Dancing With Cancer Memoirs...Accepting Help From Others, Part I

I gotta confess I'm horrid at asking for help. I hate it. I feel like I am being an inconvenience. I worry that people don't really want to help. I worry about not being able to repay people and feeling indebted to others. And I just feel so selfish and then I feel guilty. People have their own problems and issues and I just don't want to add my pile of shit to their pile of shit.

I had gotten quite good at 'powering through stuff' without letting it slow me down much. I had cultivated a facade of Super Woman, forging through life, unstoppable. My daughter certainly believed it; I worked hard to convince her of it. Whenever I got home from the hospital to finish recovering from anemia or surgery, I always told her to go over to her friend's house, don't worry about me, I don't need help, go have some fun!

But always a hidden part of me, a part of me that I have managed to stuff down deep inside me, wanted someone to take care of me for a change, with no strings attached. I was so tired of always having to be strong and capable 24/7. In fact I was totally and completely burned out from life.

But I would never admit it. Too much pride. I did not want to appear needy, selfish, and weak.

Cancer is teaching me otherwise. Cancer is just too damn big for me to 'power through.' Cancer hasn't just brought me to my knees; it has laid me out flat. And people have come through for me.

My New York Family:
Eddie, listens to me vent, encourages me, and helps me financially. He's like a guardian angel.

Sisters Elizabeth and Aunt J.M, my cheerleaders, always encouraging me and offering suggestions.

My Friends from Work:
Co-worker LPN Linda picked me up at the crack of dawn twice; once for my upper endoscope and again for my lower. She was the one with me when I was told by my gastro doctor the mass was indeed a cancerous tumor.

Vanessa, Social Worker, who took me to my first surgeon's appointment and stayed with my daughter during that major surgery ordeal.

Joanne, Social Worker, who has given me tons of information and packets, who made numerous phone calls, and who calls me to see how I am doing.

Denni, fellow CNA, who has been my taxi too many times to count, who calls me to check on me, giving me encouragement, going to lunch when I feel up to it, and keeping me in the loop with work. She is one of the aides who had to take over the care of my patients and I know they are getting excellent care.

Edie, Denni's sister and fellow CNA, picked the mail up for me at the post office and brought me some fresh strawberries that she had picked and washed. She knew I wanted to get some and I would not be able to. She even brought over some whip cream.

Joe, Chaplin, who visits me at the hospital and when he can't, he sends his lovely wife. He also calls me to see how I'm doing.Joan who sent me flowers and a card.

Clinical Director RN April, my boss, who saved my life in January when I almost ran completely out of blood; she ordered me to go to the doctor that day. If she didn't do that, I would have been dead before the end of the week. She also drove me to the hospital at the crack of dawn for my colectomy surgery. Her husband drove my daughter to and from driver's ed when I was not able to.

Friends from the 'Hood:
Next door neighbor and friends Connie and her family. Connie has been my taxi and also my cook, and she is a really good cook:) They have been doing my lawn care even before I my diagnosis. Connie's son Nick has come and gotten my truck running again after it broke down in a bank parking lot, and he also put in a new mail box for me. Nick took over lawn care. Nick's wife Nicole has been moral support and getting medicine for me.

Terri, who sent her daughter Caytee over with her credit card to pick up my daughter to take her grocery shopping.

Sister Pat, a former New Orleans street witch, who gave me a beautiful candle blessed with healing majick to help me get through chemo.

My neighbor John, who came over one night (described in a future blog) to take me to the hospital.

My dog Harley and my cat Smoke. I had a fold out couch mattress I put on my living room floor. I would be lying on it and one would be sandwiched against my back and the other sandwiched against my front. They held me tightly that way for hours, not moving a muscle or an inch from me. When I was so sick and running to the toilet, Harley would sit up and watch me anxiously, looking worried. He knew.

And of course my daughter Candace. For arranging taxi services. For being there.