The C Word

Cancer is the ultimate mind fuck. Or, perhaps put more politely, it is the ever elusive client that the psychiatrist cannot seem to pin down. Sometimes its malady seems clear cut, requiring a straight forward treatment plan with fairly predictable outcomes. Other days, it seems to shape shift, eluding categories and necessitating an almost “figure it out as we go” mindset by incredibly smart and resourceful professionals who are crossing their fingers as much as the patient.

 

As a thrice time recipient of the unwanted title of “oncology patient,” this is one of the hardest things for me to grasp. Why is it that some of us can overcome this disease with minimal discomfort and wish it bon voyage for the rest of our natural lives, while others don’t get such a break.

 

I read about the well-to-do influencer who, after a routine procedure, develops necrosis and undergoes 15 surgeries over the course of two years. Or the athlete and newly divorced mother who, six months after completing her course of treatment for stage 2 cancer, finds out that IT has returned and metastasized. And perhaps the most gut wrenching, the young mom who, hours after delivering her second child, learns she has leukemia. A year and a half and several clinical trials later, she is facing the certainty of a near death. No amount of money, clout or medical connections has what it takes to save her. 

 

After reading accountsIt’s hard not to experience a certain amount of “survivor’s guilt.” Sure, I’ve had to learn to “let go” an awful lot, having endured two double mastectomies, chemo and two rounds of radiation. My breasts, once the feature that I would’ve said defined my femininity, are now gone and in their place is taught, scared skin. I joke (sort of) that I look like a ten year old boy. My hair is coming back-no more hiding the grey-and there is not a lot left that were the trademarks of 12-months-ago me. Still, this is chump change compared to staring down the barrel of imminent death. I find myself thinking “why can’t we more evenly distribute this cursed disease!” as if we could parse out cancer and each carry a manageable amount of in our DNA so that no one has to suffer unduly.

 

Of course, each of those stories, as well as my own, have their bright spots, such as finding humor in the absurd: I would proclaim: “Elixir of life, pour into me!” because that sounded a lot more positive than stating the obvious, which is that I am having poison pumped into my veins.  There are also the nuggets of wisdom you feel like the whole world should know-one of the biggest being that when it comes to the daily management of treatment, NURSES KNOW MORE THAN THE DOCTORS! They probably could run the whole show, actually. 

 

Lets be honest, I’ve learned a lot of life lessons, moved on to the 500 level Adulting class. I will never settle for a doctor/clinician that I don’t connect with. I will always assume that I need to advocate for myself because even the smartest and best intentioned  experts have blindspots. If we, as parents, understand that we are to partner with teachers in our child’s academic growth, we are we so comfortable relegating ourselves to the role of child who should be seen and not heard when it comes to our medical decision making? 

 

Of course, the biggest life lesson we (are supposed to) learn is the BIG lesson. Inevitably, anyone who goes through a major upheaval seeks to find a deeper meaning, bigger purpose. I mean, if we don’t learn from it then what is the point. At least that’s how I frame it in terms of my faith. I know that God is in control and that he is not a God of fear. I don’t pretend to know why He allows some of us to go through such disparate amounts of suffering, particularly through cancer. I do know that if I remember those truths and not fight the loss of control, but be mindfully engaged, my perspective is better and my experience of walking the medical journey is better. So maybe that’s the big take away: learning to be okay with uncertainty. Except that even those who dutifully do so can have the preverbal rug pulled out from underneath them, as mentioned earlier.

 

Cancer certainly does reignite a lot of dormant relationships. One of the best upsides of this past year has been reconnecting with friends and having lots of wonderful chemo companions. Highly likely that had I not been facing a deadly disease, I would’ve remained complacent. Cancer also taught me how fiercely my family-husband and daughters-love me. Many days it was worse seeing their fear than being the patient. From that perspective I have a lot more control than they do. Cancer certainly makes us all appreciate each other more, we do better at not sweating the little stuff, picking our battles, Except when we don’t. What am I supposed to think when, in the midst of cancer, when so many things are topsy turvy, the entrenched patterns that drive us crazy, the arguments that drain us remain remarkably unchanged. What am I to think about this lack of transformation? On those days (or weeks) cancer is demystified and seems like just one more obligation-another part time job to manage. And that’s a real disappointment. I don’t pretend to have answers for this except that for as much as cancer elevates the ordinary and causes us to re evaluate our lives, it also doesn’t fundamentally change our circumstances. Life, relationships, careers, still push their way to the forefront of our attention. There is no magic spell-kids still struggle with their mental health, spouses still can’t will their partner to change. Life goes on, with or without cancer, or a stroke (yah, a stroke 2 days Post Op resulting in impaired speech and coordination added more unwanted plot twists). So while cancer creates opportunities for beauty in the midst of destruction, it is not a get out of jail free card. I guess the beauty in that statement is that while I have breath, I will continue to fight on those fronts, too. 

 

My musings on cancer may feel half way finished. I certainly don’t know how to go on right now. But as a former 13.1 (right now the goal is a humble 3.1) and not a 26.2 runner, I know there is always the opportunity for more. So perhaps to be continued.