The dreaded Big C.
I don’t know anyone who is prepared for the changes and challenges that await when they’re diagnosed with cancer—even though American Cancer Society (ACS) statistics show that it’s hardly an unfamiliar experience. On average, 40 of every 100 Americans will hear that sobering news each year, according to the ACS.
So, I’m sharing lessons I’ve learned since joining this not-so-exclusive club, at the request of Bob Sweeney, who founded The Villager 45 years ago and now is one of only two truly independent newspaper operators remaining in our state.
Bob had a near-death experience himself earlier this year, so both he and I and those close to us have something special to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
Cancer is such a big deal that it doesn’t have just one “month.” Between the American Cancer Society and the American Association for Cancer Research, every month except August and December is designated in some way. Some months have more than one.
ACS recognizes February as National Cancer Prevention Month; April as National Cancer Control Month (which includes various other specific designations including my specialty, Esophageal Cancer Awareness Month); May as National Cancer Research Month; June as National Cancer Survivors Month; and October as Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
My goal in writing this piece is that others who will go through the cancer ordeal aren’t surprised by realizations as they unfold, as I have been. Hopefully, at least some folks already in the club will find something of value here, too.
My diagnosis at the end of June this year was an inoperable tumor in my esophagus, which my oncologist told me meant it could be controlled and managed but not cured or removed surgically as with other esophageal tumors.
An MRI found some mostly small spots on my brain, too, suggesting my cancer had metastasized—in layman’s terms, spread.
Fortunately, as of this writing, two follow-up MRIs on my brain have showed that the five radiation treatments I underwent at the outset were successful. And based on recent results of a follow-up PET scan, my bi-weekly chemo infusions, which were temporarily interrupted by other unexpected side effects, appear to be working.
But it has been, and continues to be, a journey filled with discovery and unexpected complexities and twists, on three levels—medically, physically and personally. I suspect the same is true for most cancer patients.
I’ll take them one at a time.
Medically
I am amazed by how many types of cancer there are. The American Cancer Society puts the number at more than 100. That’s HUNDRED!
This extreme variety presents quite a challenge for oncologists, both to correctly diagnose then treat the right form, as well as to explain what’s going on to each patient.
With the use of medical technology, physicians use a biopsy procedure to analyze the tissue, then a pathologist provides a report that leads to the diagnosis and a determination of the of treatment to be used. You hear a lot about chemotherapy infusions for cancer patients. The trick: No two receive exactly the same mix of drugs.
That’s one of the complexities. Drugs interact differently with each other and with individual patients. So, what works for one might cause problems for another. Doctors must know what will work and what might cause harm.
In my case, after seven chemotherapy and immunotherapy infusions, I wound up in the hospital then rehab for a total of 22 days because of one such unexpected reaction. We think it was related to an immunology drug, not in the actual chemo mix, but there’s no clinical proof, which is a good example of what I’ve said.
I’d never heard of chemo rash, which when it showed up on my lower legs, ankles and feet resembled a Biblical curse or, at the least, a very bad case of measles.
The rash can produce serious blistering and did so in my case. Some were as big as limes, and the pain was excruciating at times.
Eventually, I collapsed at home, which led to the hospitalization I referred to. I then developed what could be described as super measles over my entire body. Later I was told I had developed sepsis, which can kill you.
Physically
The biggest challenge many cancer-sufferers face is fatigue. That’s certainly been true for me.
For anyone accustomed to being high-energy and active, this is a psychologically debilitating condition. To want to help your caregiver and others but be unable to muster energy for even the simplest activity is demoralizing, to say the least.
Same for being dependent on others to do even the most basic of life’s activities.
Oh, how I yearn for a return to the days when I didn’t have to think twice about acting on any impulse or inclination. Now, I can’t find the energy to do it.
As I relearn activities as basic as walking in rehab, I’m also struck by how much we take for granted as adults. Folks stride easily, often in a hurry, while I feel like a toddler with each wobbly, unsure step.
Participation, I’ve learned, is a natural desire for most of us, and limitation is frustrating.
What else?
Chemo can really mess with normal bowel function, and of course, there’s largely tasteless food, resulting in unintended weight loss. And in many cases, there’s hair loss, which changes one’s appearance, sometimes dramatically. So far, I’ve been spared that indignity.
Personally
This is where I’ve experienced the greatest sense of discovery.
Most people who send a “Get Well” card, email good wishes, offer help or visit have no idea what those expressions mean to someone who is coping with what I’ve described in this column.
We are social animals who need interaction with other humans. A little engagement from outside goes a long way.
Hearing from family is essential, of course. But an almost equal boost, at least in my case, is support and encouragement from friends. Something about knowing they care and go to the trouble to show it. The shortest phone call, text or email does a lot to brighten your day and let you know you are not forgotten.
The other realization I’ve had is that it’s extremely important to stay as active as possible, both physically and mentally, whether that takes the form of the lightest imaginable exercise, joining small groups at least occasionally, or a more passive pursuit such as reading or, in my case, continuing to write.
Conclusion
The hardest part of having cancer is pretty basic. It’s the uncertainty.
Where is this headed? How will it end?
Maintaining a positive attitude makes a huge difference, especially in the face of the unknown. That’s one reason family and friends—a support group—is so important.
Thanksgiving is a good time to reflect and give thanks for the small things in life.
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Denny Dressman writes a weekly sports column for The Villager. You can write to Denny at dennydressman@comcast.net.