Two Down, One to Go

If I divide my treatment into parts, it seems like I am at least two thirds of the way through: Part 1) Diagnosis and surgery; Part 2) Chemotherapy; Part 3) Radiation. It’s the old familiar cut, poison and burn. Still, I think there is a fourth part. I call it “The Waiting”.

After all the treatments are over, an abyss opens. No appointments, no treatments, I’m no longer actively fighting the cancer. It feels like surrender somehow. It’s time to wait and see if the battle was won or lost. Will there be another battle? Did we get it all? What’s going on in there that I can’t feel and don’t know about?

Dr. Cho says we’ll do some blood work every three months but mostly we will wait to see if I am symptomatic. What does that mean? Well, since breast cancer typically spreads to bone, lung or brain, we will wait for bone pain, headaches or respiratory symptoms. I wonder how I will know the difference between these pains and my ordinary aches and pains and headaches. “They’ll be worse.” Dr. Cho answers.

During my previous experience with cancer, I remember the high anxiety before each follow-up CT Scan. Gradually, it got easier and I finally came to believe the cancer was gone. Really, truly gone. That is, I believed it until this new cancer showed up. I know they are not related. Not directly anyway. But it does make me wonder if I have poor defenses against those wayward cancer cells that all of us have floating around in our systems. Is it my diet? Would this have happened if I had eaten better or exercised more faithfully or is it just happenstance?

I know there are people who do everything “right” and still get cancer and, of course, we see the reverse of that: people who do absolutely everything wrong and live long enough to wish they had taken better care of their bodies. I’ve already experienced that regret. Certainly I could have/should have done more to keep my arms toned instead of flabby, and to firm my midriff. I seem to have misplaced my waist altogether.

I suppose a certain amount of decay and decline is inevitable but I do see plenty of women my age or older still active and able to make their bodies obey their commands. They dance, hike, bike, run, compete and seem at home in their bodies. They travel the world, take cruises, see the sights from high places that they manage to climb with nary a complaint from hips, knees and feet. Is it just luck of the draw? Did they get issued better equipment at the starting gate? Or do they have invisible burdens, unknown ailments and painful memories?

I’m ashamed of my envy. I don’t want less for them. I want to celebrate their accomplishments and enjoy their activities even if it is only vicariously. I want to make plans for myself and to believe I will be able to live normally again. I want my life to stop getting smaller.

Perhaps it is silly to think there is some sort of cosmic balance or fairness to our existence. One need only open a paper or turn on the television to witness the truth that the world is full of extraordinary unfairness and injustice. That makes me think that it’s much more important to focus on our good fortune than on the things we wish we had. Why is that so hard to do?

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