It's getting late and I already attempted to try and go to bed once. I figured if I stayed up late, watched some "Scandal" and ate some ice cream, I would be ok once the lights turned out. But I wasn't. I laid down and immediately my mind started to spin with all the information and non-information I was given today. And then the tears began to fall. Slowly at first, but quickly escalating to whimpers and sobs. I came downstairs to seek solace in my writing. To get out my frustrations, let the world know I am hurting, and hopefully be able to find some peace in between. No one else is awake in the house, except for my Herbie and Dottie Sue (my kitties) who, god bless them, stick by my side all night long to calm me and lull me to sleep. When I came down here raking back sobs and trying to quietly have my pity party, I was met by their big round eyes, staring at me from the floor and counter, wanting desperately to make me feel better. But I need this small pity party tonight, I need to mourn the loss of my "remission" status that I held onto for a week's time and basked in its glow. I'm back in limbo again, and I hate it. Hate it. There, I said it. I'll say it again. I hate it!
We met with the doctor today and I was expecting confetti and high fives all around, along with some smiles and "atta boys!" sprinkled in the mix. What I got was a doctor that was neither sad nor ecstatic, but rather matter-of-fact in saying "we just don't know." I went from 60 to 0. Last week I was squealing with excitement, facing the world with a newfound confidence, feeling like a warrior, glowing with anticipation of my future...I was allowing myself to even envision a future. Now, the rug has been pulled out yet again. I'm not officially cancer-free. There is no real way to tell what I have going on in my liver. I looked at the PET scan with my doctor, and he's right, we can't tell what if anything has changed. My liver, as is my diagnosis, are proving to be unique and nothing is black and white.
I had to make decisions today based on the little we do know, and had to put faith in my doctor and myself. Did I ask for a liver biopsy to try and see if there were still malignancies? But even that could provide false information depending on where they took their samples from. And even if it did come back malignant, would I want to try another chemo? My doctor assured me we had done the "top shelf" chemo (I thanked him because I have never been much of a "well" drinker) and that he didn't know that changing course would be the best answer. After all, the current chemo had resolved the nodules in my breast and chest. And I feel better. My liver is no longer enlarged and causing extreme pain. I'm working out now, and I feel better than I have in over a year. However, I do have my aches and pains, and those are always at the forefront of my mind. Are these cancer-related pains or are they just signs of a rusty old body getting back into things? To rest my own mind, I made the doctor look at my neck and the part of my chest that has been hurting. He is of the volition, as am I, that these are due to lack of use and regaining my strength back. Phew!
But there I was, sitting in that cramped little office, just my husband, me and the doctor. I had to take a deep breath and decide if I was going to put my full faith in the doctor. He suggested I stay on the tamoxifen, get a hysterectomy and repeat the scans sooner rather than later, in June. I felt like the wind had been taken from my sails. Even in the past 24 hours I was still riding high thinking I had beaten the SOB that is cancer. But even when I used the word "remission" I almost whispered it, for fear that it would somehow be taken from me....and it was.
I left the doctor after deciding to stick to our original plan. No liver biopsy, new scans in two months and a hysterectomy and tamoxifen. The doctor seemed encouraged that this would work to keep the cancer at bay. I asked him one final question before we left. I asked if I could say that my cancer had "stabilized" and if this was a good thing. He said I certainly could use that word, and that yes, this was a great thing.
I rode home with Bill, half-listening as he gave me a pep talk about all the good things that were said. How my feeling good was a sign that things were still on the up and up. How we were going to continue with our plans to move home, send Sam back to daycare, get my hysterectomy and continue to get me healthy so I could fight even harder. All the while he was talking, I couldn't help but think about what cancer had done to me in just over a week's time. I was given what I perceived as good news, allowed myself just the slightest bit of jubilation, all the while thinking in the back of my head that I should hold onto my doubts. Everyone with cancer will probably say the same thing. You don't believe anything the first time it is told to you. Good news you want repeated, written out, and repeated again. Cancer is all about waiting for the other shoe to drop. There is no such thing as relishing in the moment. As one of my fellow Livestrong program people said this week, "My life is a series of 3 month cycles of waiting, fearing, and then relief when I get my news." She was right. I thought often times over the course of this last week how I would prepare for my next scans. Yes, I was doing everything I could to enjoy life, be in the present, make plans and keep them. But in the back of my mind there lurked doubt, fear, anxiety. And now it had come true. I was given false hope. Now I needed to tell my family, my friends, my followers, that things were not all roses. It was embarrassing for one. And it was difficult to listen to others try and paint a silver lining. I bit my tongue all night long, I didn't want any of them to see me lose it. I would do that in solitude where no one could try and rally my spirits. I needed a good cry. I needed to feel what I was feeling.
So here I sit now, surrounded by cats, and tasting the salt of my tears. My liver is there, I can feel it, and there is an ache to it. Nothing like the extreme pain I was in prior to my diagnosis, but it is there. Does it scare me? You bet. Does it add to my tears? Of course. I hate this, as I said in the beginning. I just hate it. I want to go back to last spring, when I was hugely pregnant, complaining about lack of sleep, yet anticipating the love of my life. When my only worry was baby shower invites and room decorations. But you can't go back. There is no magic wand that brings you peace and clarity, that gives you all the answers you seek. Cancer doesn't play by the rules in that regard. And you are at the mercy of its rules.
So I sit, I cry, I whimper and beg for normalcy. I want to give my son a normal life, where he doesn't have to worry about his mom. One where we both know we will be here for each other. That sweet little man looks to me when he cries, he wants me to make it all better. He reaches out to me when he is afraid and tucks his head into my shoulder to feel safe. When he's napping, I take his tiny fingers in my hand and let their warmth and softness calm me. I whisper to him that I will never leave him. That I am always here. Damn you, cancer, for making me cling to these moments and ache at the thought of them being cut short some day.
Yes, I'm mad. I'm hurt and I'm scared. This neverending merry-go-round continues to spin and I continue to hang on. At least I am proving I am not going down without a fight. And who knew I had such fight in me? As I said last night, this journey is far from over. Little did I know, that I was still in for the long haul. I'm not giving up on that miracle. Not yet. I'm taking a deep breath, trusting in medicine, believing in hope and continuing the fight. I'm not done crying for the night. And I am sure there will be tears in the future. Afterall, nothing is assured in this life. I just know that I have to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Do my part to feel good and be present. I can't let the darkness consume me, because then it has won. So bring on the curves, the pitfalls, and the bumps. I'm still standing and I'm wiping the tears away...because I got this!
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