In praise of sisterly support

Carolyn Thomas     ♥    Heart Sisters (on Blue Sky) 

 

When I was a little girl, my Auntie Jean gave my mother (her older sister) a decorative wall plaque engraved with a lovely poem called “To My Sister”.  Over the years, my own sister Catherine and I memorized that poem on the wall plaque. That’s us in the picture above (she’s the one torturing the head of her little dolly). Over time, the two of us learned to rattle off the entire poem together upon request – a fun party trick, according to our parents. And when we were older, we even recreated the original plaque using macaroni letters – because a beautiful poem about sisters deserves that extra-special artistic flare, doesn’t it? We did, however, take some liberties with spelling out our macaroni letters – because we thought the poet’s words should rhyme better.   

I’ve been thinking a lot about Catherine lately because we’ve been seeing each other much more frequently than ever before. As soon as she learned of my breast cancer diagnosis in April, she immediately volunteered to be my support person on Chemo Days. A retired professional chef, she had both the time and the strong desire to help out her family. We both live on the beautiful west coast of Canada,  a few hours drive apart. She offered to drive from her home in Nanaimo to mine in Victoria in order to accompany me to my scheduled chemotherapy appointments, “for as long as you can stand me!”

And then, as if that offer wasn’t already kind enough, she also stayed overnight on my couch for a few days after each Chemo appointment to help me get through the worst of the chemo side effects (and cook and clean and do laundry and shopping and dozens of other tasks  – including last weekend’s massive re-organizing of extension cords that had somehow been collecting under my desk for the past 18 years – THANK YOU! ♥) 

Catherine didn’t just sit next to my reclining chair in the Chemo Room. We chatted and laughed non-stop during those chemotherapy appointments – which is not likely what freshly-diagnosed cancer patients expect to experience in that room, tethered to I.V. bags of toxic drugs slowly drip-drip-dripping into our veins in a constant search for dangerous cancer cells. In fact, on one Chemo Day morning, a friendly cancer patient across the room from us joked that there was “too  much laughing in the Chemo Room!”  In between the chatting and laughing, she would fetch me blankets or extra pillows or ginger ale or anything else I needed. 

I will never forget our hours together at the Cancer Clinic. I didn’t love what was happening to my body, of course, but I loved spending this time with my sister. 

While Catherine sat beside me, I would generously ask her if she needed my Superior Brain Power (there’s another joke!) to help solve her ever-present crossword puzzles – yet for some reason, she repeatedly declined my offers. 

There was often considerable discussion around the Chemo Room about which post-Chemo day would bring the worst side effects. Many of our chemo nurses voted for Day 2.  But in my case, Days 4-5 were typically the days I felt like I’d been run over by a very large bus. Those were coincidentally the days my sister was usually packing her suitcase to drive back home. I missed her terribly each time we hugged goodbye. Not just because she had become my live-in expert on which drug to take at what time on which day, but also because by then, we had developed a pleasant little routine around naptimes, shopping trips, beautiful sunny walks along the ocean and watching hilarious family videos. Then one week following a regular Chemo Day, we started a new tradition of going thrift-shopping downtown. Instead of the post-chemo fatigue I expected, bargain-hunting seemed to energize both of us!  Like a miracle drug without the nasty side effects. 

Catherine and I had gone from many years of rarely visiting each other when she lived far away to suddenly planning frequent visits to coincide with my cancer treatment dates. In many ways, aside from regular catch-up phonecalls over decades, we were very different people than we used to be (as most of us are!) so we had lots to learn about each other. 

During one of her earliest post-Chemo overnight stays, for example,  I could tell she was increasingly frustrated with my makeshift medication reminders (i.e. my Post-It notes) around my home. Wouldn’t it be easier, she gently suggested (many times) to just use the Chemo nurses’ spreadsheets to keep track of all of my prescription pills and pre-loaded syringes which had to be administered daily between Chemo appointments? 

But as any Post-it note fan already knows, there are few things easier in life than slapping a colourful Post-it note on the bathroom mirror with that day’s reminders – which means we’re definitely going to see that note. And for me, that also meant requiring minimal brain function to tax my Chemo Brain. 

Catherine kept insisting it would be “easier” for me if only I would use the chemo nurses’ spreadsheets to manage my meds schedule. 

That insistence kept me clutching my Post-its for dear life. I could have stared at those drug spreadsheets all day long – yet I’d still feel unable to comprehend what I’d been looking at – a very distressing reaction compared to anything in my pre-cancer life when I still had some dependable brain function. 

With each of us insisting on contrary options, it didn’t take long before this scenario revealed the inevitable:  grown-up adults who haven’t lived together since their long ago teen years feel annoyed when other grown-up adults forget that we are allowed to make our own decisions – because we’re grown-up adults. 

Not surprisingly, Catherine was shocked one morning when I burst into tears while  reacting to yet another suggestion that my Post-it note drug reminders were “too confusing”  for me.

“You just don’t get it!”  I said, stopping her in mid-suggestion. 

The reality was that neither of us “got it” back then. 

We were both new to this life. I’d never been a cancer patient going through  chemotherapy, and Catherine had never been a support person for a cancer patient going through chemotherapy. We were both learning as we stumbled through scary warnings linked to treatments, brutal side effects, debilitating Chemo Brain Fog, painfully infected fingernails that turn black and fall out (!) and so much more.  After that first weepy incident, I think we both tried to “get it”. 

By the way, as I told Catherine and anybody else who would listen, Chemo Brain Fog is real  – and it is awful. My short-term memory was a mess. To this day, I’ll walk over to the calendar to remind myself (yet again) of today’s date, but as soon as I leave the kitchen, I’ve already forgotten it. Mayo Clinic oncologists remind us that Chemo Brain Fog describes these serious thinking and memory problems that can occur both during and after cancer treatments. 

I highly recommend having a sister if you should happen to need ongoing help and support during a devastating diagnosis. But even if you’re lacking a sister, our grown sons, daughters, in-laws and other family members are right up there alongside our friends and neighbours who genuinely want to help out.

As our wall plaque poet described so well, sisters do share a unique historical bond – and for readers who are curious, here’s our macaroni letter version of that poem. 

Q:  Have you experienced sisterly support when you needed it?

.

NOTE FROM CAROLYN:   In my book, “A Woman’s Guide to Living with Heart Disease“ (Johns Hopkins University Press), I wrote much more about the importance of communication – never more important than in our own families.  You can ask for this book at your local library or bookshop (please support your favourite independent booksellers!)  or order it online (paperback, hardcover or e-book) at Amazon, or order it directly from Johns Hopkins University Press. Use their code HTWN to save 30% off the list price when you order.