Let me begin by saying that I'm still OK. Other than some bothersome (to me) weight gain (thanks to the steroids), the standard fatigue and the other nuisance side effects, I'm doing great! I had an echo on Monday and everything looked good. Overall, I can't complain. My attitude is still good, I'm still a complete dork and goofball and I've laughed so hard today that my sides hurt. Also, I'm thrilled to say that we are now officially beyond the halfway point in the second round of chemo!
With all of that good news, you're probably wondering what about this reality actually bites. Well, I'm still angered by the horror of cancer in general. Just since my diagnosis in March I've heard of several others and I've experienced the loss of a fantastic woman who was diagnosed only a couple of weeks before me (that one REALLY pisses me off). I'm a very empathetic person so I tend to get more emotional about the situations of others. Yesterday turned out to be particularly rough for a treatment day. We kept it light and we laughed a lot. We spent some quality time with one of our favorite roomies but there were a couple of moments - very brief, but powerful - that Bobby and I were reminded of how it can be.
Oddly, the topic of specific diagnoses does not often come up with between patients during chemo, at least not in my experience. We have had at least 4 (I think) sessions with our roomie from yesterday so she finally asked me about the type of cancer I had, etc. You know me, no hesitation about sharing my business. I told her my story and she then proceeded to share hers. Let me start by saying, if you were to see her on the street, you probably would not guess that was battling cancer. She's in her late 60s and quite thin, but not "sickly" looking. She speaks softly, she lost her voice as a result of treatment, but with a light and lovely German accent. She said her sister was diagnosed with colon cancer and passed from it. Then, in October of last year she, herself, was diagnosed. She said it was inoperable and by the time they found it, it had already spread to her liver and her lungs...stage 4. She will continue with Chemo for the rest of her life. As if that was not sobering enough, she said that in all her life prior to her diagnosis, she had never been sick, never hospitalized, no surgeries, she hadn't taken many, if any, medications. That sounds great but apparently, when it comes to treatment, it's not so great. She has been allergic to every medication she's been given and has experienced every side effect in the books. On top of that, the chemo they were giving her yesterday was so strong that the onset of nausea was only 15 minutes. It can cause bad cramping immediately. Of course, the medical staff did everything they could to reduce the symptoms and the reactions to the meds. She seemed comfortable but before we left you could tell she was getting uncomfortable. As she was telling us about her treatment she said she would probably be dead by now if not for the treatment but she's not sure she would have agreed to it had she known what the treatment itself would do to her. It just broke my heart. She is such a sweet woman and we so enjoy our time with her (outside of the whole chemo part).
My usual seat is in a room with 2 chairs and I end up in the one by the door so, as a result, I can see out into the hall and the nurses' area. As we were talking yesterday I noticed someone new walking into the infusion area. This isn't unusual and yesterday was pretty busy. Obviously, I looked up when the new arrival came in but something was different about this one. There is a routine. If you aren't seeing the doctor that day, you get weighed in and have your blood pressure checked before proceeding to your chair. If you have seen the doc, there's usually some brief chit chat with the nurses in their area and then off to your room. The person who came in didn't get any vitals checked and didn't move on to a room. At first she had her back to me as she talked to one of the nurses. Then she headed toward the restroom but turned around before going in...she was sobbing. I instantly hurt for her. You can jump to a few conclusions based on the location and the audience and it's not good. I didn't stare, I didn't try to overhear. She went into the restroom for a couple of minutes and then came back out. She was still upset but was a little better. She gave the nurse and long hug and then prepared to leave. All I heard the nurse say to her before she left was, "Please don't go on the internet and look it up." My heart sank. That was the extent of the visit and all I know but it was so painful to watch and it reminds you just how serious things can get and how hard it can be to realize you are NOT in control of the outcomes. Have I mentioned that cancer sucks??!!
This is very real and very challenging. I deal with something similar to survivor guilt. I had the same experience in the NICU. Gabriel is a great example of a success story but he's not the norm. I was very conflicted about sharing our story because there are so many families who deal with the long term effects of premature birth. You worry that people will look at someone like Gabriel and think "Wow, preemies do great now. Modern medicine has gotten over the hump so maybe I don't need to support organizations like the March of Dimes..." You get the idea. I'm now dealing with the same type of feelings in my current situation. Now I worry that I might make chemo seem like a breeze. It's not a breeze but, for me, it was not anywhere near as bad as I expected. Not even close. I was prepared for every side effect, every horror story I'd ever heard about any chemo was fresh on my mind. It just hasn't happened for me. Yes, I feel guilty because my head is not over the toilet for days at a time, because my fingernails haven't fallen off, because I don't really care that my hair fell out, my eyebrows are disappearing and my lashes are thin. I feel guilty because I could tell the doctor to just take the boobs! What about people who have cancer in organ which can't be removed or have cancer that is inoperable, for one reason or another. I know I'm probably oversharing and I know it probably sounds like I'm depressed but I'm not. I'm just sharing in hopes that others can understand that there is so much more to cancer and all that goes with in than you might expect. My attitude remains positive, my laughter is still loud and frequent, and my love of life is stronger than ever but I have a different perspective on life. Cherish is, embrace it, and don't take anything for granted. Even on my worst day, I'm thrilled to be alive. I will continue through treatment and be thrilled that I have had good reports and clean scans showing no evidence of disease but I will never refer to myself as a survivor. If you know me well, you probably already knew that was coming. I have a thing about jinxes. Don't worry, I'll save that story for another post. I will get through treatment, pray for additional clean scans and good reports but I will forever have that little person in the back of mind wondering if it's going to show up somewhere else. The treatment itself can result in leukemia and other cancers down the road so this will forever be a part of my life. That's no joke! I will continue to laugh, enjoy life and just carry on. I am tougher than I ever imagined I could be, I am more positive than I expected and I have received so many positives as a result of this experience that it is, in some way, a blessing.
I promise, I'll keep it light for a while after a post like this. Now smile with me as we check out some Phteven! I am an animal lover and I have a big crush on little Tuna the Chiweenie AKA Phteven. There is a story behind how I came to fall for Phteven but, again, we'll save that for another post. In the meantime, check him out!!
Have a laugh today and don't forget to "Just Say It!"
Love to all,
Andee
