A Grower & A Shower

Apologies for the “risqué” title above, it does have to do with the human anatomy but not the one you’re thinking of, pervert.

So let’s get this out of the way- I am okay. Physically, aside from side effects from the meds I don’t feel different. Mentally, well I am okay but definitely feels like a million cats running around, kids screaming in a car while driving, carrying a bunch of groceries hoping they don’t slip out of my fingers before getting to the kitchen counter, stubbing my toe and dropping everything and more. To summarize it is a mess BUT again, I am okay.

To the news:

I had a CT scan Tuesday. The good news: no new areas of concern/no spread. The bad news: the existing areas of concern are growing. Now this isn’t drastic growth but the goal is no growth or shrinkage so this was less than ideal.

I have my next infusion today but was able to talk to my oncologist after my scan results came in Tuesday. Essentially we are going to keep progressing with treatment and re-scan in 3 months, right around the holidays.

Again- physically I’m okay and don’t notice anything different as a result of the growth. Mentally, well, let’s get into it.

Waiting- again, the worst (non-physical) aspect of cancer. I won’t say there would have been comfort in getting bad news because that’s not true. But knowing the next stop on the journey is helpful and shrinkage, stability or sadly even more growth would have provided a clearer path.

What could I have done? In therapy I often tell my therapist that my “rational brain” knows the reality of something but my “everyday brain” spirals or can get carried away with worry and anxiety. So while my “rational brain” knows there is nothing I could have done different, my “everyday brain” ignores that message and wonders, thinks, questions, and gets carried away. There was no other option than what I’ve been doing but in my mind that provides little to no comfort.

Why? Now this is not the traditional cancer why- “Why me?” Rather this is a different why. Why keep going with the medicine? I have been wondering this the last few days. I am putting my body through shit for something that doesn’t seem to be working, so why? The hope is that the meds eventually “kick in” and start working. It has happened in other cases before. And don’t worry, I’m not stopping- big believer in science and doctors over here.

If I go back, I had a feeling this scan was going to show growth. Not a physical feeling or anything just intuition. “Yay I was right” is not what’s going through my head. There were no signs or anything that were clear but deep down I felt as though my hope from the last scan faded the moment those results came in. When your oncologist tells you to prepare to potentially travel south for treatment, it sticks with you. We’re not quit there yet but I feel it’s only a matter of time before I have to expand my care team.

I also feel like the cancer is going to spread eventually. I’m not spiraling into depression- I already have it so it’s more like an elevator ride, zing! Seriously though, if the cancer is resisting the meds now what’s to truly stop it from spreading? But we’ll get to that bridge when it comes. I’m not as worried about that right now- whether it’s self preservation, mental gymnastics, avoidance, therapy or all of it and then some, I’m not panicking.

I’m not a religious or spiritual person but heaven and hell are common words for everyone. Often cancer patients describe going through hell and at times it can feel like that. Far worse though for me is this feeling, a purgatory feeling. Clearly I want to have cancer gone and not worsen but the limbo, the unknown of how this all turns out is mentally debilitating at times. My feet and/or fatigue often prevent me from doing much but not seeing the path forward is far more debilitating. I know I’m going to keep going but where is it leading me? Am I prolonging death? Am I making a possible remission even more satisfying when it comes? Am I going to be poked, prodded, tested and full of pills for months, years, forever?

Again, that is the hardest part. There’s plenty of anger, tears, frustration, guilt and more. Warrior language is a common thing in the cancer world. I am not a fan of it for me but if others like it for their journey then knock yourself out. For me it implies I had a choice and that I’m brave. I’m often not. I am tormented by the fear of death and leaving those I love behind me. It implies failure if you don’t win that cancer battle. It implies that you have to be strong for everyone else because you’re supposed to be- you are the face of courage and must exude it. Ask most of us and we rarely feel like it. It is easy to repeat mantras and positive affirmations but believing them is hard and almost impossible.

In the cancer world there are stories on both sides- lives saved and born anew and lives lost and mourned. They both are tough to be honest. Loss of life is obvious and usually the outpouring of love when it happens is even more devastating. But, the triumphs are hard too. Ask any cancer patient/survivor if they get jealous seeing others beat cancer- if they’re being honest they’ll say yes. It is in no way a feeling directed at that person, we want them to overcome. It is us looking out the window and seeing triumph, joy and a slight break from it all. We know that cancer always lives in the corners of your mind, lurking and causing fear, but where you once carried buckets of weight, dragging you down, maybe now it’s a small pocketful of weight that you forget about from time to time. On the other side of that window may be a hospital bed, a chemo appointment, infusions, a dependency on refreshing your medical app waiting for results, google alerts set up for your meds and cancer type- hoping for news that might change your world, crutches, wheelchairs, pain and hope- hope that takes a beating with every bit of bad news.

On both sides of that window though is fear. It remains. After a successful surgery with a clear upward recovery, it remained. After reading up on my meds before starting Cabo and Opdivo, it remained. Getting the kids on the bus in the morning, it remains. But it would be nice to take the heavy suitcase full of fear handcuffed to my wrist and turn it into change in my pocket- the sound and feeling reminding me it’s there but not holding me back.

That’s all for now, off for another infusion.

-Joe