Falling from Grace

It’s been almost exactly a year to the day that I received the results from the PET scan that revealed no detectable signs of abnormal metabolic activity.  Despite that “all clear” signal, Dr. D decided, to my relief, to continue my monthly treatments as usual.  Since I tolerate my chemo incredibly well it seemed a wise choice to continue to keep any lingering cancer cells at bay.

I had been living in a state of grace, waking up every morning, lying in bed and mulling over what was planned for that day, then going about my various occupations whether it be aqua-gym, shopping for groceries, a dentist appointment, or working on my latest patchwork quilt while listening to my favorite podcasts. The notion of “having cancer” began to slip further and further to the back of my mind.  It became merely a routine wherein once a month I showed up at the hospital, had my blood work done, went for a coffee in the hospital’s café, meeting with Dr. D to hear that all is well and that my cancer markers continued their progressive descent, and then heading to the day hospital for my treatment. I may even have felt a bit smug about the fact that I held the hospital record for the number of consecutive treatments of Caelyx; I think the last count was twenty-nine.  For over two years I have been showing up regularly and benefiting from excellent results.

During that year, I met and befriended my son’s neighbor, Pauline, who had been operated on for colon cancer and had been told that “they got it all” and who was bitterly disappointed to discover that the cancer had reappeared in her liver.  It didn’t sound good, but I made a point of spending time with her, listening to her anger and frustration with her doctors, and encouraging her to not give up hope.  Every time I visited my son and his family, I would go have tea and a nice chat with Pauline and called from time to time to see how she was doing.  I sometimes felt a bit like a cancer support group counselor, which seemed the right thing to do, simply listening and sharing my own experience.

Also during that year, I became more involved in our local village life.  I was elected as a city council member that has proved to be an excellent way to become engaged in a meaningful social activity.  I have taken on, strongly seconded by Mr. T’s expertise in genealogy, the difficult task of mapping our local cemetery in view of identifying and repossessing abandoned concessions.  It is meticulous and challenging work, much like an elaborate puzzle whose pieces have to be carefully analyzed and inserted into a more accurate overall plan.  

Following the suggestion of one of the younger women on the city council, we have revived a “sleeping” association in the village, revisited its statutes, re-elected the board and are proposing two new activities for the village kids on a monthly basis during our trial period:  a baking/sewing/crafts group (CréaKids) and a dance exercise group (ZumbaKids).  Our first session will be this Wednesday and we’re all pretty excited about getting started. 

Then the cherry on the cake for this period of grace has been meeting Loli, a fellow aqua-gym regular.  I overheard her speaking Spanish with another participant and asked her if she knew anyone who taught Spanish, and she told me that she did.  So I have started taking Spanish classes from her, which is something that I have always wanted to do.  It’s as if that brief exposure to Spanish during my years in Texas left some sort of audible imprint in my brain and I always had the feeling that it would be within my reach to learn it.  It gives me something to work on every week in preparation for our next conversational lesson.  I can almost literally feel my neurons being dusted off, oiled and put back into action.

Then something changed.  In late January, probably after having finished reading my latest novel, I was surfing on Amazon and came across this book by David Servan-Schreiber, “Anti-Cancer, A New Way of Life”.  I had never heard of this book, although subsequently I discovered that it has been a hugely popular book since its initial appearance.  I don’t remember that anyone had recommended it to me.  Probably Amazon has a complete copy of my medical records and so it popped up between the offers of beekeeping manuals and Dr. Seuss books (this year’s Christmas purchases).

I can remember reading the blurb and really hesitating, asking myself “Do you really want to read another book on cancer?  After all, you’re in the clear so why stir things ups?” Intrigued by the author’s experience, I ignored that voice and ordered the book.

As I began reading, I was completely dumbfounded to read so many of my experiences coming from someone else.  He speaks about his frustration as a medical doctor, who had been diagnosed with brain cancer, with the wall that his medical colleagues built around him.  They had no skills of being able to treat him as simply their friend, but constantly relegated him to the status of “patient”.  Furthermore, his various doctors were incapable of proposing any course of action that he could undertake on his own to improve his chances of survival, in tandem with the conventional approaches of surgery, chemotherapy and radiation. None of his doctors could answer him, when he asked, “What else can I do?”  So he decided to do the research to find out what factors can have beneficial effects on the immune system, or can reduce inflammatory response or impede angiogenesis (the process by which cancer cells stimulate vascularization). 

His findings, heavily documented by various animal studies since human clinical trials are prohibitively expensive, underline the importance of a few basics:  the benefits of regular exercise and proper diet (he elaborates on certain foods that are particularly beneficial), an engaged state of mind (taking charge of one’s daily routine rather than being passively resigned to some unknown destiny) and finally the deleterious effects of stress (by suppressing the proper functioning of the immune system).

So all of a sudden, my cancer was back in the foreground.  I felt that I had been letting things slide, that I had not been diligent enough in taking care of myself.  I reevaluated my eating habits, started drinking green tea, began meditating again, and increased my level of daily physical activity.  I began to realize that I had not just drawn a lucky lottery ticket in the Cancer Sweepstakes.  Yes, I was a bit of a miracle for which I was very grateful, but I could also do more to make sure that it stayed that way.  I was back in the game.

I had a compelling need to do “the right things” as Spike Lee reminded us, and for me that also meant not procrastinating about writing a will. I made an appointment with a notary to discuss the laws about inheritance and what choices I had in sharing my estate.  I began working on drawing up my will and I felt an immediate sense of relief and the satisfaction of taking care of my own business.

Then I received a call from my ex on February 1^st:  a good friend of ours had just been taken to the hospital for emergency surgery to remove a very large tumor from ovarian cancer and she was scheduled to begin the exact same chemo cocktail that I had had in the very beginning of my illness.  My heart sank. I felt so helpless and so in tune with what I knew she would be going through.  She was having a rough go of it right from the beginning.  I followed her progress on a Facebook page that her sister had set up.  She was sent to a rehab center since her surgery had left her unable to walk.  Some days were better than others.

At the beginning of March, she went in for her second chemo and didn’t survive it.  She died of a heart attack.  She was 55.  How had this happened so fast?

That week I was still reeling from the news of Sandra’s passing, like a fresh wound that nags you throughout the day, when I received a call from Karl, Pauline’s husband.  She had died the previous day at home rather abruptly, apparently from a stroke.

So there it is.  These are the facts: people die from this shit.   All of my former fears and dread and sadness came welling up.   I had lost two friends and I felt vulnerable again.  But instead of resisting or rationalizing or justifying it all away, I left the feelings wash over me like a giant wave.  When it passed, I was still standing.

Last week I went back for my annual PET scan, remembering the same event a year ago.  I am waiting for my results, which I will receive on Friday.  I have no reason to believe that the results will not be just as positive as last year, and yet I have no guarantee either.  It’s always the same anxiety that crops up between the time of the exam and the appointment when I hear the results. Wondering and hoping.

In all probability I’ll be off and running for another year of my lucky streak, but this time I hope that I remain aware that I too have a significant role in taking care of myself and making sure that that “luck” holds..