The Beginning

For most people, receiving the news they have cancer is neither welcome nor expected and because we are all so very unique in our psychological and physical makeup, we respond to the news in a kaleidoscopic array of responses. In retrospect, I am not surprised by my response to the news when it came.

In January of 2010, I became ill with an unrelated infection. Since I generally am equipped to take care of others, I did what I always do…discount my symptoms, write them off to the flu, hang tough, weather it out…you know, the usual. I have never been one to run to the doctor at a drop of the hat and this was no exception to that rule, much to the aggravation of my husband and daughters. After seven days of high fevers, pain in my back, dehydration and the loss of anything taken by mouth, I succumbed. One look and the doctor said “get thee to the hospital now”.

The emergency room experience is never a welcome one… lots of tests and long hours of waiting; four to begin tests, nine to get the cursed news and nearly twelve to locate a bed in the ER since the hospital itself was full to the brim. I remember the ER doctor coming into our little curtained cubicle where my husband and I waited patiently, hoping to get a prescription or two and be on our way home. He happily announced the good news….I did not have a gall bladder attack (my early assumption) but instead, the bad news, I had multiple tumors on my liver which meant I had cancer and the source could not be found. He was sorry to bear the news. My first reaction was to comfort the doctor who looked miserably unhappy to be the bearer of bad news and I reminded him that delivering good or bad news was his job and he did not cause this to happen, thus he need not feel bad. Then I turned to my husband and simply said…”shit”.

After being admitted and several days later, tests had been run, CT scans performed of every part of my body, IV’s hooked and unhooked, and enough blood given to create a small animal. Still, no source…a biopsy would be required. Throughout all this, I never cried about having cancer or its ramifications…I did cry when I thought about potentially missing the life events my grandchildren have yet to experience. And then I became the older version of the cheerleader I was in high school….pumped and ready to face adversity head on, I would fight this thing every step of the way, I would not give up control of my life or body, I would seek any means to help in the healing process, I would look at this as a new challenge in my life with new goals and I was and am hell bent to achieve them. The biopsy said colon cancer…now we need to find the darn tumor.

A couple days later, after returning home, the calendar brimming with appointments with my new best friends, my oncologist, labs and the Cancer Center, I had my second colonoscopy in three years, and there it was! Since cancer cells generally take 5-40 years to become the all dreaded tumor, I was surprised my previous colonoscopy did not unearth this news while it was Stage I, a baby and easily rectified. While it is possible that it was missed the first time around, I now know that there are innumerable reasons why this occurred and at this point, matters not. We will talk about them later.

I have to point out, that my optimistic gung ho attitude is not the product of denial. I know what I have, I am at end stage, the numbers (which I ignore) say I have only a 20% chance of recovery in this battle and chemotherapy will be my life for a number of years! I will say that despite my cursing, noted above, I have a great faith based life. So it has helped me tremendously to give up all the worry and stress to my God, thanking Him every step of the way for letting me get sick in the first place (otherwise I would never had known I had Cancer since I had no symptoms at all) so I could move forward with aggressive treatment, and knowing that whether I win or lose this battle, I win. Whomever you believe in, be it my God or yours, or belief in your own soul, go there, hand over the worry and get on with living.

For many people, a Stage IV diagnosis is interpreted as a death sentence. And if you give up and simply accept that the world of medicine is your only recourse for healing, you are wrong. There is so much a person can do to participate and contribute to the healing process. In the chapters of my story, yet to come, I will explore those more fully. For now, be encouraged to know, there is life after Cancer and, at age 60… my life has just begun.