A friend of the family realized what was going on when the first thing the nurse asked her, when calling to give her the biopsy results, was “Is anyone in the house with you right now?” What, do they think she’s stupid or something?
Yeah, that pretty seriously sucked.
Another tough part is that chemo was a journey into the unknown. Everyone’s results may vary. Chemical mixes are different. I had no idea how my body would react.
I don’t tend to be afraid of things I know and/or understand. The doctor needs to do something and it’s going to hurt? Okay. I don’t like it, but I’m not afraid of it. But chemo scared the snot out of me. I couldn’t wait to get the first treatment so I’d know what to expect for the others. Those few days between diagnosis and start of chemo were terrifying.
Folic acid, eh? Duly noted.
In Oct. 1998, I started having irregular vaginal bleeding. My doctor dismissed it as perimenopause. The bleeding continued, off & on, into 1999, until my doctor checked me into the hospital for an abdominal laproscopy (sp?). Two days later, I called the specialist for the diagnosis. “I’m sorry, Phil,” she said, “you have stage two cervical cancer.”
I took the surgical cure, & followed up w/radiation therapy. (As I’ve noted in another thread, I could cry or I could laugh. I chose the latter. I love to grow my own tomatoes each summer. I still tell people that my main complaint that summer was that I was on a low-residue diet during radiation. I missed my home-grown tomatoes.)
As my grandmother had breast cancer, I’ve gotten mammograms every year since (when I didn’t have insurance, I got them through the county health department. Because I have a documented history of breast cancer, they were free, thank God).
Kat, I’m with you. I don’t consider myself a “survivor”. I’ve gotten on with my life. I just make sure it doesn’t include cancer.
Love, Phil
Sorry, I hit the “reply” button before I could finish.
InvisibleWombat, my prayers & thoughts are with you. You’ve got friends; you’ve a support group here.
Love, Phil
I had my biopsy, then had to go back to the surgeon to get the results.
Now, I am one of those people who hate being kept waiting by a doctor. I understand emergencies arise, but I was kept waiting 90 minutes to see a dermatologist. I have walked out and demanded my co-pay back because my GP was running “45 minutes” late.
So, my appt was for 3:45p, and it’s getting on to 4:30p, and I’m getting more than a little irked. I can’t believe I’m sitting here wasting my time for the surgeon to tell me “Everything’s normal.”
Turns out, it wasn’t. He was very understanding, telling me that he knew I probably wasn’t hearing half of what he was saying, that I needed to have someone with me for all my further appointments, giving me a cancer booklet and marking the pages that were relevant to me.
I read somewhere that everyone screams when they’re told “You have cancer.” It may be out loud, it may be in your head, but you do scream. I found that very true.
Did you know it’s possible to get fat cancer? I didn’t.
Damn straight.
I noticed a lump on the back of my right knee in 2002. After shopping it around to a few doctors the diagnosis was that it was a Baker’s cyst, which was a fluid buildup caused by an injury. They said if it wasn’t hurting, don’t worry about it and it will go away on its own. This went on for a year, during which time I went to the same doctor five times to check it again, and he kept saying the same thing. He even ordered an MRI done and said it confirmed his diagnosis.
Then in 2003 I went to the 5-year memorial service for my father-in-law (who died of colon cancer). Since I was considered ‘immediate family’, I had to sit at the front in a kneeling position for about 30 minutes and was left with numbness down my right calf that wouldn’t go away (still hasn’t, that main sensory was permanently cut off). That finally stumped the doctor who referred me to a specialist.
After a five-minute examination, he made the first ominous statement: “You’re going back to America to get this treated, right?”
He wrote a referral to the National Cancer Center, and the result was this thread. Five years ago this week I was just getting out of the hospital, and while I’ve gone in for regular check-ups, I’ve needed no further treatment.
The whole thing went so fast (only one month from “you have cancer” to “looks like the surgery was a complete success”), that I still don’t feel like I really ‘faced’ anything. I don’t call myself a “cancer victim”, and I don’t even really feel like “cancer survivor” applies either. It feels like someone who dented the fender pulling out of the garage claiming to be a “car crash survivor”. Still, when two other people in my office were diagnosed with cancer (one with prostate cancer who’s now recovering well, and one false alarm) they said that the way I went through it so calmly really helped when they were feeling scared, so that’s something good.
