I hope this doesn’t come across as preachy, but I was feeling sorry for myself and thinking about how much all this sucks, when I took a moment to reflect on my first cancer experience. Like many others with cancer on their resume, I gained perspective the hard way. Perhaps there’s a nugget here that will resonate with you.
The year was 1999. I was 43 years old. I had outpatient surgery in March – an attempt to figure out what was wrong with me. That’s when they discovered I had an unusual form of ovarian cancer that forms in the lining of the abdomen.
Lots of doctor appointments, lots of tests, lots of unknowns and lots of fear. The big surgery was in April. I learned it was Stage 3, Grade 3. The survival statistics were terrible – about a 30 percent chance of living five years.
I went home to recover and prepare for chemotherapy.
The treatment was basically six months of intravenous chemotherapy, which I think I finished toward the end of August. I fared pretty well through the ordeal, but it was no pleasure cruise. Then I had to recover enough from the chemotherapy to face another surgery in October. Although all signs indicated the cancer was gone, it has a high recurrence rate, and the doctor wanted to do what is called a second-look.
They go in and biopsy the crap out of everything. If all is clear, you’re done with chemo. If they find microscopic cancer, you get more chemo. I had no evidence of disease and have been fine ever since, except for breast cancer in 2015.
For the first two years after treatment in 1999, I went to the doctor every two months for a check-up. That included a pelvic exam, blood tests and sometimes a CT scan of the abdomen. After two years, I graduated to every six months, and that went on for three years. After five years, I started going once a year, which I still do, although now it’s just a blood test and a howdy-do.
After every appointment ending with an all-clear, I’d think, another two months to live! Another six months to live! Another year to live! It was kind of a joke, but life was what happened between appointments.
I wanted to share this because it made me feel better about life’s most recent curve balls. We’re what? Six months in? I know it’s not the same. My illness didn’t impact the world or the economy or anyone’s job. As I was recovering, I could go to restaurants and parties and otherwise lead a normal life. I was lucky.
Still, statistically speaking, the odds were against me. I could cocoon myself in a bubble, but the very real threat of getting sick and dying was with me for years, no matter what I did. I learned to live with ambiguity, and I just kept going. I’m certainly not alone. Somebody reading this or someone you know is living with a life-threatening illness or a deep personal tragedy, and yet they just keep going.
Maybe that’s it in terms of the message here. Just keep going. And this might be a cop-out, but I try not to think too much about the big picture. It’s too big. There are smarter and stronger people who can take on the world, but when the shit hits the fan, I do better by focusing on small things that make me happy.
It’s like I’ve been saying all along. Simple pleasures. I don’t know any other way to get through this.
Wise words, Donna. Thank you.
Deb
You are welcome!
Your lived experience makes the advice to ‘just keep going’ all the more true. Everyone has a form of pandemic fatigue — sometimes it’s expressed in emotions such as anger or denial or sadness. Nonetheless, each of us needs to find some strategy to get through the uncertainty. I like ‘just keep going’ — it’s a good mantra.
Pandemic fatigue is a perfect description. I’ve had anger, denial and sadness — all at the same time! But yes, I just keep going. Thanks for visiting.
Resilience: Where to start. As a young teen, I lost my mother to suicide, as a young adult I lost my brother to suicide. I also had a double mastectomy. And now last year I lost the love of my life, my wife of 24 years to fuckin cancer. Then the pandemic. Yikes. I thought that was enough, but then my house was on evacuation order. Really? Now my house is going to burn to the ground? Really?
Thankfully that didn’t happen. Miraculously I am still on my feet. You do have to just keep going.
Thanks for your blogging. It helps so much.
Carole — I thought of you as I was writing this post. You’ve had so much tragedy, yet you do keep going. You are an inspiration to me.
This is great advice and a welcome reminder.
Before covid, I was struggling with being thrust suddenly into the role of parental caregiver. Add in covid, the nearly unbearable summer weather here, the general societal meanness and the unstable political picture and I’ve spent way too much time this year in fear, anger and self-pity.
I’m finally working through my issues but depending on how the fall and winter pan out, I don’t know how hopeful I am overall. I keep reminding myself not to sweat the small stuff (but then it’s all small stuff!)
I struggle with the same emotions. Societal meanness really gets me down. Maybe it’s better to sweat the small stuff and let the big stuff go.
Wow, Carole, you ARE the definition of resilience! My problems are minuscule in comparison. Blessings to you!
“Deep within this person is a great toughness for his own integrity – a great tenacity in the face of adversity. Human nature is the most indestructible thing that we know. It has almost unlimited ability to take whatever comes – to go on surviving in the midst of unbelievable difficulties and persecutions. A person is an overpowering will to survive, to arrive at destinations. To blossom and be – with all the spontaneity of a rose at seven o’clock on a June morning. ” – source unknown
I came across this quote years ago. I take great comfort in it. We all have a choice whether we’re cognizant of that choice or not. I’m inspired by the people who face and overcome adversity, demonstrating that great ability to take what comes and keep on keeping on.
What an amazing quote. Worth reading over and over. Thanks so much for sharing.