Cancer and Other Natural Disasters

May 4th, 2010

The people of Nashville have seen the worst flooding in recorded history. Over 13 inches of rain fell on the city in just over two days, bringing the Cumberland River to 51 feet, well above flood  level. The nearby Harpeth River also flooded, leaving entire neighborhoods underwater. Although it was on a much smaller scale, the pictures coming out of these areas were reminiscent of Hurricane 
Katrina.

On Sunday, we watched lightening flash and thunder roar, while reports of deaths rolled out on the news.  Unlike Katrina, however, my family was caught in the midst of the same storm we saw on TV, watching sheets of rain pour down over our own home, seeing the radar on the screen ominously predicting what soon came to pass. We have a creek on our property and vigilantly monitored its rise, trying to strategize at what point and how we would evacuate. We filled empty bottles with water in case the the drinking supply became contaminated. I figured out what we had in the way of packable provisions should the power go out.

In the meantime, the national news was preoccupied with the Gulf oil spill and the bomb attempt at Times Square, so our region’s devastation went ignored. I relied on dispatches from Twitter to give me a sense of what was going 
on around the city.

The rain stopped but the water kept going, filling the Cumberland until it overflowed, changing the landscape of the downtown we love to hang out in. The tall flags along the riverfront were submerged, a large sculpture cut loose by the rising tides. For our part, we got some water in the crawl space under our house. That (and a few desperate ants) was it. We believe the slope of our yard –– which I had just been griping about to a friend doing a landscape consult, along with the very creek that caused us such worry –– kept the water flowing in a steady stream away from us. You never know what is going to save you.
I checked in with some of my friends who lived in compromised areas. A lot of flooded basements, even by close neighbors. A lot of roads andsmall bridges out. Some people miraculously unscathed while their neighbors’ houses were submerged. A remarkable sense of having endured 
the same trial and, by what felt like dumb luck, coming out shaken but okay.
As I listened to my friends talk, I was struck by how much the sentiments they expressed resembled the range and intensity of emotions I have felt as I shift from cancer patient to cancer 
survivor.  I am so lucky, they said. It could have been so much worse. I can’t believe we had to bail out the basement –– what a hassle. We tried fighting it but at a certain point we knew we just had to wait it out. I know it could have been worse, but what a drag. I feel bad for whining when I know how bad it is for others. We lost some things that were dear to us, but in the end, we’ll be okay. I know people who lost everything. We are so lucky.
Yes, I keep thinking. Yes, yes, yes. I know exactly. I know all of those feelings so well.
Driving through my neighborhood, except for some extra debris, youwould almost not realize that a big storm had passed. The days have been bright and sunny. The birds’ songs fills the air, which smells so sweet and clean. You go along and everything seems normal, but then, out of nowhere, you see a sign from the storm that’s passed. A pothole. The Red Cross Shelter sign. The pond-sized puddles on the baseball field. A family’s basement possessions strewn out to dry on their lawn.
So it is with me. This week, in what is supposed to be my last week between surgery recovery and the start of radiation*, I went to the dentist. I had mouth ulcers and other problems during chemo, so I knew I wouldn’t get the usual praise for my good flossing habits and a pleasureful cleaning. (I know that must sound perverse to some, but I love that smooth feeling on my teeth.) The cleaning was painful and there were three cavities to fill. When I went in to get them filled today, the Novocain shot, which is normally a non-event, made me unbelievably nauseous. After two of them, the dentist offered not to numb me for the third. I talked it through with her and agreed to risk
a brief moment of nerve pain over more nausea. I am so full of chemo- and anesthesia crap that something as simple as Novicain made me sick.  Like those sudden potholes in the road, I didn’t see that one coming.
And so it goes. Once again, I have made it through, recognizing that I am one of the lucky ones. I wish that I could do more to help with the devastation around me. While we survived the flood without much of a hitch, my family is still weathering another storm.

* My radiation therapy, scheduled to start on Monday, might be delayed. Radiation Oncology is housed in the basement of the hospital, which got flooded. And so my two storms come together…

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, May 4th, 2010 at 10:46 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.