Back For Good

Last year I wrote some blather that included the words “How do I ever really know that it’s gone? That it’s not there lurking?”

The answer, of course, is that you don’t. But somehow I was still surprised at the beginning of September this year when they discovered that my cancer has metastasised. Someone had the audacity to tell me that they were never surprised when cancer came back. Well, I was. For all my fears, part of me believed them when they told me good things; when they were positive at me and when people talked about 2 and 5 year survival rates.

So I feel really dumb now that I have cancer in a lung and in my spine and in my lymph nodes. I feel stupid for ever having believed that I could beat cancer. I feel stupid about all the times I chirpily told people that I seemed to be doing well and that I was nearly reaching my 2-year mark which was good news. Not good enough. I feel a bit like I’ve failed. Although I know that it’s nothing to do with what I did or didn’t do. Cancer just does what it likes and it obviously really *loves* me.

It’s a lot harder to be positive this time around because I know that this time there is no chance of happily-ever-after. If I’m lucky then it can be controlled for some time but there’s no chance of a “cure.”

This is a management situation only and I haven’t worked out how to live with a disease that’s trying it’s damnedest to kill me.

—embrook

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Kate

Indeed, I couldn’t possibly know how you feel, and, as Kim said, I can really only say I’m so, so sorry.

But I’m going to go one presumptuous step further.

When my Father was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 1990 (he was in his early forties - GET YOUR PSA TESTS, GUYS), it was frightening. But he had a radical prostastectomy and had no cancerous cells in his lymph nodes. Five years after that they told him he was “CANCER FREE.”

Fast-forward to a couple of years ago, and after missing ONE PSA test - just ONE - my Father’s test results were through the roof. I couldn’t believe that it would be the same cancer again. I DIDN’T believe it would be cancer again. I’d done serious research for a Medical History class right after he’d had his first treatment and I thought I was well-informed.

But everything changes all the time (for the bad and for the good). At sixty years old my Father was diagnosed with “terminal” prostate cancer (remember - HE HAS NO PROSTATE)- spread all throughout his bones.

Sorry - too long. I will say that he’s doing well right now and recently I even found slight some hope that there might be a treatment after his androgen-suppression fails.

I guess I’m trying to say that NO ONE should ever feel stupid. People are ultra-optimistic and the medical professionals used to bandy the phrase “cancer-free” about like they were gods. I was so angry about that (in regards to my Dad). But I realize there’s a fine line between, “This treatment went so well,” and “You could have a dormant cell that could, at some point, spread and kill you.” They say the first. I’ve come to peace with that.

You DID beat cancer; you ARE beating cancer. Every day that you get up and do SOMETHING is beating cancer. And I’m not talking about being chirpy and having false notions. You wrote this beautiful entry. And it, in turn, will help someone else.

I don’t know how one doesn’t live in constant fear, though I know it’s not healthy. When I think about that, I look at my niece. She was diagnosed with Stage II Hodgkin’s Lymphoma at sixteen (and it took a YEAR to diagnose - even though she happened to be living back East and was going to Johns Hopkins). She went through chemo (and the accompanying baldness) and low-level radiation with such an amazing attitude (not always PERFECT, but damned impressive).

She turned eighteen last November, and was told that she had had a “complete response” to treatment (no more “cancer free,” notice). She has quarterly scans, and I don’t know that she thinks too hard about it, but the rest of us hold our collective breath. And then we can only say, “So far, so good.”

I always say too much. I should have just left it at, “I’m very, very sorry.” But I do believe so strongly that you should NOT feel stupid or like a failure. Your last sentence put is more eloquently than I’ve ever heard it phrased. Because THAT is the real fight.

Deborah

I hated to read your entry. I felt as if I’m intruding on something so private, so intimate.

I hated to read about the recurrence of your cancer.

I hope this reductive, miserable disease will become one of lifelong management for you, and that you will enjoy increasingly long periods of “as-good-as-it-gets-health.”

I’ve bookmarked your blog. I’ll visit regularly.

ngaio

What can any of us say, but be strong. your words mean so much coming from those of us who have seen our loved ones endure the same fight. kia kaha, as we say here in New Zealand, my heart and positve energy are coming ur way xx

Wilma

Hi there and *warmest of hugs*
I embrace you with your battle as I am a two time survivor.
I know exactly how you feel - I’m there with you.
Take good care of yourself - first and foremost.
Your suvivor pal,
Wilma

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Back For Good

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kim

Kate

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Wilma

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