I know
it’s been a while since I’ve posted an update. Honestly, my concentration level
hasn’t been there, and neither has my patience. While my story is not over by
any stretch of the imagination, I’ve had a hard time continuing to write about
it. The most recent news: I’m still in remission, and my latest CAT Scan showed
only one lesion left on my liver (which has been stable for about 6 months),
which is great news considering I was told that when I started that my liver
was more disease than liver and looked like Swiss cheese. Since the liver
regenerates, where there were lesions, there is now healthy tissue. Would it be
better if the last one was gone? Of course, but I’ll take being down to one.
More good news- the amount of chemo I get has been reduced (I no longer have to
wear the cursed pump after the infusions- though they still happen every two
weeks for three hours). Of course, things always seem to be a mixed bag. My CEA
number has steadily risen and is now at 2.1. If it rises over 2.5 for two tests
in a row I’m back on full chemo. So, while I’m trying to stay positive, it
feels like that number, and full chemo is out there waiting for me. And while
the physical problems are still vast and varied, it’s the mental ones that have
been getting to me more lately. How do you keep your mind out of the rabbit
hole of worry and anxiety about dying of Cancer and the effect that will have
on those you love? How do you forget about Cancer, and remember to live your
life?
“Eternal
Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” is one of my favorite movies. It’s the story
about a man (Joel, played by Jim Carrey) who after a painful breakup discovers
that his ex-girlfriend Clementine (played by the amazing Kate Winslet) has
undergone a procedure to have all memories of him and their relationship erased
from her mind. Joel decides to undergo the same procedure. The film explores
the intricacies and intimacies of relationships. A good deal of the film takes
place inside Joel’s mind as his memories are being erased. There comes a point
in his journey where Joel decides he doesn’t want to erase his memories of
Clementine- that they weren’t all bad. He’s on his knees and screams: “I want
to call it off! Can you hear me? I don’t want this anymore! I want to call it
off! Is anybody out there?”
I know
exactly how Joel feels. No, I haven’t had any memories erased; I was diagnosed
in April 2014 with Stage IV Colon Cancer. I’ve been on Chemotherapy every two
weeks for 18 months, with a break to have colon resection surgery. I’ve endured
a string of at best uncomfortable, at worst incredibly painful side effects. Yes,
I’m currently in remission, but as I’ve written about before, the disease is
still there in my blood, like an internal Sword of Damocles. There’s barely a
day that goes by where I don’t mentally yell those same words Joel did in the
movie. “I want to call it off! Can you hear me? I don’t want this anymore!”
It’s the pervading thought in my mind. It’s become my mantra. I wish I could
have it erased. However, unlike Joel, I don’t have a choice about whether I
want to do this or not. You can’t choose to not have Cancer once you do.
This has
led me to wonder where I fit in the scheme of things Cancer-wise. On the one
hand I do have Stage IV Cancer, and that’s real and serious and life threatening.
On the other hand I’ve had a great response to treatment and am doing better
than most in my situation. My Oncologist told me that they have protocols for
people who do poorly, and they have protocols for people who are doing average.
What they don’t have is protocols for people who are doing above average. One
of the main reasons for that is it’s so rare to do well (though it’s getting
less rare as more and more drugs are being created to combat this scourge). I
am a member of a couple of online Cancer groups, and I see people on there who
are doing worse than me in one way or another; bad reactions to the chemo,
colostomy bags, no support, no insurance. That brings an odd combination of
feelings: luck, fear and guilt. I’m lucky that I’m not them. I’m lucky to be doing
so well in a bad situation, I fear ending up like them- or worse, and I feel
guilty for not doing as poorly as others, and for not wanting to be like them.
It’s an odd sensation to feel lucky about my incurable Cancer. In our house we
call it being lucky in an unlucky situation. But it’s still Cancer. It’s still always
there, and it’s very difficult to forget.
There
are times I do forget what’s happening to me. Spending time with my wife, going
to a movie, playing poker, swing dancing, and hanging out with friends are all
things that even if only for a brief amount of time allow me to forget about
this trauma that is Cancer and how it’s affecting me. These are good things.
These are things I don’t want to forget, however I would like- with all of my
being- to forget about Cancer. Unfortunately, like Joel, no matter how much I
want to call this off, I can’t. Mary (played by Kirsten Dunst) from “Eternal
Sunshine of The Spotless Mind” sums this up with a Friedrich Nietzsche quote:
Blessed are the forgetful: for they get the better even of their blunders.” I
never thought that being able to forget something would be so precious- even if
it’s just for a little while. Now I know better.
Howard,
ReplyDeleteHave you considered consulting surgery or targeted radiation (sbrt) for that remaining spot? CEA really? 2.1 to 2.5 isn't not even of statistical significance. It is within the margin of error. For me, keeping my mind out of the rabbit hole of fear is about not not accepting the "old" thinking. That this can not be "cured". Okay, don't cure me then, but put me in remission for 25 years without interrupting my quality of life. There is no sword. Cliche to say non of us knows what awaits us, but it's true. I'm from the generation of folks who had AIDS as an immediate death sentence and then one day, it wasn't. I love your posts, and your sense of humor. Glad we became friends in such a weird way.
Sorry it took so long to respond- not used to the comments aspect on here. My quality of life has been compromised even though I'm in remission, and with the CEA steadily rising still, and the insurance company denying the PET Scan to see what exactly is going on, it is stressful to say the least (and fodder for the next blog post). I'm working on it though. Glad we became friends too...
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