Let me back up a little. When I was growing up, I didn't really deal with any relatives having cancer. I knew of various distant relatives who had it, or friends of friends, but nobody within my immediate circle was struck with cancer. Then, about fifteen years ago, my mother called me to tell me she needed a breast biopsy. This turned out to be a type of breast cancer called Ductal Carcinoma in Situ. My sweet, loving, wonderful mom had to have a unilateral mastectomy, and then take Tamoxifen, a chemo drug, for five years afterwards. This was scary, unsettling, and downright awful, but I never thought even once that my mom would die from it. The cancer was tiny, had not spread, and my mom kept such a great attitude throughout it that I did not fear. Then my father-in-law had prostate cancer. Again, this did not seem like such a big deal. He did radioactive seeding, and the cancer was defeated. Okay, we all thought, so there are cancers that are not such scary bogeymen, but are defeatable and manageable.
Then, in 2007, my eight-year-old son was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma.
Whoa.
This was not the same. My sweet, loving boy's life was at stake. I knew how tough this fight could be. We basically lived at the hospital for nearly three months. He had five week-long rounds of chemo with nasty side effects, and he became a thin, pale, energy-less facsimile of himself. There were times I cried and asked God why he hadn't just given me cancer, instead. My husband did the same. We cried together, we prayed together, and we tried to trust and stay calm. I could write an entire book about the experience, and probably some day I will, but to sum it up here, it was awful. We felt so powerless, and could only do what the doctors said to do, and comfort our son as best we could. Thank God, all of the chemo worked and within about three months he was declared in remission from the cancer. He has remained cancer-free ever since then. But the experience took a toll on our family, especially on our son, who still, sometimes, deals with the stress, trauma, and anxiety of those dark days.
Eventually our family emerged into the light of the post-cancer stage, and moved on. We laughed, we celebrated holidays, we traveled, we learned, and we wound up not thinking about it too much anymore. Then, at Christmastime in 2017, we heard the word cancer again, this time because our daughter, who was then 20, had to have her entire thyroid removed because of cysts and lumps, and one of them turned out to be papillary carcinoma of the thyroid. Her recovery from the surgery had been quite rough, and it was at her one-week follow-up appointment that the surgeon spoke those terrible words. "We had a bit of a surprise on the pathology report," he said kindly. "One of the lumps was cancerous." My stomach began to churn and heave, but I stayed calm on the outside. I looked at her; she looked at me. "Okay, I said, what do we need to do?"
Here we go again. The uncertainty, the knowing that cancer can cause people to die, the sense of being powerless and helpless against this foe that does not care who you are, what you've done, or how you want your life to go. Cancer just invades and takes over.
For our daughter, the treatment consisted of radioactive iodine, administered after two weeks of a strict little-to-no-iodine diet. She then had to stay away from all of us for several days except for brief interactions. I delivered meals to her room and checked on her frequently. She has now had two iodine scans since then, and has been free of cancer both times. She has another scan this Fall. We're still paying off her medical bills from all of this. But we figured our family had dodged a bullet yet again, and could move on to the post-cancer stage, getting back to normal life. My daughter doesn't take any day for granted, though, and I think none of us do.
Now back to my current reality. You can read about how I found my cancer and was diagnosed here. I'll fast forward through the story, which began last November, to January 23rd, when my OB/GYN called me. For a few days, since my ultrasound, I had been trying out the words in my head: I have cancer. Somehow, after the ultrasound, my mind and heart knew the truth already, and I began to prepare mentally for it, so that when I finally heard the words, it was not the horrible shock you might think it would be.
That Thursday I was eating lunch with three of my closest friends, knowing that I would hear something that day or the next. We were laughing and talking, just generally having a good time, when my phone rang. My OB/GYN is also a friend, since I've been going to her for eight years, and for a few years I gave her educational advice and support about her teenagers, when they were in high school. She is also my eldest daughter's OB/GYN, and delivered both of my beautiful granddaughters. She knows me well enough to know that I didn't need any sugar-coating or build-up. I just needed the facts. "It's cancer, Alice," she said. "It's also in one of your lymph nodes, so you'll have to have the whole gamut of treatment, surgery, chemo, and radiation. I hate this for you." I hate it for me, too, I thought. I knew that she was truly sympathetic, as her sister is fighting ovarian cancer and she is worried about possibly getting cancer, too. I agreed to keep her posted on my treatment, and we signed off. I walked back to the lunch table, sat down, and told my friends, "Well, that was my doctor. I have breast cancer."
I HAVE CANCER.
All three of them took my hands, then stopped and prayed with me immediately. I sat quietly weeping, letting their words wash over me as they talked to the God of the universe, asking Him to give me strength, peace, calm, endurance, perseverance, and ultimately total healing. And thus the battle began with prayer and with the support of friends and family. (More about that in my next post.)
But the main battle, the mental, emotional, and spiritual battle, is inside my own head every day. We all have this battle, but for me having cancer has intensified the struggle to stay upbeat and positive. Negative thoughts and emotions can crop up any time, and it's an effort of the will to combat them. I try to do it with Scripture, and with common sense or logical thoughts. Scripture helps immensely, and thinking logically about things supports my mental well-being. For example:
What if I don't beat this cancer, and I die from it?
Scripture: 2 Corinthians 5:1 For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. 6-8 So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord.
Common sense: All human beings die at some point; we just don't know when we will die. I could die tomorrow in a car crash, or from some other disease. There is no reason to walk around being frightened of dying.
All of this treatment is horrible to go through, so I'm just going to wallow in self-pity and depression. Why do I have to go through this?
Scripture: Romans 5:1-5 Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.
Common sense: My treatments are the best way that doctors have figured out to eradicate the cancer cells in my body, and I have various methods of dealing with the side effects. The unpleasant effects will be temporary, and are something I must endure in order to beat the cancer. I can do this, and come out the other side a stronger, tougher person.
You get the idea. Any question or thought I have can be answered thus.
Not that I don't have bad times, but my inner monologue in general stays positive, rather than being negative about everything. Yes, I have doubts and fears. I want to grow old with my husband, and see all three of my children established in their own homes, and see my grandchildren grow up. I want to keep teaching for many years, helping many young people become better communicators of their thoughts and of what they have learned. I want to run with my friends, and go to the beach and swim, and hike trails, and play games, and play the piano and sing, and cook good food. I don't want to die from breast cancer in my 50s, or any time, for that matter.
But you know what? I can still do most of these things right now, and the few that I can't, I'll be able to do again in a few months. I can keep living life, even during treatment, and enjoy every minute of it. This is what we should all be doing, anyway: living life joyously and gratefully each day, since we never know what day will be our last.
The battle continues...
No comments:
Post a Comment