Free From Treatment, But Not From Fear…
In some cancer centers around the country, when a patient finishes treatment, it’s a tradition to mark the occasion. Leroy rang the gong downstairs in radiation after his last zap. Everyone within earshot of the event, clapped and whistled, it was a nice celebration to say “finished at last!”
He counted down those sessions with marks on the calendar. He couldn’t wait to hear that big, lead door close for the last time…and frankly, neither could I.
And then it hit us….no more doctors and nurses monitoring his condition. At least not the way they did when he would come in for his treatments. His appointments would be less frequent and he wouldn’t have the same round of tests that he had during those sessions.
He was considered “better” until he wasn’t. So he tried not to think the bad thoughts. What if the cancer was running wild again inside him? Who would know? Would it be too late to do anything when it was discovered? At that particular time in his cancer journey, he really was enjoying a cancer break. He tried not to think about being untethered from the cancer center, but it took some doing.
You never really lose the fear of relapse do you?
A friend who has been cancer free for many years, says even though she lives a very full life now, she’s waiting for that other shoe to drop. And it’s been more than ten years of clean scans!
There’s just no escaping the “C-grip” is there? Free from treatment, but not from fear.
November 12, 2011 @ 9:59 pm
Even though the years go by, the fear of relapse is very real. My husband remarked that his vision in one eye was blurry and I immediately panicked. It turned out fine, but I will never be able to completely relax, I guess. Also, there is the thought that the chemo and radiation may cause some other cancer to appear. Al, I am so sorry for the loss of your friend. Life is very fragile indeed.
November 12, 2011 @ 9:07 am
Al, I am also sorry to hear of your loss…
November 11, 2011 @ 5:23 pm
One of my friends being treated for glioblastoma has marked off on FaceBook both her radiation and chemo treatments. Her openness has allowed all of us who are her friends to support her daily, cheer her on, and, yes, even celebrate.
November 11, 2011 @ 6:52 pm
My cousin fought glioblastoma for 6 months. Continue to hope and pray and lead the cheers for each day with your friend, Mo.
Thank you for your thoughts for Floyd.
November 11, 2011 @ 5:00 pm
I get PET scans about every 5-6 months now (After each recurrence or another type of cancer was discovered, the frequency was every 3 months). I know many oncologists say “wait until you have symptoms” If my oncologist subscribed to this practice, I would no longer be among the living. I am truly grateful to him for being aggressive in monitoring me. Even though it has been about 2 years since my last recurrence and my scans have been clear, I am always nervous come scan-time. Once you’ve heard the words ” the spot on your lung has changed”, “there is a tumor on your kidney” or “there is a spot on your ear that shows metabolic activity on the scan”, those old feelings of apprehension, fear and uncertainty return as they inject the radioactive glucose. The C-grip will always be with me. Just another way that cancer affects us and our lives.
November 11, 2011 @ 5:13 pm
Just an addendum……the fragility of life – A friend of mine just died around midnight last night. A vigorous 74 year old; had had both of his knees replaced within the last 2 years so he could continue to play tennis 3 times a week. He was full bore back into tennis. Somehow he tripped at his home, fell and hit his head on the tile floor (don’t know if it was a stroke or not). Rushed him to the hospital with bleeding on his brain. The docs induced a coma to allow his brain swelling to subside. He awoke from his coma and had a conversation with his family. Things quickly deteriorated. After much work by the doctors, they determined that there was no brain activity. In terms of his living will, no further efforts were attempted and he was removed from all life support. He was moved to hospice 8 days ago. His heart and organs finally shutdown and he died last night. His funeral is next Tuesday. To me, this highlights the fragility of life and just how tenuous it really is. We assume that everything will be OK as we go through our daily activities but sometimes it is not OK. Rest in Peace, Floyd.
November 11, 2011 @ 5:18 pm
I’m saddened to learn of the loss of your friend, Al. May his soul rest in peace.