We’re at Dana Farber for the day. Got my port set up with both lines active and have some blood drawn. Saw the oncology team; found out that my white blood count is back up to 11.5. Dr. H. poked and prodded my neck but couldn’t feel my lymph nodes. This delighted him, Ann & I even more.
So now, I’m in the infusion room, a corner chair. Sun is pouring through the windows (so nice!) and my fellow patients have sunny smiles. I’ve very comfortable here.
This is the start of my last chemo cycle. I will have chemo weekly while receiving my radiation treatments, but it will be a less profound cocktail, one designed to work with the radiation.
There was an opinion piece in the New York Times titled “With Cancer Let’s Face It: Words Are Inadequate” this week. ( The link is: http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/03/15/with-cancer-lets-face-it-words-are-inadequate/?scp=1&sq=With%20Cancer,%20Let’s%20Face%20It:%20Words%20Are%20Inadequate&st=cse .)
A few people have sent it to me and asked what I think. I agree some with the article but disagree more. First of all, ask a writer, when are words ever inadequate?
To the NY Times piece:
I see myself in a clear battle with cancer. A friend, Stu (an ENT), described it as a fight with a micro cellular enemy. When I was first diagnosed, I called my primary tumor the alien. I borrowed the term from Ben who gave the term to his brain tumor. Alien seems appropriate, an alien invasion. I think of my mouth, tongue, and throat as a battlefield with a lot of collateral damage.
The author also says the body is a battlefield, but here I disagree strongly with the author's assertion that the cancer patient is on "a quest out of Tolkien, or a dark waltz." This battle is mine against this invader and on my turf. The author continues writing that cancer is "a long and difficult journey." I prefer to look at this journey on a day to day (or even hour to hour) basis. It affords me no comfort to consider seven weeks of radiation treatment when I'm in the midst of chemo cycles. When I get there, I'll deal with it day by day. I do believe that I will learn valuable lessons from this experience and I do believe the experience will make me a better human. The most profound lessons in my life have always had a cost associated with them, be it pain, hard work, or sacrifice. This is no different. There is balance in living.
I've always felt angry when hearing coaches (especially youth sports coaches) rallying their teams by comparing a sporting event to a "battle" or a "war." Such a comparison is not only disingenuous to combat veterans and their families, but also a poor lesson for the kids/athletes. Coaches are teachers, have influence over their players, and should speak with discretion. As well, the coaches' actions during practice and matches serve as a model to the team and I've seen kids poisoned by their coaches. (Ok, I'm getting off topic.) But I do not feel that the term "battle" with cancer is inappropriate. I am battling for my life and facing pain and hardship. But I realize that I am so fortunate to face pain and hardship surrounded by the comfort of home, friends, family. I fight my battle engulfed by close and immediate love.
Two more quick points or I'll end up writing a full rebuttal to the New York Times. First, I don't see myself as a victim; it's nothing personal, just a virus. We take the good and bad with health. Secondly, I will see myself as a survivor. The author is limiting the scope of the word to combat experience. I find that a narrow interpretation. Perhaps, what's most important is what one does with the gift of survival. To me, there is a responsibility that accompanies survival's grace.
Well, I’m on chemo bag #2 and my brain is easing into that cottonball effect. It’s gradual. By tonight, profound. Maybe I’ll watch NCAA basketball. I know, I know, curling is more my pace but at least they show the score and time remaining. If I can’t read my book, I bet I can still grasp the stats!
Thanks all for your love, support, and comfort.
Love…
Richard
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