Fighting Through the Mental Fog

I drive a truck for a living. 12 to 14 hours a day, 6 days a week. I have been all over the country, but Newton County, Indiana has fog like I have not seen anywhere else. We have public school delays for fog - 3 hours at a time because the bus drivers cannot see past their hoods.

Driving on a near-perfect morning

Thursday morning, 2:30 AM, pitch black and I am driving south on US-41. Everything is wonderful. The truck is running fine. The roadway is clear and dry. I have the driver's window open an inch at the top, just to let in some fresh air. A near-perfect morning.

Suddenly engulfed in fog

As I come over a small rise, I see the fog begin. Within a half-mile, I am engulfed. The white line to my right vanishes. The dotted line in the middle of the road disappears next. As it continues to thicken, I begin to lose my bearings. I can't see any familiar landmarks. All I can see are my headlights and the sidelights on my trailer. Beyond the reach of the lights, there is nothing but grey, white mist. I am completely isolated with no idea what is around me.

The only way out is through

Fog is the most distressing thing to drive in, for me. I can manage ice and snow. Torrential rain does not rattle me. Thunder and lighting are comforting for some reason. Fog is a different beast. Fog robs me of any sense of certainty in my environment. The only thing I can do is slow to a "comfortable" speed and drive through. No idea how far or how long I will have to endure, just a grinding reality that I have to keep moving forward.

Cancer is like fog, leaving me lost

Fog and cancer share the same address. By that, I mean that cancer and fog both leave me disoriented, lost, anxious and without my regular bearings. I am currently NED (no evidence of disease) but the fog of cancer is always waiting just over the horizon. A phrase or a smell or nothing at all can trigger the fog of fear and the unknown. Sometimes I can literally feel the mist as it rises up and swallows me.

When the fear of recurrence engulfs me

The benchmarks of my recovery fade from view. The years of disease-free living become hard to make out. The haze and mist of "what might happen" begin to rise up. I can feel it in my chest. An insidious tightening in my stomach. Breathing becomes shallower and quickens. Shoulders and neck muscles begin to burn and ache. Left unchecked, I risk a full panic attack. A debilitating occurrence that will force me to completely stop.

Ways I manage the cancer fog

Just like actual fog, I have found a way to manage this cancer fog. When driving the truck if I encounter fog, I slow down to a speed I feel I can manage safely and ride it out. When the fear of cancer begins to cloud my reality, when that imaginary fog begins to rise up - I do much the same as driving. First, I slow my breathing. This takes practice, but more importantly, it takes focus. Since the human brain can only focus on one thing at a time, focusing on the breath robs the cancer fog of attention.

Breathing exercises

Slow, steady inhale through the nose, one, two, three. Gently hold for a 6-count. Controlled exhale through the mouth counting to nine. Inhale for 3, hold for 6, exhale for 9. I repeat this several times. If my mind goes right back to the fog when I begin to breathe normally, I go back to my 3-6-9 until the fog passes and my mind finds something else to focus on. This takes practice and discipline to employ as soon as I become aware of my rising fear. However, it does allow me to keep moving forward until the skies of my mind clear and I can relax.

I hope this mind hack can help someone when fear or anxiety threatens to rob you of your joy.