Utah! Day one started off a bit rough

Every year we try to go to Utah around Memorial Day or soon thereafter for John’s birthday. We noticed that a weather front was forecasted to come through, right in the middle of the weekend. But we decided to go anyway. John has gotten quite busy at work and didn’t see another good time. I’ve also gotten the remodel started with a big cement pour coming up soon after we were scheduled to get home. So off we went.

Day one of our Utah trip was challenging. We were barely underway when our navigation started warning us about a double accident on the freeway between Phoenix and Flagstaff. Estimated wait times climbed as we approached Phoenix. By the time we were in Phoenix, wait times were estimated at nearly two hours and still climbing. We stopped at a park in northern Phoenix to decide what to do. There really wasn’t a good way around the accidents. But we did not want to sit on the freeway for two hours. We decided to find a café with an outdoor patio and order lunch. 

By the time we finished our excellent lunch at a little Greek café, the freeway ahead was nearly clear. We had only been underway for a few miles when suddenly I had a sinking feeling, followed by panic – did I leave my purse behind? 

When we left the Greek café, our hands were full; I juggled Biska on a leash in one hand, and her water dish in my other, trying not to spill the water. John had gathered up the trash for the garbage can as well as our drinks and leftovers to take back to the van. My purse had been sitting on the chair behind me. Did I leave it there?

We had eaten outside on the patio, and it wasn’t even a contained patio. It was just a few tables out on the far edge of the sidewalk. People were walking through the whole time we were eating. Surely if I left my purse it wouldn’t still be there. 

John exited the freeway to get turned around, and I frantically searched for the phone number for the café. The woman on the phone sounded dubious, but suddenly she said, “I see it!”, and she nearly hung up on me in her haste to dash out and save my purse for me.

We drove back and I ran in for my purse, which she had set by the cash register. She gently admonished me, as she handed it to me, saying that even though it was a good neighborhood, she was surprised it was still there. 

I was relieved and also felt foolish and frustrated. I am having much more difficulty tracking things since I had chemo two years ago. I know everyone has trouble as they get older, but for me it was very sudden.

I am also having trouble with proprioception, which is my sense of where I am relative to my surroundings. Because of that, I bump into things a lot. I’ve always been that way, in fact one of my coworkers in Santa Fe teased me for being “fond of walls” because I would misjudge and bump into corners sometimes. That was before chemotherapy. But I’m much worse now, and I am usually banged and bandaged up from minor household incidents; bruises, burns and cuts.

I recently hit not one but both of my feet on the open door of my dishwasher (which I don’t leave hanging open unless I’m actively unloading it). First I hit my left foot and a week later I hit my right foot. And the day before we left for Utah I burned my forearm while making bread for the trip. Bumbling and forgetful – lovable maybe, but decidedly frustrating too.

After we collected my forgotten purse, we continued on our way, the freeway slow but moving through the canyons heading to Flagstaff. Our only incident was an old guy in a pickup truck towing a utility trailer, suddenly decided to change lanes right into us. We couldn’t believe he didn’t see our huge van, but apparently he didn’t. John had to swerve and sound his horn. I saw the old man’s surprised look through the window as he swerved back into his own lane. I think the poor guy nearly had a heart attack. I nearly did too.

So two near misses and the day was only half through. What next? 

What came next was a twisty gravel road as we headed into the mountains. John and I have been on dozens of twisty mountain roads together. I often find them nerve wracking, but on that day my nerves were already shot. First my lost purse, then our near accident with the old guy in our lane – there was too much adrenaline already circulating in my system. 

One minute I was happy looking at the scenery, and the next moment my brain was inexplicably shouting at me that the road was ending at a cliff and we were driving off the edge! Before I even understood what was happening I started screaming. Poor John braked and looked at me. What in the world was wrong?

I had lost my mind, that was what was wrong. I was frantically trying to get out of the van. John was already driving quite slowly due to the nature of the road, so it only took him a second to stop. I leaped out and ran to the other side of the road – and back again – suddenly unsure of what I was afraid of. There was the road in front of us. Yes, it descended quite steeply and we hadn’t been able to see it until we crested the rise. But this was nothing new for me. I’ve been driving mountain roads my whole life.

I was embarrassed and discouraged. What is becoming of me? I’m a life coach, so I know the techniques to use for anxiety, such as breathing deeply and slowly. But this had happened far too fast for any intervention technique. I had no idea it was going to happen to me and no time to do any slow, deep breathing or anything else – at least not until I suddenly found myself standing in middle of the road. And by that time, I was fine again.

I guess it was a panic attack. For some reason, I always thought people knew when those were coming on. I thought they built up and it would be possible to intervene. But this was incredibly sudden and unexpected. The entire episode only lasted a few seconds. It was over before I had even understood what was happening, much less have any time to practice slow breathing, or make any attempt to override the irrational reaction. It just happened too fast.

I’m not sure if my chemotherapy did some damage and I am simply different now, or if I am actually continuing to get worse. In which case, I suppose I should seek medical assistance. If I’m not getting any worse, I can probably learn to live with my new, less reliable, post-chemo brain. If I am getting worse, why would that be? Is there something even scarier than cancer in my future?

I used to imagine that we could somehow just steel ourselves and be tough, and override any irrational tendencies of our minds. That was hubris. We are way more at the effect of our minds than we would ever want to admit to ourselves. If our minds aren’t working right, there’s not much we can do about it. It’s not about strength of character. This just isn’t in our control.

This is hard to describe, but there’s a thing where we look down on people for what their minds do to them. We arrogantly think highly of ourselves because we aren’t like them. But it’s so unfair because it’s not their fault.

I’m realizing on a new level that to a great extent we do not get to take pride in – or blame for – who we are.

Stay tuned for happier Utah stories coming up!

To send Kristina a comment, email turning51bykristina@gmail.com