After the Storm

I saw a patient of mine last week who is now around four months out from her last cycle of adjuvant chemotherapy. "It didn't go so hot" would be an understatement for this lovely woman - she suffered through most of the noxious side effects listed in the chemotherapy pamphlets.

Although she was working full time and denied any serious lingering symptoms, I sensed an undercurrent of fear coming from her, as if she had escaped from a prison camp and was now trying to walk unnoticed among those of us who have never been arrested. I asked her about a few minor things and convinced myself that she was afflicted with "cancer panic," a feeling of angst that some survivors have when they think about the future and their chances of participating in it. I gave her this (hopefully not perfunctory) piece of advice:

"All of your concerns are perfectly normal for someone who has just gone through a tough course of aggressive chemotherapy. Even though your body is healed, there is a part of you still thrashing about in the chaos and dread that comes with this disease. I want you to know that although this is distressing it is a natural part of recovery.

"Let's look at this another way: suppose you run a grocery store and a tornado just came through and made a shambles of the place. As you now place all your products back on the shelves you notice that some of them are damaged. You can't just snap your fingers and make the smashed boxes and broken bottles new again, but as you rebuild your store you can at least put them in a separate aisle where you don't have to look at them all the time.

"I say keep restocking your shelves, and when you walk by aisle 5 don't be afraid to stare at the mess the storm left behind. You can't deny what happened, but after taking a hard look at the trash there, you can move on - to more productive ventures."