve been ill, spring and summer have passed and winter has come. And with the coming of winter, beauty itself has gone into hibernation. Remission is a wonderful place to be, but it doesn’t explain the tears that gather so easily in my eyes. And what about the weakness, the exhaustion, the agonizing feeling that I am a burden, that life itself is burdensome?
“But you’re over it now,” my children smile, silently asking permission to release the worry, to return to the rhythm of their lives.
“Of course,” I lie. “I’m fine.”
And now, a Chanukah party —“like every year.”
But it’s not like every year.
The table is laid, but there is still too much to do. A salad, with my special garlic dressing; blintzes for the grandchildren; whipped topping for the cheesecake. A Chanukah party like every year.
But I am tired, and my left arm feels like it belongs to a dull-eyed mannequin.
Scoop out the grated-potato mixture, drain the liquid, shape them, slip them in the pan. Hold the handle of the pot with one hand, turn the half-done latkes with the other…
My left arm is clumsy now, and I grab the pot at an angle. It flips up into the air, spilling a golden stream of half-fried latkes and bubbling oil down onto the glossy tiles. I jump back, just avoiding the scalding liquid. Leaning over the greasy mess, I extinguish the flame. Then I turn my back on my false efforts and, wiping away a tear, sink down onto the couch in the living room.
Outside, the flower garden has wilted and died and my heart twists in pain. Just a few months ago, it was a paradise of color and beauty, planted by my friends in honor of my first homecoming from the hospital. When I had been admitted to the hospital, I knew I would miss the planting season. For the first time ever, my garden would be bare. Just another sacrifice cancer demanded. When I finally hobbled back into the house on my daughter’s arm, sniffing the familiar scent of wooden furniture, open windows, and fabric softener, my joy was made complete by my friends’ unique gesture. For weeks they had planted and weeded and watered—and cared—until my garden became a place of splendor.
Now, the garden is desolate; the torpid ground lies bare. The splendor, now, has died.
Inside me, as well. Where is the fighter that everyone admired?
It is easy to laugh at cancer, I have discovered. It is not so easy to laugh at remission. For what is left of me now, of my life? A regimen of drugs—with their side effects—that I have to take for the rest of my life. Check-ups, scans, X-rays. A left arm that doesn’t quite do its job. I am a desolate garden filled with dead flowers.
Related Article: My Five Weeks with Cancer
In the Midst of Battle
The family is sprawled on the couches, grandkids playing on the floor, food remains litter the table.
“Did you know that Chanukah was only established a year after the miracle of the oil took place?” My husband loves obscure facts.
“They lit the menorah in the middle of the battle?”
“Yeah, I heard that.” Typical. Nothing gets past my son-in-law. “But even when Chanukah was established, the war was still being fought. Apparently, it went on for years.”
My ears prick up. “So when they lit the menorah, they were still in the middle of the battle?” I ask.
“Uh huh.” My son-in-law launches into a long explanation of the history of the Syrian-Greek empire, but my attention wavers.
My gaze falls on the flickering orbs of orange and yellow that have pride of place by the window. The silver menorah gleams, a flash of reflected light. Outside, night has fallen. Darkness.
I close my eyes, imagining the very land we are sitting on, here in Israel, two thousand years ago. I imagine the hope, the faith of those families who, a year after the miracle took place, fashioned a rough Menorah and kindled the lights, not knowing the outcome. Not knowing if the war would ever be won, if salvation would ever come. Lights of faith. Lights of hope.
I stare until my eyes blur with tears and a spark enters my heart. A spark of hope, despite the blackness of the night, despite the coldness of the winter. Hope for whatever the future will bring.
(20) Anonymous, January 1, 2012 9:04 PM
Why couldn't one of her kids make the family Chanukah Party
Selfish or what?? She's battled cancer, still giving herself painful shots and her children are too stupid to realise that she's tired!!! Couldn't one of them have said "Ma, don't worry, I'll make the family Chanukah party this year"?
