"Living With Cancer"
“Until death do us part,” I said only once. Then that interloper, Cancer, arrived and a life-long relationship was thrust upon me. I didn’t vow “for better or for worse” but I had to stay, mostly for the “worse.” I’m tired of having a relationship with Cancer. I want to break-up.
How limiting to be defined as a cancer patient even years after leaving the hospital and being in fine health. Yet, according to several oncologists and people in cancer support groups, I am not supposed to define myself apart from cancer for the rest of my life. I’m told not to use the past tense. One oncologist explained, “Since cancer can always return, we say there is No Evidence of Disease, or N.E.D.” To refer to cancer by its absence, makes it sound like a ghost. Indeed, even when I’m years post treatment, I am haunted by cancer.
Imagine having such an Albatross around your neck. Similar to the fabled Mariner’s rotting bird, it begins to stink! Years after having Athletes’ Foot, one is not required to say, “I have Athletes’ Foot; it’s just in remission.” No! You are free of it. It was only a brief experience; the disgusting fungus is gone. However, as cancer patients, we are not ever permitted the luxury of embracing freedom. Though the practice of wearing a “Scarlet Letter A” is relegated to history, evidently cancer patients are expected to wear a “Pink Letter C” for life. The cancer patients I am acquainted with do not want to advertise their disease on a T-Shirt. We were forced to sign up for the “Cancer Club” but most want to be free of the label at some point.
I’m not a high-maintenance woman who likes spending a lot of time thinking about herself, much less about cancer. I have dozens of activities I enjoy pursuing and relationships I love investing time in. I don't like to be forced to think about cancer, long-term. The point of going through treatments was so I could leave cancer behind. The goal of treating patients is to make them well. People refer to “beating cancer” or “winning.” Yet, what a shallow victory it is if people are burdened for the rest of their lives with the designation of cancer patient.
After a year of repeated PET scans, my oncologist once again gave me good results: no sign of cancer. I happily exclaimed, “Great news! I’m cancer-free.”
“I prefer to say, in remission,” he corrected. Talk about a deflating moment; I was supposed to worry about cancer in the midst of being told it’s gone! That nagging refrain loops in my brain: “Cancer could come back; it could come back.” So every twinge or pain is a prickling reminder. Is it cancer? Has it returned to have its way with me again? One can get a restraining order on an abusive ex, but there’s no recourse to get out of a long-term relationship with cancer.
Though I don’t want to think about cancer, I am obligated to do so since scans are given every few months. These necessitate a lab appointment beforehand for blood tests. Then the scan itself takes preparation time, either drinking chalky barium or doing a mini-fast. Procedures vary, but all demand I turn my attention to cancer. The worst part of the whole ordeal is waiting for the scan results. As I write this, three years post-treatment, a spot was found on my liver with a routine MRI. Then a PET scan was required to determine if cancer had returned. I fluctuated between getting ready to celebrate and trying to brace myself for the worst news of my life. The spot was benign, I was told on a Monday morning. But the weekend of waiting for results meant the ghost-of-cancer-past had again materialized.
I will have to “live with” the phantom of cancer for the rest of my days, but I won’t allow it to define me. My identity comes from my purposes in life—being encouraging to my family, teaching my grandchildren, mentoring cancer patients, writing, and serving my community. I consider my ultimate purpose is to live for the Lord by loving people. I can certainly do that with or without cancer! Instead of looking back, I’m trying to stay focused on the future. With my active and fulfilled life, the fact that I’m a cancer patient will be a footnote in the book of my life, not the title.
Reflection:
What strategies do you use to quit thinking about cancer?
How do you cope with the worries of realizing cancer could return?