I was in with my doctor yesterday. My oncologist. I honestly think she’s truly one of the brightest in the business. But, she is all business. Which, to be honest, I don’t mind. I’d rather you tell me straight up than be gentle. I don’t do well with sympathy. She and I have grown to an understanding. I have told my doctor that I trust her completely. I will do anything I need to do to get rid of this cancer. Her nurse, Shannon, and I have discussed her manner before. The doctor is all-business, until you’re out of the woods, or until you’ve been around long enough.
I wonder if I’ve been around long enough… When I walk into that building, I do not have to say my name to anyone. Everyone knows who I am. Of course, I’ve been going for over a year.
She told me, yesterday, that I probably will never be able to say that I’m cancer free. Wasn’t that the entire goal? I see so many commercials now with women living with metastatic breast cancer. I always knew that wasn’t me. My heart went out to those women. It really did, but I wasn’t in the same category. I was going to wrap my cancer up in a tidy, neat bow. I should have known- bows aren’t really my thing.
My doctor told me that due to the type of cancer I have, the odds are really good that it’ll come back. In fact, she talked like she expected it. If the cancer that returns is HER2 positive, it’ll come back within five years. But, if it’s estrogen-driven, it can come back at any time. My cancer is triple positive – so, I fit all of those categories. She wants to do scans of me, quite a bit, for the next five years. And, I’m sure, for the rest of my life. I’d honestly rather her give it to me this way than say I have absolutely nothing to worry about.
I was so calm and brave while she was in there. I told her that when and if it came back, she and I would just sit down again and put together another plan. And, I meant it.
She left, and I fell apart. For the rest of the day, the only thing that kept popping into my head was all of the things I was going to miss if I died. It just wouldn’t leave me alone. I kept reeling it in, focusing on my book, and then it would threaten to come spilling out. I focused as hard as I could on my book, thankful I didn’t have to come out of that room and say the words aloud. Some things, it just takes time for me to say out loud.
I walked out with Shannon, and had a bit of trouble getting out of the seat. I was hobbling next to her, which has become my norm right when I get up, and I said, “I think it’s the medicine.” She smiled, looked at me and said, “What you’ve been through ages you ten years.” I thought, “Great, just great. If I do this again, I’ll be the same age as my parents…” I do love Shannon though. I could just take her home with me.
Cancer sucks.
As I sat in the waiting room, ready to be called back, trying so hard not to let people see the tears that kept skidding down my cheeks, I looked around at all the people trying to come to terms with something. I had already come to terms with the fact that I had cancer. I had even, kind of, come to terms with the fact that I very well might die of cancer. Everyone in there is working through something. Contemplating something.
Coming to terms. It took me a month to even say, “I have cancer.” I couldn’t even do it. And, at times, I still can’t really believe it. I’ve always been this “stay ahead of diseases” type person. Always been mostly healthy. Running a marathon. Biking over 100 miles. What was on my radar was heart disease, and perhaps diabetes, when I was older. That was what was going to get me. My heart. Cancer was never in my thoughts. Like, seriously, ever.
When I start to feel like I don’t deserve this cancer, when I start to feel like this isn’t fair, I immediately think of all those people in there, and everywhere, that feel exactly the same way. I think of every single family that feels, or has felt, this way. That it shouldn’t have touched their family. That it should have left them alone. It was someone else’s problem. I think of people with small children -how scared they must be. And it breaks my heart. If cancer was something that you had instead of someone else, I’d take it every single day for someone, but I know someone would also take it for me.
I can’t imagine how hard it was for my mom, hearing what I had to say yesterday. She’s not supposed to be healthier than me. She’s not supposed to outlive me. This isn’t the way it was supposed to happen, dang it.
I had my 12th Kadcyla treatment yesterday. I have two left. Once that is over, I’ll be on a pill that makes me sick for a year. After that, I’ll be “done.” Left alone in the void. I understand it when people say they feel a bit lost when they stop seeing their doctor so much. All those people have been there for me the entire time. Texas Oncology - Where I first saw people in various stages of decay, I see the most strong people I’ve ever seen before. Where I once hated to go, I now find incredibly comforting. I want to leave them all behind, however, only to return for check-ups.
I know so many people that are left after their treatment, wondering when it will come back. Is that ache or pain it? Is this the one? And, I’m sure I’ll be the same way. Cancer, like a woman I spoke to said, stays in your back pocket for the rest of your life. This unwelcome guest is a part of our lives now.
I have said this before, but so many people say fight. Fight the cancer, Casey. Fight hard, girl. I’ll be completely honest with you. I have nothing to do with the outcome. I truly believe that. I pray that whatever God’s will is, happens. If the cancer is too strong for the treatment, it’ll “win.” But, I’ll never lose. Ever. It’s not about fighting. It’s about living. I want to live for the rest of my life, not die for the rest of it.
So, what do you do with this news? How do you handle it and make it all worth it? Well, if you’re me, obviously, you write. I think every day you’ve been given after you’ve been told you have cancer, is a gift. Every single day. And, if I have one year, six months, or 10 years before I have to do this again, I’ll never waste a single moment.
Yesterday, all I could think about were the things I’ll miss. But, today, what I can think about is all the things I need to hurry up and do. Even if cancer, somehow, never touches me again, I’m going to live like I don’t have long. I want to see things. I want to help people. I want to write as much as I possibly can. I want to matter. I’ve always wanted to matter.
But, shouldn’t we all? Shouldn’t we all hurry up and do the things we need to do? Should we hurry up and tell someone you love them? Shouldn’t we quit arguing? Siding? Shouldn’t we just love each other because we never know when we are going to leave this earth?
My dear friend, JoAnn, was taken too early. On some random Tuesday. And, it shattered so many hearts. I think of her every single day. Taken WAY too early. I’d give anything to get her back.
We never have any idea how long we have. So many people are gone too early. What little time you have left, live it as Christ-like as you possibly can. Love one another. Get along with each other.
Life here is way too short. And, death, frankly, can scare the crap out of me. This is all I’ve known. But, I also know God and Jesus. I know what Jesus did for me. If I thought this was all there was, here on this earth, I’d be so upset. I told Lily the other day, imagine the most rested you’ve ever felt. Like when you were little, and you got up, and you felt absolutely fantastic. I can imagine it might feel even better than that. I’m thankful we have something to look forward to. How hopeless it would be without it.
Much love to you all. Go love. Go live.
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