Whenever I’ve spoken about cancer, I’ve often done so with a measure of pessimism. Why so? Consider my cancer history. Colon surgery in 2013 with a classification of Stage I. My future looked rosy and bright. After all, Stage I has a 5-year survival rate of 93%. I only had to reach the 5-year benchmark and could then consider myself cancer free. It seemed simple enough. Chemo wasn’t required and I only had to have annual CT scans for five years for my treatment regimen. Following my second CT scan, it became routine. I was NED and I assumed that I would continue as NED until I reached the 5-year mark. But in my third year, 2016, I fell into that 7% survivor gap as a result of a cancerous lesion found on the left lobe of my liver. What had been simple and routine turned into a cancer survivor’s worst fear. I spent 9 hours in OR - three hours for the removal of the lobe and 6 hours for an incisional hernia (that was a result of my surgery in 2013) ; and went through 16 rounds of chemo with all its attendant side-effects. And I moved from Stage I into the Stage IV category. Along with all that, I was put on a high-risk surveillance program consisting of CT scans every three months for two years followed by CT scans every six months for three years. I’m about to complete the two-year portion with the three-year program still ahead of me. As of this writing, I’ve been NED for 2 years, 1 month, and 28 days. It’s little wonder why I’ve often said that cancer will probably end up killing me. However, that doesn’t mean I’m pessimistic and filled with doom and gloom. My life is filtered with strong rays of hope guided by a core of spirituality. There are still things for me to accomplish in the days and months ahead. The key is not to set my priorities too high and set goals that I feel I can accomplish within reason. Of course, I don’t want people to read too much pessimism in my outlook. After all, I am a cancer advocate and activist. However, I've found that my outlook is one that is shared by many other survivors. In our commonality, we go through the pangs of scanxiety whenever our next CT scan is due. We literally hold our breaths while we await the results from our onc. Then there is the lab/blood work that accompanies the scans. Will our CBC w/ Platelets Differential be within the normal ranges? And will our Comprehensive Metabolic Panel be at acceptable levels? Is our CEA level too high or too low? This is what life is like for a survivor. Is it any wonder why I might be a bit pessimistic? But hope fills in all those gaps created by my limited pessimism. I know it probably sounds like an oxymoron to say you’re pessimistic yet optimistic. However, an introvert can be an extrovert at times. There’s a difference in living with a doom and gloom mindset and living outside it. Living outside it means to attain a quality of life and move ahead to accomplish goals. And it is the light of hope that guides us. There will always be those nagging doubts. Yet, we have much to look forward to. Call it being cautiously optimistic. © Robert DesJarlait, 2019
0 Comments
|
Robert Desjarlait
|