"This Cancer is Going to Kill You"

Circle shows worst lung tumor, next to heart

Or maybe Dr T said, "You will die from this cancer." I don't remember the exact phrasing, but the meaning is the same. This was yesterday, after he'd reviewed the results of my recent lung biopsy and CT scans, which showed multiple lung nodules and two lesions in my abdomen.

He said probably in less than a year without more treatments. Going back into treatment may buy me some more time, but it's not guaranteed. But I have to try.

Radiation first, just five days of it to shrink the lung tumors. This may reduce my pain and help me breathe easier. Then, more chemo. The regimen is going to be harsher this time. He said I probably won't tolerate it as well as the first time. 

Yesterday was the first time I was afraid to go for the office visit. I drove west on the I-84 and when I reached the exit to head north on the I-5, the highway sign says "Seattle." I could skip the oncology appointment and go to Seattle, farther north to Bellingham, farther north into Canada and then as far as I could drive - but I left my passport at home. And running away wouldn't solve anything. I wanted to, though. I wanted to just get out of here, get beyond - beyond what? Cancer would still be with me.

I cried in the waiting room, sitting in the corner. I cried in the exam room while the medical assistant was getting my blood pressure and all that. I think she's new there. She asked, "Have you met the doctors yet?" I said, "Yes, I've been coming here for a year. Did surgery and chemo and radiation. All that." She didn't say much else, except that Dr T would be in soon.

He came in and gave me the news. He said he'd told me from the beginning this was a good possibility. I agree, they had all been honest with me. "But I thought I might be the exception."

He sighed and said, "It was good that you had hope. But now - was I ready to face this  reality?"

"NO!" is what I felt. "What choice do I have?" is what I said.

He said, "I know you like working, but you need to consider how you want to spend the time left." He said I will qualify for 100% disability.

Yes, I like working, or parts of it.  The interaction with others is good, and I feel productive. I've never wanted to be a drain on others. I was brought up to be an independent, self-sufficient person.  Now, I have to think differently. 

I also need to work to help support my family. We live in an expensive part of the country. Our house isn't paid off. We have other debts from long-ago bad decisions. Going on disability from social security would reduce my monthly income significantly.

Plus reduce my opinion of myself.

Today I spoke with my manager at my job to give him a heads up that my situation was going to be changing. I don't have a specific timeline yet, so it's difficult to make plans. All I know is that I have an appointment with the radiation oncologist Dr P on Monday to discuss the next steps.

My emotions have been all over the map since yesterday. Extreme sadness, anger, worry, and sorrow that I'll be leaving my family behind too early. My parents have both died - 13 years ago today for my mom - and my death will leave my brother alone in the world. My husband will be faced with managing life on his own until he finds someone else. My step kids - how will this affect them? They're in their 30s, too young for this.

Irrationally, I'm sad about all the things I will never get to know in the world, events and technologies and social advancements I'll miss. I won't get to spend years more with my goofy dog.

My husband G was out of town on business yesterday. I didn't want to tell him what Dr T said until he got home - didn't want him driving the 3 hours back home knowing.

Yesterday evening a nurse I work with was singing and playing guitar at a small bar, so I had G meet me there. It was loud and not a good place to talk, so we just hung out for about 3 hours, then drove home separately. Finally at home he asked me what Dr T had said. I think he'd been waiting for me to bring it up. I was waiting for a good time, but when is ever a good time for news like that?

I tried to be matter of fact about it, talking about going on disability and what we needed to do with household matters. As we were getting ready for bed he laid his head against me and said, "You can't break our contact.  You can't do this." A phrase we've said for years is, "Together forever, whatever."

Forever is suddenly very short.