Cancer-versary #1 (of many, I hope)

Saturday - May 11, 2013

(I've been waiting to do something with all those VCU wristbands)

Time to celebrate!
Time to commemorate!
One year of survival.
One year since "the news." 

Cancer.

Stage FOUR cancer.
With central nervous system involvement.
Sounds pretty grim in writing.
Imagine hearing it over the phone.
Yup, even grimmer....

But ...

HERE
I
AM.

One year later.

Cancer-versary number 1.

It certainly was not the diagnosis anyone would desire; the "stage 4" designation can still chill me to the core (if I allow it).  BUT the finality of the words meant that the 4.5 month mystery of the pain and dysfunction was solved and that I could get some focused medical treatment and GET WELL.

Notes from Dr. Perkins' call confirming DLBC NH Lymphoma. Ironic stationery?  

Perhaps I was just stunned.  Maybe I was simply beaten down by the relentless slicing, crushing pain on the left side of my head.  But in hearing confirmation of those 3 weeks of lymphoma murmurings, I didn't freak out.  I felt procedural.  What happens next?  I was fundamentally ... relieved.  Relieved and resigned to start DOING something to stop the constant wretched pain.  I was so unwell, in such terrible and prolonged distress.  How else could the word "cancer" be felt as a relief?  That's what unexplained and unrelenting pain will do to you.

Thank God Carolyn was with me when I got the news.  Joe was on travel on the West Coast and when planning his trip, my pain and related lack of function had been severe enough that we felt I couldn't really be home alone.  (Wow.  Just typing those words gives me pause.  Spring 2012 was an ordeal.)  By the time Joe departed and Carolyn arrived on May 5, I had suffered the bladder nick during my biopsy, was on medical leave from work, was saddled with 2 medical bags resulting from the surgery that meant I could only sleep sitting up on the living room couch, and could drive (with one eye, mind you) only under the most pressing circumstances - such as going to the airport to pick up my beloved sister.  I was truly a MESS.

I was STILL asking about work and our upcoming move!

Carolyn shuttled me back and forth to VCU for various oncology, surgical, and urology appointments and then  - most importantly - was next to me, grounding me, taking notes, giving me perspective when Dr. Perkins phoned.  She bolstered me and gave me strength when I called Joe and the kids.  If I had been alone, I think I might have melted into a puddle of fear.  But I didn't.  Carolyn propped me up.  And even over the phone and from a continent away, Joe took half of the burden and gave me a solid sense of hope.  We would get through this challenge together.  The hardest phone calls were to Jonathan and Megan, those precious people who are truly my world.  Amidst their own emotions and turmoil, they gave me strength and perspective.  Through the fog of pain and the adrenalin surge of impending action, I felt buoyed by great love. I still do.

In that Friday afternoon end-of-day phone call, I clearly recall that Dr. Perkins used the word "cure" in explaining the aggressive nature of Diffuse Large B-Cell Lymphoma.  I don't see "cure" in the notes.  Why didn't I write it down?  Was it too much to imagine?  That glorious word came up again in our first few consultations and of course we have clung to that soothing word on which all of our hopes hinge.  Now it's one year later and "cure" seems a long-distance concept, one that we are measuring one scan at a time.  But it's a goal to which we are happily inching forward!  I suppose I am now officially part of the statistics database for Overall Survival (1-Year).  I'll take it.  "Survival" is a pretty glorious word too.  I may prefer "Cure" but "Survival" is a close second  :)

So, happy first cancer-versary to me!  Thank you to Joe, Megan, Jonathan, my family and friends who have virtually and physically held my hand this first year.  Thank you for all the check-ins by phone, text, email, message, and letter.  Thank you for all the meals that saw us through the summer.  Thank you for all the get-away lunches.  Thank you for all the smiles and hugs.

I've survived.  I'm alive.  Thank you, thank you, thank you!

"The greatest healing therapy IS friendship and love" ...
(plus huge amounts of methotrexate, rituxan, cyterabine, vincristine etc.)