Thursday, September 24, 2009

Me and My Posse: Kicking Cancer's Butt

Yesterday for the first time since my diagnosis I suddenly started believing, deep down and without reservation, that I'm going to survive.

Of course I've known from the start that survival is an option--only an idiot would enter into such an unpleasant and expensive course of treatment without some faint glimmer of hope that it just might work. But I've also known that 40 percent of patients diagnosed with stage III endometrial cancer are dead within five years even with treatment, and given my proven ability to end up grasping the short end of the statistical stick, I've been carrying within me the spectre of death.

So even while I've been doing everything possible to stay alive, I have also updated my will and worked on getting my financial affairs in order. (Well, make that "less disorder.") The Grim Reaper haunts me when I happen upon someone who can't bear to look me in the face and when the radiation girls casually say things like, "We'll shoot a few more x-rays just to make sure you're positioned correctly." I am here to tell you that the human body doesn't like radiation. Tastes like death.

But then yesterday, as I was waiting for the latest bag of powerful plant alkaloids to be delivered to my bloodstream, a smiling nurse came tripping in to bless me with my latest test results: my white blood count is low and I'm still anemic (so what else is new?), but the tumor markers fell to 19. From an original high over 150.

Hallelujah.

That was the moment when I started to believe--to really believe--that I'm going to live.

Right now I'm sitting at the keyboard at 4 a.m. unable to sleep because my body feels as if it's about to produce one of those parasitic aliens that were always bothering Sigourney Weaver, but it doesn't taste like death any more. Tastes like life, as if I'm kicking cancer's butt.

Or not me--we. Me and my posse--my skilled surgeons and my cheerful oncologist and my radiation guru and all my nurses and radiation technicians and lab technicians and the office staff and volunteers at the cancer center and even the annoying drug sales rep, and let's not forget all my colleagues and friends and family who cover my classes and drive me to appointments and bring me meals and shower me with scarves and send me ginger ale and books and cards and an iPod and a car and I don't remember what else, and my students who carry heavy things for me and put up with my occasional absences and lapses of attention, and the wonderful honors class that gave me a chemotherapy care package (I highly recommend the soothing eye pad), and people I've never met who send encouraging words my way, and probably a bunch of others I've forgotten.

This number's for you, my cancer-kicking-posse: 19. Savor it. One of these days when I'm through with treatment we'll have a big party to celebrate our communal effort, so consider yourselves invited. Me and my posse: kicking cancer's butt.

7 comments:

Unknown said...

Never a doubt in my mind.

Joy said...

Glad you're finally on board with the rest of us. Yesterday must have felt like, if you'll pardon the triteness, having a horrible night and suddenly seeing the sun start to kiss the horizon. Sure, you've still got the day to deal with, but everything seems a little easier in the light.

Keep that feeling in your pocket. And I can't wait for the party!

Quackademic said...

Your honors class just made me cry in all the right ways.

Anonymous said...

Yes, a party is an excellent idea. I'll bring the NON-ginger related treats!

Anonymous said...

Bev,

This is wonderful news! I’m SO glad to hear this! I hadn’t heard the stat you mentioned before today. I must say, I’m glad I heard it in the context of this post.

What’s the number are we hoping to see? Even though I have no point of reference, based on where you started, 19 sounds pretty great to me.

If I can get spiritual for about five seconds, I want to share something that’s really been helping me. I’m right in the middle of a bible study where the primary focus is God’s provisions for the Israelite people during their time in the wilderness. I’ve known the basic facts in that story for about forty years now, but this year they mean a lot more to me. I’ve empathized with the fact that they couldn’t see what was ahead and that, though their circumstances seemed so frightening, theirs was a journey with a purpose. I’ve also been reassured that God always gave them what they needed when they needed it. It didn’t come in their timing and it wasn’t always what they wanted, but it sustained them and it had a purpose. God was with them the whole time and He took care of them. This has been a rough year for me, but what you’re going through is SO much more challenging. It’s encouraging to hear how God keeps providing for you…sometimes in rather surprising and unorthodox ways.

What you’re writing is so honest and so powerful. I am so grateful that you're sharing it. I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels that way.

I’m happy to be part of the Florida chapter of your posse. We can’t drive you to appointments, but we are praying for you and rooting for you and keeping an eye on your through your blog. We are all so proud of you!!

Keep your chin up, Bev! You are doing an AMAZING job! I would not want to be your cancer cells!

Have a good weekend! Hope you are feeling OK. Hope you are able to rest and hope you feel surrounded by all of the good wishes that are being sent your way! Bets

Bev said...

Amen!

MountainLaurel said...

Can I head up the Baltimore branch of your posse? I'll bring seafood....