The diagnosis and beyond

The beginning of December 2005 the day came when time stood still for just a few moments, or so it seemed. I still remember this day. I can still see my husband sitting across from my doctor with me. I’ll never forget his expression, the look in his eyes, the way the doctor looked across his desk with what seemed to me as a sympathetic gaze. And then he spoke those words to me. I don’t know if it is the way this doctor said the words or if it is the way I perceived them. It felt like he took the time to pronounce each syllable. Each syllable seemed to drag on and on.
~ You………. Have………Can...cer! ~

My first impression was it must be caught early so no big deal. I remember feeling this overwhelming sense of relief that it wasn’t worse. After a few seconds I shrugged and signed and replied “Ok, so it was caught early and everything will be fine.” His response sent my world into a tail spin that still is turning uncontrollably. “I wish I could tell you that you will be ok but I can't do that. You have a form that is fairly advanced.

Time hung there for so long. I could sense my heart beating in my toes. I just kept seeing him mouth those words over and over and over. I wanted to rewind what I was watching and make it say something different. Then I began that decent into uncertainty. From that moment every aspect of our lives have changed.

I felt in shock. I felt like I had been pushed off of a tall building with only the assurance that there may be a safety net on the ground below. The uncertainty of what would happen when I reached the solid ground was unbearable. Would I splat on the concrete or would there be a soft cushion to protect me from harm? I felt like my life was suddenly out of control. Sometimes I felt panic, sometimes anger and at other times I was so numb even the heartache from the crying didn’t create a sensation. I thought that all of my dreams, expectation and hopes would disappear. I thought that everything I had worked towards was going to all be for nothing. I immediately looked at my husband sitting beside me and I know I had as much fear in my eyes as I saw in his.

My family was thrusted into the same situation as I was. The same unsteady waters, the same desperate fight to survive, the same fears and the same uncertainty. Issues we had never even given thought to suddenly become the most important issues in our lives. They had to watch me go through endless visits to the doctor, unending tests, and be there by my side to assure me that everything would be ok even when they wasn’t sure it would be. They had to be strong, even when they felt as weak emotionally by this news as I. They had the same fears but had to be the strong one so I could use my energy to fight.

The next appointment with my doctor brought some comfort. He reassured me to a degree that instant death was not pending. When we discussed treatment and I was told that surgery and radiation treatment was definite and as for chemo therapy, we'd have to see what they found during the surgery and the post-surgical pathology report. I thought right then I would rather die. I’ll admit I am vain and my looks mattered. To have to face the fact that I may loose my hair was priority on my mind right then. As silly as it sounds I guess you must get through the vanity of that moment before you suddenly put things into perspective.

The appointments, treatments began to take their toll on my physical well being. I was growing more fatigued daily, was achy all over. I was so tired and worn out. I couldn't tolerate food and was already losing weight at a rapid pace. I wasn't in a situation where I needed to lose weight so the rapid loss made me just look sick and confirmed the diagnosis in my mind. It was hard to ignore the fact I was facing an illness when I felt like crap and now was even beginning to look like crap. With each visit my difficulties in swallowing worsened which I was told may be a side effect of putting me to sleep for the surgery. It had, in fact, progressed to the point that to swallow water caused severe pain. The doctor said I was having an adverse reaction. I celebrated in the fact that my surgery did go well and all I had to pursue now was radiation treatment. I tried to keep my spirits raised by joking about it but deep inside I was hurting. In some ways I had given up on life in my mind. I had even had thoughts of plans for my death. I didn't think the treatment was doing anything or at least not doing something fast enough to please me.

My attitude sucked and my doctor was livid with me during one visit and told me that I was taking my choice to live away because of my attitude and that he had patients that wanted his help. When I was one of those patients, Give him a call. He told me he was trained to help people live not die, and to call him when I changed my attitude. Well, I was equally livid when he left the room. I thought, “How dare he speak to me that way.” Eventually, it sunk in what he was saying and I realized I wanted to live. I have changed my attitude and I am fighting like you would never believe to get well.

Every time a new hurdle presents itself it is still like you are being plunged into unsteady waters and are on the road to a new journey. A trip you are not too sure you wish to travel. I will never know what the future holds but I would not have known that even if I had not been diagnosed with an illness. I have to live my life for today and choose to turn this journey into one that will be fruitful, and hopefully help others. All I can do is work as hard as I can to create a quality of life that is worth living. I will have confidence in myself because I have met one of life’s toughest challenges and I am succeeding.

I know now what drove me to depression in the early days and what frightened me about my diagnosis in the beginning. I felt helpless. I felt like I had no control over my own life, my own future, my own health. I couldn’t fix the disease. I didn’t have any of the answers I so desperately sought after. I have now learned to educate myself and to accept that there are some things about this disease that I won’t have answers for. I must accept that I won’t know what this disease will do to me but I also need to realize that by the same token I don’t know what it won’t do to me either.

When I was first diagnosed I had been so obsessed with rescuing myself and trying to find a way to make the disease go away that I hadn’t allowed my family to support me. I had a life line thrown at me by my family but I had just left it dangling in those unsteady waters instead of grabbing it and pulling myself up to safety. Now, looking back in hind sight I realize that before I could receive the kind of support I needed, I had to accept my own limitations, understand my fears, and respect my feelings. I think that gathering information is a constructive way of coping, but when you carry it to the extreme, as I did, it’s a way of running away from your feelings. I was trying to find an escape from the reality of the situation. Unfortunately it wasn't there and still isn't there today.

That has all changed for me now. I’ve learned better ways to handle my emotions since then to. It’s true. There is a bit of temporary comfort in ‘denial.’ Perhaps if you ignore it, it will just go away. But when it doesn’t and something leaves you no choice but to face it, often you can’t handle it. You just shut down. Family members should encourage you by letting you know they’ll be there for you no matter what. I have had to face more things than any human should ever have to face but other people have faced far worse. Keeping a smile on my face is not an easy task. I feel down and I cry and at times I get in an angry rage. In the end, nothing has changed, all the crying and screaming and being depressed didn’t make any of the problems go away. Neither did ignoring it. You have no choice, unfortunately, but to face this and make the best out of it.

My recent life hasn’t been a bed of roses but it could be a lot worse. I have to admit I am scared. I’m not ready to die and if I do, I’m going out kicking and screaming. I accept that I have a very serious disease but I am convinced that fighting it will be more successful then surrender. I’m simply not ready to let this beat me. If anyone can beat this thing, it’s me. I can fight harder to survive than cancer can fight to kill me. Fortunately, my family made me see a reason I had to get through this. I finally came to terms with the revelation that I had confused support with pity. I felt if I allowed anyone to help me or to be there for me emotionally, then I was allowing them to pity me. I even had dismissed love at times thinking it too was pity. When I realized the difference it was easier to accept help and love from others.

I'm happy to report that I am almost through my radiation treatments and it appears that no further treatment will be required. Since I didn't have to have chemo therapy I never had any hair loss which I had worried about in the initial phase of coping. Now I wouldn't really care as long as I got to live. I do have a followup surgery I will have to get through but after everything else that seems minor. So it seems as though I've won, well no matter what happens from this point on I have won in many ways. I've learned so much about my self and my inner strength and most of all I've learned how wonderful it is to see life through my new eyes. I now see life as it is meant to be.... PRESCIOUS.