(19) Blimi, December 14, 2011 1:42 AM
been there, done that
I can relate to your story. I battled cancer 3.5 years ago as a 22 year old woman. Riding those waves was relatively easy, with the strength and love of my family's support. Remission is hard on me psychologically. Battling the "what ifs" are hard now, and survivors guilt is taking its toll on me. You need to remind your loved ones that you went through a very hard time and need them to be there for you now as well. Perhaps see a therapist or support group. Depression is very common post-cancer. Refuah sheleima from one survivor to another, and happy chanukah :)
(18) Avital Kaplan, November 30, 2011 10:40 AM
Thanks dear, this article gave me lots of hope as I am struggling already 25 years with depression. Have done so many treatments, conservative and alternative and have started loosing hope. Your article rekindled lots of hope. thanks again and may HaShem bless you till 120 with good solid health. lots of naches from the family., best A. Kaplan
(17) Basya, November 3, 2011 4:02 PM
recovery
I am in the middle of treatments now. It is very hard to be patient with myself. BH the scan showed that nothing is there, but I still have to continue treatments just in case something is still there. Patience is a virtue that takes a lot of coping with. I just want to be better and to live and love life. I just want to be healthy and to be able to take care of my family the best that I can. I feel somewhat Isolated but try to remain strong. I am looking for work as my little one is in playgroup though I think about taking him out and keeping him home now that I am stronger. Life isn't easy but is precious. G-d willing, I hope that everyone will be healthy and happy.
(16) JULIUS ROMANOFF, December 6, 2010 11:03 PM
Living with Cancer
People die from Cancer, but some live on despite the diagnosis. The theory that having a disease without a cure, may cause the individual to feel there is no purpose to continue to live. Why not just die. They exhibit less anxiety, or tension, and died. The irony lies in the fact that I was diagnosed as having Prostate Cancer on 9/2001. Since I was 79 years of age, 3 D Conformal Radiation was the treatment I accepted. From 12/3/01 to 1/31/02 I went 5 times a week for radiation treatment. I did not accept androgen deprivation because of the side effects. 4 years later I started Eligard to reduce Testosterone. Life was full of problems, since I had problems with my vision also. I was told the Cancer cells metastisized to my bones, but I did not have the pain usually associated with bone cancer. Although the biopsy reported Gleason score of 9, I remembered my hypothesis, you must fight back. I cannot say that the complications are easy to live with, but I keep trying to learn as much as I can about Cancer and Glaucoma, my two major problems. My Oncologist at Fox Chase agreed to stop medication to reduce Testosterone, since I was fatigued, anemic, teeth are getting loose, since bone density less, muscles becoming flabby, dizzy, losing balance. Since 9/09 no medication for Prostate Cancer, but PSA is rising rapidly. I will go for Bone and Cat Scans in 2 weeks to check on my condition. I urge all to seek to learn more about their illness, so that you can anticipate what tomorrow will bring.
(15) Rachel, December 6, 2010 8:20 PM
Challenges of illness
1. Young children or grandchildren are just going to want you to be ok. Adult sons and daughters need to understand that you are still recovering and may be for quite a while. 2. People say the stupidest things. I've learned that if someone asks me how I am, the only answer they'll accept is some variation on "doing fine". When they ask why I no longer work, I have to give a slightly longer answer. In America, especially, we are so conditioned that every story has a happy ending and that every person can overcome hardship by sheer willpower, it's tough when you're recovery continues past everyone else's idea of a due date. 3. Get the best medical advice from doctors. Ignore medical advice from everyone else (I don't mean that if someone tells you of a new doctor you shouldn't look into it; I mean don't pay attention when they tell you what drug/ therapy/ diet worked so well for someone they know.) 4. If you've been a giver all your life, there is nothing wrong with now being a taker. You paid it forward; G-d willing in the future, you will be able again to give back. 5. Don't overdo it -- and I've got to admit, this is the one I'm still working on and having the greatest difficulty. But if I'm invited to someone else's home, I gratefully go. If I can plan a meal using several prepared dishes and only have to cook one myself, that's alright -- family and friends are with you for the company, not the catering. And if (like me) you overdo and then are exhausted, try to accept that too. The most important thing I was ever told about recovery: You can't measure yourself against your life before you were ill; you have to measure where you are today against where you were when you were sickest. G-d bless you.
