Many of my friends have asked me to keep them informed about how I am faring through my most recent rounds of cancer treatments. I opted to do a blog so that people can get an update, rather than try to manage an email list that will be ever-changing. One thing I've learned about having cancer is that it's important to minimize the demands on one's time. Life got away from me the last time, and I've vowed to do a better job of managing all aspects of my life this time around.
So, the concept of a blog to put out there for the world some of the intimate details of my journey is a bit more than uncomfortable. I've never maintained a blog before. I've never even really followed anyone else's blog. So, I guess I will learn as I go.
My story is probably fairly traditional. Close to 4 years ago I was diagnosed with a form of breast cancer. The treatment regemine was surgeries, chemotherapy, and luckily -- no radiation. Being diagnosed with cancer, I'm sure no matter what kind, is a huge shock to one's system. We all kind of move through life not really contemplating what the end will look like. Sometimes we think about the idea of dying when we have a friend or loved one pass, or we hear about a death of someone important. But it remains illusive within our own realm of reality. Then the diagnosis comes and all of a sudden that ultimate moment we all dread comes racing toward us and comes to a screeching halt about 5 inches from our nose. All of a sudden, it's not a question of how great you will be someday, or the phenominal impact you will have on the world when you figure out what your "calling" is. Now, it's about whether you even have enough time to get your closets cleaned out. Hard to contemplate making an impact on the world when you have a lifetime of accumlation that has happened while you were working on your greatness.
So I recently had an annual physical. A small lump, localized to the area close to where the original tumor surfaced. Doc calls it Stage 4 (a shock, since I was staged at 2A originally and given odds in the realm of 92% survival statistics). However, Doc said it's considered Stage 4 because it came back in a different area -- in this case there was no breast tissue for any cancer cells to be attached to, thus it must be attached to the breast wall. But because it is localized (thank heaven for bone and PET scans), and has not spread to bone or organs, it is really called "metastasized". It's all more complicated than it should be. The good news -- hasn't spread. The bad news -- it's back.
So, Doc tells me that this kind of recurrence happens in about 3% of the breast cancer cases. Bad news is, not enough women have had it happen to effectively study how to treat it. Doc says the women who do better are those who go after it aggressively -- chemo and radiation. My poor, sad little lymph nodes that I have been ever so protective of will ultimately get crushed in this process. All of a sudden I am faced with decisions about my body and having to make trade offs I do not like at all.
The "do nothing" approach leaves me with the reality that I will likely die within several years. The "do only chemo" leaves me with the fear that without the radiation, I may also not last very long. Oh how I hate the idea of radiation. Partly because I am vain and I don't know what the physical ramifications will be. Partly because I just don't think the fix is in attacking cancer from the outside. I truly believe it is a processing breakdown in the exchange of heat within the cell. The exchange of heat happens through iron effectively tranferring in and out of the cell. If the order of events gets scrambled, the cell doesn't get the iron at the right timing and the cell goes cold. Once it is cold, it needs something internal to the cell to happen to allow the iron to get back in. Burning the cell from the outside is not the solution. Nudging the cell from the inside is.
But, the rudimentary capabilities we have, and the lack of any means of confirming my theory leave me with the alternatives Doc has put in front of me. There's just a hugh UGH in this process.
And then I remind myself that my physical body is just temporary housing for my soul. It carries me around to the best of its ability. Sometimes it makes me proud, and sometimes it disappoints. In the end, I will no longer need it. I'd just like to hang onto it for as long as possible.
Mixed in with all of the drama of my health issues, I recently met a man who is the partner of my dreams. I could not have made a more perfect person for me if I had really had the chance to chose from a salad bar of options. It only took 51 years to find him. But that is not without its drama either. He lost his wife last year to a brain tumor. It took the starch out of him and his family, and it broke my heart to tell him I was having a recurrence. In all fairness, I told him up front that I was a cancer survivor. I just didn't expect to have to deal with it again for a very long time, if ever. He has been amazing. He hasn't left me. He said if he learned anything from losing his wife, it was that life is short and one should follow their heart no matter how scary it is. He makes me feel loveable and loved. I am a very lucky woman.
So, now down to the real reason for the blog. I had my first chemo treatment last Thursday the 20th. Had a port installed in my arm on Tuesday. That turned out to be pretty ugly, but a necessary thing to do. The first day I felt not too bad. Saturday I didn't feel so good, but nothing really specific. Still felt like eating. Sunday I really felt worse. By Monday I was a mess. One of the hardest things I find is to remain hydrated. I dragged myself to the cancer center and got hydrated. Had to start an antibiotic because I started running a fever. On Tuesday I went back again for hydration -- this time I was able to walk in without assistance. (The day before they were scrambling for a wheel chair for me!) Tuesday night I felt fantastic and I had the most romantic and wonderful dinner with my honey. And then I went home and found I could not sleep. I started having what I thought were muscle spasms around my rib cage and in my back. Wednesday I was in the emergency ward trying to figure what was happening -- the primary concern was lung blood clot. But that came back all clear. So they loaded me up with pain meds, let me relax a bit and sent me home. They are still plaguing me today, but not as bad.
So, what I've learned this first week is to take all the meds they gave me -- especially the anti-nausea meds. I didn't take them because I wasn't feeling sick. But the nurses at the cancer center said sometimes nausea does not manifest as we would think to recognize it. Bless their hearts. They saved me this week, and I'm sure they will continue to do so.
At the moment, I am good. I am working. I actually took the dog for a walk tonight. He was happy. He just had to move a little slower than he's used to. But I explained to him that he should count his lucky stars that he was even out of the house and he was going to have to bear with me for a while. He'll just have to learn the word compromise!
By the way, some have asked what the significance of LEASTIG is for my post. It stands for Love Everybody Always So That It Grows. A long time ago, this message came to me, and I just liked what it stood for, so I use it when I'm in position to share a bit of myself and how I feel about life.
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