Showing posts with label late stage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label late stage. Show all posts

Thursday, August 14, 2014

It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of my diagnosis with Stage IV gastric cancer.

I've spent the last two weeks trying to figure out how to observe this day. My husband has been encouraging me to do something fun and exciting. A friend of mine who had uterine cancer marked her one year anniversary by climbing a very steep hill in her home town, just because she could.  Some of you reading this must have marked similar anniversaries. What did you do?

It's strange to think of celebrating one year of having cancer. On the other hand, my treatment has gone better than expected and the fact that I am still here is certainly reason to celebrate!  But still, nothing came to mind when asked how I wanted to observe this day. Nothing seemed appropriate. I thought and I thought, talked with some friends, but still, nothing.  I needed a way to both celebrate and grieve at the same time.

While this year has been promising in terms of my treatment, it's also been a year of intense changes and loss. I've lost my old "normal" life. The satisfying day to day routine of my old life is gone. The professional goals I'd set for my self now seem unattainable.  Right after my diagnosis things were unpredictable and surprising. Then came a period of "my new normal", which may have been predictable, but was not the satisfying routine of only a few months before. Now I often describe things as "par for the course". Fatigue, neuropathy, and everything thing else are just the same old same old.

Next week, I have a ct scan. If it shows that things remain stable, I'll take a little break from chemo, probably four to six weeks. This will provide a break from the same old same old. Hopefully my side effects will diminish and it will provide me the opportunity to attempt my old routines without the interruption of treatment and the recovery time that requires.

So tomorrow, my husband and I will have breakfast with one friend, lunch with another, and dinner with still others. It'll be my party, but I'll cry if I want to.

Update: I didn't cry. Instead, I hugged a friend in a penguin suit at Dunkin' Donuts.  

Monday, May 12, 2014

To Buy or Not to Buy, That is the Question...

My husband (who would like to be referred to as Matt Damon for the purpose of anonymity) has recently been talking about replacing my car with a new one. My car is eight years old and has a lot of miles on it, but we have had almost no problems with it. Matt Damon's reasoning is that we drive two hours every other week for treatment and should have something more reliable and comfortable. His car, by the way, is much newer, but we never take that because he doesn't like driving it in the city and he's afraid I might puke all over it after treatment (which has NEVER happened in the almost NINE MONTHS we have been doing this).

I do understand that if we broke down on the way to or from treatment it would be majorly inconvenient. However, I can't help but perseverate about my prognosis. What if we buy a new car and in a few months I'm not driving at all? Or what if I'm gone? Matt Damon says he could just trade in both vehicles for a new one, no big deal. But it still seems irresponsible and like a waste of money to me. For heavens sake, I returned a skirt I'd bought just before my diagnosis because once I heard the prognosis I thought, "Well I won't be needing new clothes anymore". A friend of mine who is a cancer survivor told me she thought twice about buying the expensive shampoo after being diagnosed, thinking she might not be around to use the whole bottle.

Long term planning of any sort has really become a problem. Some friends we have vacationed with before, recently suggested taking an international trip to an island next February (it's mid-May now). Although it sounds wonderful, how can we plan that far in advance? I'm having trouble committing to things even a month in advance! And what about traveling internationally? I'd have about a zillion questions for my doctors before doing that. What if there was a complication and I needed to visit a hospital over seas? Do I really want to go to a hospital on a small tropical island? Could they medevac me back home? I'm sure that is not as exciting as it seems on TV. I mean, George Clooney and Noah Wyle aren't going to meet me on the roof, right?

I'm sure other folks with late stage cancer have the same thoughts. Comments, questions, advice... I really could use some.

Disclaimer: I am not really married to Matt Damon. However, my boy's wicked smaht.