(14) Anonymous, December 6, 2010 6:13 PM
Give yourself time
I am a 20 year survivor (breast cancer at age 28) and from experience I know you need time to absorb this life-changing experience and move on. Cancer does not develop overnight, nor is your recovery complete when your treatment ends-the hardest work starts then. Life goes on and day by day you move forward, one baby step at a time-as the saying goes, this too shall pass.. Be patient and understanding with yourself as you would be with a friend or loved one-you are not a rubber band and cannot "snap back". Cancer is like a bridge-you can look back at the other side where you used to be but you can never go back there; however this side of the bridge has its own beauty. The treatment side effects can take a long time to pass, and not all do - don't be afraid to seek out help whether it is physiotherapy and occupational therapy for your arm or psychological therapy for your emotions. There are many survivor groups and even if you don't consider yourself a "group" person (I didn't and had to be coaxed to participate), there is a lot of first hand wisdom in those groups and sometimes it helps just to hear that you are not alone in coping with a particular problem. Best of luck, G-d bless and I wish you a refuah shelemah of both body and heart.
(13) Gavi, December 6, 2010 5:00 PM
Gavi understands much more than you think
Let me first say, that I know all too well, far more than what my initial response included. Secondly, let me thank Denise for standing up and verbalizing her reaction to the "think only positive" people. She is right. They haven't been there, and they don't know any other way to handle someone Else's distress. By being unable to allow someone to share their pain, fear, and discouragement with you, you have done them a big disservice. Sometimes, you must just simply reply "I know you must feel . . . ", because, your incessant up-beat attitude, can sometimes make the patient feel like a failure. Sometimes if he just can't seem to feel "all bright and cheery" about pain and possible impending death, he is then left with trying to fake it in front of you. I mentioned having a severe chronic pain problem, myself. This is not my only reference on this subject. I was a nurse, and for a time, I worked in Hospice. Beyond mentioning that, I will say that I once had a beautiful daughter with two young children. She was found to have cervical cancer, and went through extensive treatments. She was, for several years, thought to have beaten it. However, it later resurfaced, having metastasized, and took her down. Don't get me wrong. Being positive has its place. It sure beats run-away depression. Positive and cheery influence is important. But to never be able to say "I'm scared" "or "I just can't do it" in front of those who are closest, creates a horrible isolation. How much better to say, "Yeah. I think I would be scared too, but, I am here for you, and I will walk beside you, in any way that I can". BTW: My daughter was the most gracious patient I have ever known. Always gentle and appreciative, she allowed others to work with her limitations, and do for her. Her mother is, however, not so gracious. I'm more inclined to be irritated at myself for what I'm unable to do. Perhaps thinking I "should be able to" is the ghost of a positive attitude gone awry.
(12) yonatan eisenberg, December 6, 2010 2:11 PM
May the Hannukah lights always fill your years with hope
Chag Sameach and a refuah shleima!
(11) Anonymous, December 6, 2010 3:43 AM
I understand what Gavi doesn't
First, let me give you my wishes for a refua shelaima. I have had cancer in my imediate family. Remittion has its chalenges because the drs say "It's over! Your fine!" and they neglect to say that it will take 6 months or longer to recover your full strength. Meanwhile, the family doesn't want the patient to be sick anymore so they act like they did in the Pre-Cancer days. It is so hard. As many said, Leah, you have to still take it easy and ask for help as needed. Hashem should continue to help you and iy"H, you should have strenght to make a lovely seuda hada'ah/ a feast to give thanks when you hit that 5 year mark.
