It’s still not real, especially since a couple of days have passed since the last round of doctor conversations. In that relative quiet, it’s been easy to let the new reality recede. Right now, a kind of gentle numbness has settled in.
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I’ve signed up for an online lung cancer survivor’s group. Apparently, the moment you are diagnosed, you become a “survivor.” I can’t spend very much time there yet– I’m barely grappling with the fact I have lung cancer, let alone take in the treatment stories, tales of side effects, and sheer breadth of knowledge some folks have. Some takeaways:
- There are people who, ten years ago, were diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer, where the cancer has spread from the lungs to other parts of the body. They are still alive, with a reasonable quality of life.
- There’s a woman my age, with the same diagnosis, who is NED (No Evidence of Disease, I believe) and about to buy a new set of golf clubs.
- There are a lot of different drugs out there being used to treat lung cancer. A lot.
- Side effects. From radiation, from chemo, from immunologic agents. Hard, hard side effects. I felt Dr. Oncologist soft-pedaled the side effects a bit, and this group confirmed my worst suspicions.
- I have no interest right now in gaining more knowledge. I’m just going to be shell-shocked for a while, until the realities of treatment settle in.
There’s pressure to go to a national cancer center to get a second opinion. The closest one is in Seattle, which is a four hour drive. And then what? Who would run the treatment? I couldn’t go zipping to and from Seattle every day for radiation or even for infusions. It’s almost more than I can think about.
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Dr. Primary Care just called to see how I was doing. She’s like, “Well, it sounds like you got your second opinion [my conversation with Dr. Pulmonology #2]. Besides, you don’t want to delay treatment.” So, there you go. She suggested that what I need to do is get ready mentally for the long slog that the treatment will be, “because radiation is really hard.” So I need to figure out how to keep going.
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May I just say how grateful I am? Grateful for all the people who are pulling for me. Grateful for my family. Grateful for good medical care. Grateful that the cancer hasn’t left my right chest. Grateful that I am exercising. Grateful that I have a strong family– an amazing cancer support team. Grateful for good doctors.
Thanks for reading.