How to manage PTSD over the holidays and making the transition from Cancer Fighter to Cancer Survivor.
PUBLISHED April 25, 2019
A native New Yorker, Shira Kallus Zwebner is a communications consultant and writer living with her husband and three children in Jerusalem, Israel. Diagnosed in 2017 with diffuse large B-cell lymphoma, she's fighting her cancer battle and blogging about the journey at hipstermomblog.com
Passover last year was beyond difficult, with my sixth R-CHOP treatment for stage IVA non-Hodgkin's lymphoma on the eve of the seven-day holiday. I spent the Seder, traditionally a festive event where family and friends gather together in their holiday finest, alone in a bedroom in tears. Instead of my best holiday dress, I wore pajamas and a wool cap over my sweaty, bald head. My cheeks were flushed and swollen from the six prednisone pills taken hours earlier, my body alternating between hot flashes and bone-chilling cold. We were sad and exhausted, entering the spring season with my cancer battle still waging and the constant fear that I wouldn't emerge victorious.
During the week, we spent a morning at the hospital for my weekly PICC line cleaning and blood draw. My hematologist-oncologist had taken the holiday off and left instructions with the doctor on call. She reviewed my blood counts, told me when to start the Neupogen injections to get my white blood cells up and wished me a good holiday. Later, the nurse gently peeled off the sticker holding the tubes against my skin and disinfected the area, chatting easily about her own Passover Seder and her fun travel plans for the remainder of the week. I stayed quiet and listened, knowing that my own children would be spending the holiday without me. I looked over at my husband with sadness. It was his 44th birthday and my illness had taken its toll. He just couldn't keep up the positivity that day.
During the week, we spent a morning at the hospital for my weekly PICC line cleaning and blood draw. My hematologist-oncologist had taken the holiday off and left instructions with the doctor on call. She reviewed my blood counts, told me when to start the Neupogen injections to get my white blood cells up and wished me a good holiday. Later, the nurse gently peeled off the sticker holding the tubes against my skin and disinfected the area, chatting easily about her own Passover Seder and her fun travel plans for the remainder of the week. I stayed quiet and listened, knowing that my own children would be spending the holiday without me. I looked over at my husband with sadness. It was his 44th birthday and my illness had taken its toll. He just couldn't keep up the positivity that day.
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