(10) Denise, December 6, 2010 2:16 AM
Remission
It is probably going to take quite a while for you to get back to normal. I had cancer in my 40s and it took me years. I learnt that I could no longer entertain or make elaborate dishes. People have learnt to accept it and understand that it's no longer a priority in my life. Please people, do not recommend books by celebrities with no medical background. Also DO NOT tell a person who has cancer or any other terrible illness to stay positive. One can't always stay positive and one can stay positive and die anyway. It was the most annoying advice I ever received. It told me people couldn't deal with my truth so had to throw platitudes at me. My whole post-cancer support group was filled with a lot of angry women due to people's unhelpful comments. Two of the people who told me "My girl, stay positive, stay strong" ultimately got lingering cancer themselves and saw it wasn't so easy to take their own advice especially when the chemo made you feel AWFUL.
(9) tobywil, December 5, 2010 9:35 PM
do not get hooked on antidepressants!---your attitude is most important and faith that you will heal
anti depressants get you hooked and don't resolve the emotional and physical trauma, (they have side effects too) learn to live with yourself, with hope and positive thinking, you will prevail, you will heal, every minute is precious, enjoy every moment, be thankful you are alive, you have children, accentuate the positive, eliminate all negative thinking, tell everyone to tell you a joke, do not listen to doom and gloom, no bad news etc,
(8) Rachel, December 5, 2010 8:49 PM
Blessings
May Hashem bless you. You are very brave. I admire you.
(7) Karen Lustig, December 5, 2010 7:36 PM
I agree with Gavi
A very heartfelt story, and I was thinking exactly what Gavi said while reading it. It's time to re-prioritize, because your remission appears to be far from a total recovery as of now. Wishing you continued healing with perhaps the aid of an anti-depressant to lift your mood, and the miracle of good health in the coming year.
(6) tobywil, December 5, 2010 6:58 PM
there are wonderful support groups, if your children are unable to step up to the plate
music, laughter, love, and living in the now! enjoying every minute, positive thinking, have one child ask the others all to bring something, not tooo late to ask for help!, may you enjoy every day, G-d didn't tell us how long we will live, but the quality is important, seize the moments! strength comes from within and faith -soo keep on laughing, laughing is healing! even if you don't feel like it smile!
(5) Jewish mama, December 5, 2010 6:44 PM
I understand. stay strong of have courage. (((hugs)))
(4) sherri, December 5, 2010 4:05 PM
Refuah Shleima!
I wish you a complete and speedy recovery....I totally agree with the first comment. Time to say, let's start a new tradition, everyone at Sarah's house...or chaim's...or malki's....Happy Chanukah!
(3) rebecca, December 5, 2010 4:00 PM
Wishing you a Refuah Shleima. May the light of the Chanuka Candles bring you much healing. Also check out Suzzane Sommers book "Knock Out" as well as Dr. Burzinski. Cancer is not a death sentence!
(2) Anonymous, December 5, 2010 3:44 PM
Thank you
Thank you for sharing your story. This is an eye-opener or me, a younger person. I will try to be more sensitive in similar situations with my parents/in-laws. Best wishes for a complete Refuah and return to your prior strength.
(1) Gavi Meyer, December 5, 2010 2:09 PM
Where are your children? Why are you not the honored guest at the table THEY have prepared? Yes. Life has drastically changed. Now, it is THEIR turn to nurture YOU. Yes, I know all too well. It is horrible to know you can't swing the whole thing as you always used to. I too, have a situation that has severely curtailed me, and am having great difficulty being the recipient, instead of the able provider. But, it is time for your children to step up and shine. Not only is it good for them to do so, there is a grace to be learned in being the cared for one. Perhaps in coming years, you will gain enough strength to do far more than is possible today. For now, your role must be the gracious recipient. BTW: In case you wondered, I haven't fully learned to either.