Therapy in Breast Cancer

My love affair with Downton Abbey began when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It
was during that interminable period after your biopsy confirms what you feared but before
you know exactly what the doctors want to do about it. It was also that interminable period
between Christmas and New Year’s. Almost everyone is away and you are awaiting the
results of more pathologies from more tests and all you are able to do is hurry up and wait.

My friends at PBS had sent me an advance screener of this new British costume drama,
which was to premiere in the new year. I have a soft spot for such things, and since I didn’t
have much to do but fret about the what-ifs, I threw the disc into my computer and started
to watch. Resting comfortably on my bed, my laptop perched on a breakfast tray, I
proceeded to indulge in what is now commonly called “binge viewing.” One episode after
another, I got lost in the scandalous saga of Lady Mary and Mr. Pamuk and Lady Sybil’s
idealism and Mr. Bates’s repression and Lord Grantham’s propriety. There were dark
clouds on the horizon (for the inhabitants of Downton Abbey as well as for me), but for
now we could be consumed by trifles that took on such profound meaning. No doctor
could have ordered this escapism for me. It was probably the best therapy I could have had
at that particular moment. And yes, I watched it twice!

My point is, when you are diagnosed with breast cancer, you face months of therapy,
maybe years. But here’s the thing: there are all sorts of therapies, and my advice would be
to avail yourself of them all and whenever necessary.

There is, of course, the biggie—chemotherapy. Generally you don’t get a choice in the
matter; your genes are calling the shots here. If you have a mastectomy or any other kind
of surgery related to your breast cancer, then physical therapy is in your future. I guess you
could choose to forgo this particular therapy, but that’s probably not wise (though your
insurance company may make this a challenge). There’s also the other drug therapy after
the chemotherapy, you know, the one that is supposed to stop the cancer from coming
back. These are all the therapies where your doctor is in the driver’s seat.

And here’s another one that is on your doctor’s dance card—psychotherapy. That’s one
that doesn’t get a lot of attention in the gauzy breast cancer world of pink ribbons and sexy,
glamorous cancer warriors fighting back. You will tire of the bromides about your being
able to kick the ass of this disease and vanquish it, or whatever other martial language
people want to use (see “W Is for Warrior” ). Well, breast cancer is a bitch. Being able to
say that out loud to someone, someone who will help you cope and even help you mourn,
is a huge help (see “A Is for Anxiety” ). So psychotherapy is nothing to be ashamed of or
reluctant to embrace. It is all part of the healing. You were diagnosed with an insidious
disease, your body has been maimed and poisoned and your hair has fallen out, and you
feel like crap. Really, it’s a wonder you didn’t think about talking through all that right from
the get-go.

So what else works for you? Retail therapy perhaps? Yes, this is one of those therapies
for which women get a bad rap. Well, I have some good news: this is the kind of therapy
you never have to feel guilty about when you have breast cancer (see “F Is for Fashion
Accessories”). I can vouch for the therapeutic benefits of shopping for particular items that
will make you feel better about yourself. Honest. Along with my pillow therapy (see “P Is
for Pillows”), we bought a new mattress. That’s one of those things we’d thought about for
ages. Now I knew I was going to spend a lot of time in bed recuperating and resting, why
shouldn’t I have a comfortable mattress? Indulgent? Maybe. Therapeutic? Absolutely.

I will admit that there have been times in my life when I have found eating to be
therapeutic. This one is a little tougher when you are undergoing chemotherapy. Your taste
buds have undergone a strange chemical metamorphosis that plays havoc with flavor and
texture and smell. But when the moment strikes you and you must eat (fill in the blank),
have at it. My nutritionist wanted me to eat whatever I wanted and whatever stayed down.

For the first time in my life, guilt-free ice cream! Just what the doctor ordered.

Here are some other things that were incredibly therapeutic for me: flowers, friends,
serialized television dramas like Downton Abbey and John Adams (because I had no energy
to watch a whole movie in one sitting—I had to watch Eat, Pray, Love in three sittings and
wish I had stopped after Eat), every single member of my family who came to visit,
especially my toddler nephew, my work (when I was up for it), reading when I could, and
crying, seemingly at random.

Therapy is all about healing, and the beauty of healing is that it can apply to your body,
your soul, your mind, and your surroundings. And finding therapy the doctor doesn’t have
to prescribe and insurance doesn’t have to pay for is probably the best of all.

Therapy in Breast Cancer