For the past couple of weeks I have
been anticipating this day, almost with tunnel vision. It is a peculiar feeling
unlike any other. I previously did not have any sort of anniversary that struck
such strong emotions and unease. Of course, there have been loved ones who have
passed, and I spend that day in somber remembrance. However, this is much
different. It controls me at my core. I recall a specific moment when I was in
the hospital, days after my diagnosis and right after my surgery when I
wondered what condition I would be in after a year, two years, etc. I agonized
over what chemo would do to my body, what other treatments would happen and
their corresponding effects. I can say at every step, nothing has felt or
impacted me the way I anticipated it would. Now after a year, I have visible
scars I see and feel daily, and I have prolonged aches and weaknesses I work to
overcome daily. However, there are certain things I honestly cannot articulate
that I know neither time nor exercise will take away.
I think back to the day before my
first chemo, how nervous I was. No matter how much literature I read, videos
watched or explanations given, I could not comprehend how it would feel. After
the first treatment happened and I recovered with minimal side effects, I would
dread the next, and the next, believing at some point, I would be left weak and
feeling like recovery never ended. When they were all over and I was still
standing, I just could not comprehend how even with all the progress from chemo
it really didn’t change my prognosis.
After chemo, the consultations took
their own mental and emotional toll. While the end-result was a plan that both
Paul and I felt comfortable with, it was extremely difficult to get there. For
two people with almost four decade of education between the two of us, we consistently
felt ill-equipped to be making decisions. I was living a paradox: refusing to
accept any plan that was simply a prolonged state of illness until the cancer
ultimately took me. Yet, taking an aggressive approach in which I had to accept
that the chosen course of action involving indefinite surgeries could take me.
Paul’s last blog entry reflected on
our first major surgery and recovery with reconnecting my colon and removing
lesions in my liver. After I was cleared from this procedure, surgery on my lungs
was scheduled. Prior to, I had a CT-scan and PET scan to evaluate the most
current state of nodules throughout both lungs. It was determined this surgery
would only be on my right lung, as they wanted to evaluate growth on two small
growths in my left lung a bit longer before any removals were done there. On January 11, I had laparoscopic surgery to
remove three nodules inside and one plural nodule on the surface of the right
lung. I was foolish enough to think “laparoscopic” meant less invasive and
ultimately less pain and recovery. While both Paul and I were very happy that I
was only in the hospital for two days, we quickly learned simple things like
coughing, sneezing and even laughing would be quite painful for weeks to come. My
Netflix queue avoided comedies, and Paul reluctantly held back on the jokes for
a while. And, just like the other recoveries, we got through it.
Having two surgeries this winter left
Paul with a bulk of the housework and almost all the shoveling. Lucky for him,
I was cleared for activity and lifting towards the end of February so I was
able to get out and help shovel for the last two snowfalls. I knew I had been
inactive for quite some time when I was happy to roll out the garbage or vacuum
and mop. While I try now to relieve Paul of many burdens, I will never be able
to “make up” for all he did. This isn’t just my anniversary. It’s Paul’s too.
One year since my diagnosis, I am
happy to be back to biking and walking. Often I do certain things and realize
my strength has greatly diminished. It can be very frustrating, but I just keep
working at it. As the spring turns to summer, I hope I can move from walks to
runs. I am less concerned about how fast I go, but just that I go.
In a few weeks, I’ll have another CT
scan to review my left lung. If those small growths are prominent enough to be
surgical removed, we’ll schedule that procedure and go through the whole
hospital- recovery thing again. If they are not, I will go back in three months
for another evaluation. In many ways, I want this left lung surgery as soon as
possible. I dream that this procedure will be my last and nothing comes back.
In other ways, I am happy life is a bit more normal for Paul and me. I want
that to continue as long as possible, and surgery will disrupt that. I guess we
will just see which way the winds blow.
This reflection has been difficult. In
all honesty, I tried to write something for days and was left in tears without
much to show for it. But just like many moments during recovery this past year,
Paul “encouraged” me to finish this, and so I did. I am fortunate chemo and
surgeries have gone so well. I am beyond overwhelmed at all the love and
support our families and friends have shown both Paul and I. My partner in
crime has turned into my partner in this battle, and has proven to be the best
partner I could ever ask for. So at this point, I think I’ve done enough
reflecting. Today I am going to enjoy time with my partner and look forward to
what we will accomplish in the next year.
