It ain't funny anymore.
I haven't been able to write a word here since I got the second opinion from the great Dr. Hope (that actually and ironically is her real (first) name; if I had crafted a pseudonym, I would have gone with something more apropos, like Dr. Doom).
It was one thing to spin out droll anecdotes about my medical escapades interspersed with reportorial summaries of what I was learning about cancer treatments. That was back in the olden days, two weeks ago, when this still felt like a grand adventure, one of many stories from my long life I’d be telling my grandchildren in my old age.
Dr. UnHope left me with the distinct impression that I might not make it to old age.
Sure, now I don’t have to worry about Social Security going bust before I can collect it, but that’s about the only upside I can conjure up.
Even when she tried to be comforting, it backfired.
What she said: “A few years ago, your kind of cancer would have been a death sentence, but now we have so many more treatment options available.”
What I heard: YOUR CANCER = DEATH SENTENCE
All along, I’ve basically assumed I would be fine. There were some low points, such as when I found out it had spread to my lymph nodes, but mainly I figured my natural robust heartiness could overcome any challenges. Of course, lately I’ve been realizing that cancer is not an outside, alien invader, but my very own cells – my robust, hearty cells – gone crazy. Maybe my own good health means my cancer is extra potent?
Okay, I know that that line of thinking – and dwelling on the “death sentence” sentence and frantically Googling the mortality rates for Stage III breast cancer (I said I wouldn’t do that, but I lied) – is at best, extremely unproductive. At worst, I will drive myself insane with terror.
Nothing in my situation has changed. There haven’t been any new tests that found that the cancer had spread further. It’s just that I’ve been presented with a new, and, yes, fairly grim, interpretation of the existing data.
Mark pointed out: “You’ve made it through three treatments of the hard chemo and you’re doing fine. Maybe it would be best to focus on that.”
I know he’s right. So is my buddy who told me to ignore the statistics. I’m just not quite there yet.
Hang in there, Carolyn. I don't think I could be upbeat or witty, either, but if the cancer isn't spreading, then maybe the treatment is working in spite of the statistics, and you'll last long enough to retire and even to see your grandchildren grow up. I'll certainly pray for that.
ReplyDeleteI don't think you could feel anything other than what you are feeling especially given Dr. Hope's unexpectedly grim diagnosis. I know it's not easy to focus on the upbeat part of it: that they have all kinds of treatments now that they didn't have before that will likely mean you will not only get to see Sarah Palin run the country (she can see Russia from your house, I hear) but get to watch your grandchildren grow up (have you told Ben he's expecting?). Please let us know what we can do to help ease the anxiety. You are always in our thoughts and hearts.
ReplyDeleteLike the above, it's hard to feel upbeat about scary news or scary anything for that matter. You put a whole new outlook on "not knowing". I always thought not knowing was the most uncomfortable place of all. But Knowing and not liking, well that's pretty.
ReplyDeleteI read this entry twice and was, actually, pretty amazed at how objective and good the writing was given it's you you are talking about. You have such a skill at conveying what we'd all feel in the same position as you.
I'm sending you love and prayers every day.
And miss you, sweet Carolyn (wanted to write Caroline to go with the song but you get the drift!!)
Forgot a word in that last post.
ReplyDeleteWanted to say: Knowing and not liking, well that's pretty anxiety making.
Dear brave Carolyn,
ReplyDeleteI am speechless at your eloquence (but not surprised). I have an essay about damn statistics that I will give you when we meet. 'Til then, I offer you these words that might help:
"Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future,you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."
--- Rainer Maria Rilke (Letters to a Young Poet)
Offered with love and blessings for all you are and will become,
Lori Leigh
Dear Carolyn The Lion-Hearted,
ReplyDeleteI agree with what everyone has said. Please remember you have many friends. If you ever need someone to pick up say groceries, need any kind of errand run. Just know that I am a phone call away. As I am very sure are all of your many friends.
Still love your writing. I too am amazed that your last post did not consist of nothing but a long string of curse words. You are in our prayers.
Take Care,
Mark McPhail (Mary sends her love)
558-1065
Dearest Carolyn. Just got on my computer after coming home from our trip. I had wondered why you weren't blogging...just emailing once in a while...Just waiting for you to do your magic in the blogisphere...and here there it was. The thing I focus on is that doctors "now-a-days" have the bedside manner of a spraying skunk. They either don't know what to day(because they literally don't know..like in Larry's case), or they are completely inappropriate in the use of words...What ever made that screwie doc (I don't care if her name is Dr. Hope...maybe she's been trying her whole life to be the opposite...maybe she hated her father...or some other froiden (bad spelling I know) thing)...but using the word death and sentence...in the same breath, makes me feel like smacking her. Like one of your earlier bloggers said...and Mark...(sometimes husbands DO know stuff)..you've had 3 good treatments and it's not spreading...NOW maybe it's time to change doctors...Miss you and love you...see you soon.
ReplyDeleteSue
THIS ONE'S FROM LARRY: Poor Carolyn and Mark. You got the extreme doctor word wammy which Sue and I have also experienced once or twice and its the worst. Doctors are often information very smart and communication very stupid. Its such a dangerous combination. Their thoughtless use of words goes deep in our brains and gets planted there like mental land mines that we find ourselves stepping on at the oddest moments. It must hurt you at a special level since you are such a brilliant craftswoman of words. Chiseling out just the right word out of the huge block of vocabulary is your specialty and you are so good at it. It blows your mind to meet someone so reckless with such powerful verbal garbage. There should be a ticket you can give a doctor when they do this that will require them to go to language use school or lose their right to practice. You know in the theory of multiple intelligences that social interaction and communication is one form of intelligence. A lot of doctors would come up seriously deficient on the IQ test of social interaction and need remedial education. In these complex medical situations a person needs precise communication and you aren't getting it. I've actually changed docs on this very issue. I got tired of batting away the verbal pain pill like a ping pong ball coming at me unexpectedly too many times. If your doc is medically an expert but communicates like a neandrathal maybe the expertise isn't worth it in the long run since your mental health is so important in fighting for your physical health. Wish we could be there invisibly as the language police and when a doc does this to you we would zap them with a Taser. Eventually like a mouse in maze they might put it together but I'm not sure with some of them. Just sending you some loving concern and thoughts.
ReplyDeleteLarry
I am so sorry you are feeling so torn by Dr. Unhope. No one has a crystal ball and can predict the future. And 3 is just a number. I always try to keep my sister in mind when someone gets a Stage III Dx. She had 3B lung cancer and is quite healthy 7 years and 2 grandkids later. She was pretty feisty all through treatment and I compared her to a bantam rooster. Of course, you will have low periods but I am keeping a picture of a glowing, healthy, long-lived Carolyn in my mind.
ReplyDeleteThe fact that you are able to blog at all during this challenge shows your determination and resilience! Support and love from friends and family is usually the healing treatment that tips the scales in your favor. Since you have that in abundance, have no fear! All the healing energy that you are receiving is not something that statistics can measure. Dr. Doom and Gloom doesn't know what she's up against!!
ReplyDeleteLove Jordan
I have a term for the doctor who told Lee about her cancer (all by herself, with no warning whatsoever): Dr. Fuck. It's a long, horrid story, and I'm very glad we left him behind long ago.
ReplyDeleteI have never been able to climb inside Lee's head through this long ordeal, but with the specter of death hanging over us for nearly 6 years now, it is something we both have been able to figure out how to deal with on many days.
I wish you nothing but the best, and what bits of peace you can find along the way. I do know how hard it is live with all of it, every day, and how hard even words of care can seem insignificant.
Much love,
Rick