Week 5 – How Do I Really Feel?

There is a lot going on in my mind as a cancer patient.  It took me a week to say out loud, “I have cancer.”  I never thought those words would ever come out of my mouth.  It was hard to say, but I knew I had to do that.  I looked directly at Dennis and spoke those words out loud.  That was a milestone.  

The night before I had the biopsy, I told Dennis that this cannot be cancer because it wouldn’t be fair to him.  His previous wife had cancer.  I did not want to put him through this again.  This sweet man just looked at me and said, “If it is, we will deal with it.”  

The next most difficult thing was to tell my children and my sister.  I don’t remember a lot of what I said to them.  I did not want them to panic.  None of them live near me, which also made it harder for me.  I wanted to be in their presence, but the timing now was making that impossible.  I needed to be at the cancer center.  Fortunately, I have Dennis who has stood by me through this.

I also told other people—family and friends.  One evening we were at dinner with a group we call the “Table Community.”  We have dinner on Monday nights with this group of about 8 other couples and a few singles.  This particular evening there was only a total of four couples, and two of the couples were young couples.  I shared with them that I had just had a biopsy and shared the results.  I looked across the table saw the young lady had her jaw dropped to her shoulders.  Although, foreign to me, I realized how foreign this had to sound to younger adults.  Before we moved on to the next person sharing how their week was, this young lady’s husband suggested we pause right then as he prayed for me.  Oh, how sweet that was.  I realized giving people this news was as shocking to them as it was to me.  Even though I am considered a senior citizen, I am healthy, and I look healthy, and, of course, I feel healthy.

Katie, my Advanced Practice Nurse, told me not to go googling everything.  Then she said that if I did (because I think she knew I would), don’t read anything that is a dot-com. Anyone can have a dot-com—hospitals and health organizations have a dot-org.  I tried to follow her good advice.  I’m not as good about that as I should when it comes to YouTube.  Who is giving medical information?  I also found some cancer groups on Facebook.  I find them rather discouraging.  So many people posting their panicked state of being asking what they should expect.  Duh!  I know the answer to that—don’t have any expectations because I can tell you, I don’t fit any of their categories.  Everyone is different and having a cancer patient telling me what to expect because it happened to them, is not helpful.  

I am living in this unreal space.  Until after my March 31^st CT scan and MRI, I have no idea if anything MD Anderson Cancer Center is doing for me is working.  It’s all invisible.  I have no pain, and I thank God for that.  I didn’t feel the tumors grow in my body in the first place, and I probably won’t feel them going away either.  

I love my support system.  I love getting a card or note in the mail from someone nearby or across the country.  I love getting a text message or email from someone who is thinking of me.  I love every person who has responded to me on my Facebook posts and through Facebook messaging.  I have even received a few gifts—what a delightful surprise that has been.  I didn’t do anything to deserve a gift, but then, that is what a gift is, a non-deserving something given to us that we did not have to earn.  So, I graciously accept them, and when I look at them, or wrap it around me, or use it in some way (all depending on the gift), I think of the person who gave me the gift, and I thank God for the gift of friendship and love.  And, oh the cards, that was also something I never expected.  I have a nice little pile of them.  I keep them on the table next to where I sit to remind me of the dear people who think of me and pray for me.

Sometimes I just sit with my thoughts.  I read. I talk to God.  I think about my family.  I think about my future.  How far ahead can I make plans?  I am making short term plans.  I am also making sure I have things settled in case of the worst-case scenario.  I am not planning on the worst case, but I need to have some of those things prepared—just in case—but it must be done.

My thoughts linger to Dennis.  I worry about him if something would happen to me.  He has been through this before. He said to me that we both have experience with loved ones having cancer and neither of us saw good outcomes.  He was referring to his previous wife, Joann, and to my sister, Judy.  They both died the same year, and they were both 67 years old.  I told him that I would do my best to change our experience and become a survivor.  I WILL do my best to be a survivor!

I am grateful that I have a unique look at the world.  Very odd things strike me funny.  I can find funny in any situation.  Yes, I would be the one to say, “Let’s put Fun back into Funeral.”  Sitting at MD Anderson Cancer Center waiting for my appointment, I started to chuckle.  Dennis asked me what I think is so humorous.  I pointed to the sign standing in the waiting room.  This sign is inside every Banner hospital and Banner medical offices.  MD Anderson Cancer Center is sitting inside a Banner hospital.  I told him to read the sign, which we have read every time we see a doctor.  I said that we should call security because I see three things on this sign that are violating Banner policy.  How dare a cancer cell come here and 1) causing physical assault; 2) being threatening, and 3) refusing to respond to instructions of the staff.  Yes, that cancer cell has violated these rules, and Banner said they are a zero-tolerance location.  Call security—march all those cancer cells out of this place!

Then the receptionist asked if we would like a bottle of water as we waited.  I looked at the bottle.  What does it say on the label?  “Give this bottle another life.”  Really, how about give me another life?  It just made me chuckle again.  I love words.  I love how words can have double meanings, and I love that I can still get a laugh when I am around things that most people do not find funny.

They say (don’t ask me who they are) that most comedians are funny because they have experienced bad things in their lives.  Maybe that’s true.  I told Dennis I could be a cancer stand-up comedian, but I don’t think anyone wants to hear jokes about that subject.  So, I shall chuckle to myself in silence.

Today Dennis and I met with Katie to review the blood test to see if I was able to get back to my chemotherapy and immunotherapy infusions this Monday.  I passed the test with flying colors—back to the plan of zapping nasty cancer cells.  Katie told me that my brain is wired differently than most of her patients.  She said most of her patients are upset and depressed or they are in denial.  She told us we are a pleasure because we smile and we laugh, and yet we are talking about fighting this dread disease, but in ways that most patients don’t express—like I was glad to see my hair fall out because I finally had a confirmation that those big bad boy toxic chemicals were working in my body.  Having no symptoms and having no side effects to the chemo made me wonder if something was really happening.  Apparently, that kind of response is not normal.  I get it—no one wants to lose their hair.  For me it is more important to know that maybe the chemo is destroying cancer cells since it is also hitting the hair on my head.  The hair on my head will come back.  I would like it to come back without the ugly cancer cells coming back.  That’s my goal.

I sit in this space of not knowing.  None of us really know our future.  I have learned, though, when we are told we may not have the future we were expecting, my brain goes into a different mode.  I go into a mode to make a future although maybe different than what I first thought.  I am a human, and I will always fight for survival.  God created me to fight for life.  I know that none of this is a surprise to God.  He has me.  I am hanging on and holding on.  I don’t know how else to describe my feelings.  

I love every one of you who read this blog.  I love every one of you who stop to pray for me.  I can feel your prayers being answered because I have a peace and calm that I cannot explain.  It is that “peace that passes understanding.”