That old feeling came back with a wallop the other day. I’m talking about the day, when all of us made the leap from living a normal life to finding out ‘our’ cancers would take the ‘normal’ away forever.
I was working on a project up at Hopkins, that will hopefully spread the word about their impressive Pancreas Cancer Multi-Disciplinary Clinic. A gathering of the best doctors, surgeons, nurses and scientists who see more pancreas cancer than any place else in the country. Patients come to this one day, comprehensive assessment of their condition and leave with some sort of a plan on how to manage their disease.
The patients and their family members are full of hope, as they sit in the exam rooms waiting for the doctors who have news of their latest scans and test results. The beauty of this clinic is that all the specialists weigh-in at once. The patient isn’t running from doctor to doctor, just the opposite, the doctors have come to the patient. But that doesn’t mean the anticipation is less stressful. For the most part, the news isn’t good. Pancreas cancer is a bad cancer.
There were a couple of patients who left the clinic that day learning that they either didn’t have cancer or what they did have could be surgically treated, always a hopeful sign, when dealing with pancreas cancer.
But it was the others, that took me back to that exam room years ago….As the doctor found the words, so difficult to say….the cancer has spread or the disease was terminal.
No one is ever prepared to hear this news. The world is turned upside down in an instant. A loved one’s life is threatened.
These patients were given the best suggestions for managing their care too, but from my experience, most of that went unrecorded in their heads, because their hearts are crumbling from the devastating news.
Maybe because I’ve been where they are now, I want them to know, how terribly sad I feel for each of them. In many ways, their cancer, is “MY Cancer”….is “OUR Cancer.”
June 20, 2011 @ 7:21 pm
In 24 days it will be seven years since we heard the words “I’m sorry but your cancer has spread to your bones”. I honestly thought I was going to pass out but I felt I had to hold myself together and from that moment on never give up hope. I wanted all the answers that day instead of waiting for other doctors visits and second opinions. I think Hopkins is doing exactly what a cancer patient and their families need…trying to take some of the worry and agony out of the cancer equation. Thank you for what you have done to encourage this kind of treatment.
June 20, 2011 @ 5:13 pm
Rubik’s cube is my analogy for cancer but I also know that Rubik’s cube can be solved, not by everyone but by some……sorta like cancer. Some have a miraculous outcome and have no other recurrences…..problem solved. Others try and try and try…everything in the arsenal…but to no avail. Eventually the “get your affairs in order” speech is delivered and all prepare for the end. Too many patients don’t have their cancer riddle solved. Too many are going to die this year from this insidious disease. Progress is at a glacial pace, sadly.
I like what you’ve reported about Hopkins…all of the docs coming to the patient. The news may not be any better for most but at least they feel that they are truly valued as a patient. Kudos to Hopkins.
June 20, 2011 @ 3:59 pm
Last night we found out that one of our friend’s cancers had returned. Having been through this journey, myself and walking it with other friends and family members, it hits hard to hear this news. Once you’ve been in the cancer world you never really leave it.
June 20, 2011 @ 3:25 pm
I heard about a ‘drug’ tool that is used to deliver radiation to the specific cells that need treatment, leaving all the healthy ones alone. Then I heard about another up and coming drug that just stops cancer from replicating.
I want to believe its this simple, our experience was different, but it would be wonderful if…