Incidentally, about that MRI that the first doctor ordered, the one that confirmed his “nothing to worry about” diagnosis? The tumor, being fat tissue, was completely white on the film. According to the doctor at the cancer center (who was using that MRI to gauge the growth rate), a Baker’s Cyst would be filled with fluid and completely black. I feel I’m at least partly to blame for waiting so long. I didn’t want it to be anything serious, so when a doctor told me what I wanted to hear, I didn’t dig deeper even when common sense said a tangerine-sized lump that lasts over six months is serious no matter what.
Did you ever confront the doctor who told you it was a Baker’s cyst?
You know, with the cancer survival rate getting so much better, CANCER isn’t the big scary bugaboo it used to be. Caught early enough, it’s very treatable. I certainly never felt sick, and I’m thinking it’s the chemo and the radiation treatments that are going to be the worst of it for me.
I’ll bet it’s possible that by the time my daughter has children, the diagnosis of “Mommy has cancer” will be met with “Oh, dear. Well, tell her to get some rest and we’ll see her next week.”
I hope for this, too. I don’t think it’s too far-fetched.
I actually ran into him a few years later. His first question was “how’s that lump on your leg doing?”
At least he was decent enough to turn a very nice shade of green when I told him.
I think we’re kind of getting there in my family, ivylass. After knowing so many people who have been successfully treated for cancer, our response on hearing a diagnosis is to ask for more information, instead of instantly freaking out.
Thanks, Phil. I have my five-year follow-up exam coming up shortly, so I’m really hoping I won’t have need for that support group, but it’s good to know it’s available!
Hopefully it was because, “Oh, Jesus H Christ, I better go read up more on that” and not “Oh, Jesus H Christ, is he going to sue me now?”
Sorry to bump, but I noticed this about myself a while ago and wanted to see if anyone else had had the same experience.
At work, I used to get so stressed out from all the stupid stuff. Having to repeat myself, having to deal with people with no respect for our deadlines, etc.
Now, it doesn’t bother me so much. I’ve got my health to deal with now, and stressing out over crap at work seems so pointless and silly now.
Has anyone else had their priorities rearranged since their diagnosis?
Absolutely! Many of the things that used to stress me out seem awfully trivial now.
A little – I think less than what you’re talking about. The big thing it did do was enforce downtime for several months, during which I thought hard about what I wanted to do with myself once I was done with treatment. (I decided to go to graduate school, which turned out to be a Bad Thing, but I’m glad I went anyway.)
Hey, did you guys see this NYTimes piece? Having Cancer, and Finding a Personality
Less than I expected, actually. It’s in just about every cancer book or article: you get wiser, worry less about the little stuff, realize what’s really important, blah blah blah.
I’ve always been prone to navel-gazing, so I had done lots of soul-searching in college about what my values are, etc. So my priorities didn’t change much. What did get driven home was related to my propensity for procrastination: I had tons of plans, and I never fulfilled any of them. I still have more items on the “do someday” list than on the “did it” list, but at least now I am aware of it and am getting some of it done.
And I’ve learned to feel less guilty about not being perfect. If I want sushi today, I’m gonna go get it, and worry about healthier choices tomorrow.
I’ve been more patient at work…the stuff that used to send me flying into my boss’s office to rant and rave about the perfidies of co-workers just gives me a shrug now.
Three chemo treatments down, five to go…my mouth feels “coated,” and my eyes sometimes feel blurry or gritty. I have an appt with my primary doctor for my annual physical next week. I plan on giving her a couple of knitted potholders as a “thank you” for sending me for my mammogram back in March. Is that weird?
For my mother, who has 2 or 3 part-time jobs only one of which actually pays her, post-chemo she found herself less tolerant of time-wasting meetings, and with a shorter attention span.
Maybe a little, but I think your doctor will appreciate the tangible symbol of your apprecation. Especially with the pinch of practicality associated with the potholders.