A lesson in contradiction

There is something about facing death that becomes an everyday part of life, almost humdrum. At first it's jarring and frightening, the kind of reaction that sends you off at a running pace to write a will or to think about the legacy you are leaving your children. These were certainly my initial reactions when I found out that I had the big "C".

My first 10,000 step day since October 2019

But then the weekly treatments take over and all thoughts turn to survival rather than death. Sure, there is still that thought in the back of my mind, "I might not make it through this particular trial" but most of the energy turns into the fight to stay alive. It is the will to live that becomes the driving force in my life, not thoughts of death. It is a question that has plagued me since I first learned of my diagnosis: How do I balance being optimistic and having a will to live as opposed to making myself ready in case I don't make it?

Everywhere I turn, I am told that attitude is more than half the battle. The chemicals do their work and are vital to survival but so too is that belief in myself that I am not going anywhere, that I CAN beat this. It is what drives me to keep going twice a week to be injected with chemotherapy drugs. It is that same force that has me swallow a pharmacy full of pills morning and night, a process that was totally foreign to me before this all began. It is what makes me feel positive about having my blood drawn every week to check on my general well-being, particularly the health of my kidneys that are currently doing overtime to filter out the dead cancer cells that are being created. If I didn't believe that I could survive then there would be little use in putting myself through a treatment that has some pretty serious side effects.

My daily pill collection

A little more than two weeks ago, I finally got to sit down with my "cancer doctor", Dr. Atanackovic to check on my overall progress, to see if I am on track according to the best case scenario. The goal is to go into remission and he made it clear that this means the cancer levels have to be at zero or very close to. He appeared to be happy with my progress so far. I went from having an "M"-spike of 80% down to 37% in the most recent blood tests. It was a good sign that I have been responding to the chemo treatments.

They are clearly preparing me for the next stage in the treatment as the social worker, Nico, came to speak with Alan and I about the proposed stem cell transplant. The conversation was both hopeful and daunting at the same time (there goes that contrast again!). It was news to us that it will take 3 long, long days (7am-9pm) to harvest my stem cells. Once harvested, I will undergo a massive dose of chemotherapy that will completely wipe out my immune system, kind of like having a clean slate. This will last one day and then they will put my stem cells back into my body to give me a healthy kick start again, without cancer cells this time.

It was news too to learn that I will not be allowed further than 20 miles from the hospital for the first 30 days after the stem cell transplant and I will need someone with me for 24/7. While this needs more clarification, I am grateful there is this home called Hope Lodge where we can stay for those 30 days. Nico went on to describe that by day 10 I will be at my lowest, I will lose all my hair and I will feel as if the bottom of my world fell out beneath me. The one common element for all patients is a total sense of indescribable fatigue, so much so that I will not be able to eat. I will learn to suck on ice to keep me going.

So attitude is going to be huge in this next phase. It will all be worth it if I can go into remission and be largely cancer free, at least for a time.