Another Open Wound

I finished off my third bottle of spray wash on my last load of T-shirts and sheets. While they were finishing in the drier, I stood over my bathroom sink and blotted the blood spots on top of my head, careful to wash off before pulling the clean whites out of the machine. I checked my hands, looked at my face in the mirror: there was no sign of red, I was good to go.

Thoughts while folding laundry

Plunking the fresh laundry down on my bed to fold, I inhaled deeply. There is nothing quite like that freshly cleaned scent, and after dealing with years of cancer treatment and the resulting sweats, smells, and other irritants that came along with that, I take deep pleasure in the small things. The bright whites, which take quite a concerted effort to maintain these days, are one of those.

I folded one sheet, then another; the task is tedious on one hand because it is repeated so very often, but it also brings its own Zen-like peacefulness. Tidying up my old T-shirts and the few towels that made their way into the pile, I found myself really slipping into the zone. A nice deep, relaxing breath, and then to finish off with the whitest of the white, my treasured, soft, good-as-new T-shirt. This one was special to me, saved apart from my collection of heavily worn and often permanently spotted undershirts, to be worn when I wanted to present myself well out in the world.

Queue my split fingers

But there it was, marred by a tiny smear of fresh blood.

I stood up with a start, feeling my face to check for any fresh spotting that might have dripped, but that was all wrong; the smear was too narrow and long to have come from a droplet. My hands seemed good, the right one totally clear, the left one -- well, the left one was the culprit. The ring finger, right at the nail, had opened up.

By the time I noticed it, the wound had closed again, but there was a thin layer of nearly-dried blood running from the finger pad down to my palm. How only a thin, tiny streak made it onto my shirt was puzzling, but I must have just grazed it with my fingernail as I prepared for the fold. And at least it was only the one area -- had I not noticed it right away, I could have actually completed the folding process without seeing what I was doing as I continued to multiply the damage, ending up with a ruined shirt I would not even know about until it had been sitting in my drawer too long to repair.

Daily lung cancer inconveniences

I deal with minor inconvenience every day. And it is, overall, a small price to pay, regardless of how annoying it becomes. But my pillowcases and T-shirts and hand towels are inevitably going in the laundry pile every day. I have a ritual to start my mornings with a fresh load, and there is no problem filling it. My hand towel hook in the bathroom has a stack of four of five towels hanging from it every morning, sometimes with one left by nightfall. I keep T-shirts handy at all times and keep a vigilant eye on all of my other clothes.

Treatment tradeoffs and adapting

Cancer treatment comes with many tradeoffs. As patients, we learn to adapt. My family has learned to adapt around me, too, and I do my level best to ensure that the byproducts of my treatment remain as contained as possible. Whether I have to sweep up after myself because of the constant shedding of skin or hair, or simply make sure I've cleaned up any lesions or eruptions, it is nice knowing that with just a little care I can still look (almost) as good as I feel.

Editor’s Note: We are extremely saddened to say that on October 21, 2018, Jeffrey Poehlmann passed away. Jeffrey’s advocacy efforts and writing continue to reach many. He will be deeply missed.