The view from my living room window
and other thoughts on cancer
The view from my living room window includes a cemetery. Last night we had the first hard frost of the season, so the view also includes dead and dying plants and flowers. Facebook tells me Luverne lost another beautiful soul to cancer yesterday. It won’t be long before we lose another, and another.
Of the three friends I referenced a few months ago in a column about cancer — one has died, one is in the middle of 27 weeks of chemo (so far, no results) and one ... waits.
Another friend of mine whose husband was recently diagnosed with a non-treatable form of leukemia put it best when she said, “Cancer sucks.”
Having said all of that, I received really good news yesterday.
Some of my “numbers” have plummeted since my three-week stay in a Mexican cancer clinic in August. My blood work is all normal. The levels in my body of certain enzymes and antigens produced by cancer cells are dropping.
At the same time, I have pretty intense pain from the tumor. (Just a reminder, I have anal cancer, so — “That’s all I’ve got to say about that.”) The most effective painkillers have nasty side effects, particularly liver damage.
So, I can spend the day “feeling fine” while harming my liver, or I can spend the day in pain. I know many of you can relate to that. Usually I choose “no pain” and pray for my liver.
Am I getting better or not? My blood work says I’m getting better. But the pain tells me the tumor is “doing something.” Maybe it’s growing? Maybe it’s inflamed from the treatment and will begin shrinking soon? They said that could happen.
At the clinic in Mexico I met another woman with anal cancer. She had undergone the full regimen of chemo and radiation. It didn’t work. She still had cancer, she had liver damage and she had lost bladder and bowel control — and her will to live. She looked at me and said, “I want to kill myself.”
Since then I met yet another woman who had anal cancer. She did the full regimen of chemo and radiation seven years ago, and she’s fine.
(Based on the results of that survey, what would you do?)
These past 16 months have been a long and winding road. I’d like to know where I am on the journey. Almost done? Not even half way? Still in the driveway?
Some days are just miserable. Cancer is painful. Cancer is scary. Cancer is boring. (How much longer do I have to do these stupid treatments?)
Most days are just fine. Pain pills make me forget about cancer. I have places to go and people (granddaughters!) to see. Most days are just another day with cancer.
The view from my living room window includes a park with brilliant gold and orange trees. Obnoxiously red geraniums are still in full bloom in my garden. Sunshine on the headstones in the cemetery is pretty.
Yes, cancer sucks, but God is still good. All the time.