May 13, 2022
My husband and I try to walk at midday a couple of times a week. We started this practice last fall when I was trying to gain back strength after pneumonitis, a pulmonary embolism, and a long stretch of high-dose steroids. I needed to hold his arm back then, to lean into him. Now walking is a simple pleasure. It’s even more pleasing when the sun comes out, which it’s done only twice this week. (For all of you climate change deniers out there, this is not normal.) (It’s also bad for morale.)
Thank goodness for the sun. On our walk earlier in the week, we ran into a family friend and stood talking. Even in the sunshine, there was a chilly breeze. I was glad for the way the sun soaked into my dark windbreaker and warmed my shoulders.
Especially because our friend shared news of one of his grad school friends and it was not good. “Not good” was what we repeated to each other after the details. Not good.
She’d gone to the doctor a number of times with a back pain that wouldn’t subside. Finally, a number of ineffective prescriptions later, an x-ray revealed degenerating vertebrae and she was whisked into surgery to stabilize the spine. That’s when they found the tumor. Will you be surprised if I tell you it was lung cancer that had metastasized to her bones? They’ve since discovered that the cancer has eaten away her hip. She is relegated to crutches for at least six months while they see if those bones can be strengthened. She’s also taking a TKI.
This is a young woman, in her early thirties, who has never smoked.
Never smoked.
Lung cancer likes to travel. It sends out unseeable lung cancer seeds, like emissaries– or colonizers– to its favorite spots: the brain, the bones, the adrenals. These are independent settlements with no regard for their original cellular programming: they can develop new mutations; they can even morph from non-small cell lung cancer to small cell lung cancer. Then you’ve really got a challenge.
Remember, about a year after my tumor was dissolved, the cancer emerged in my brain, waving hello on the MRI.
Once lung cancer’s emissaries have sallied forth, there’s no predicting where they’ll settle. More significantly, you hope you’ve contained the mess before it’s even sent out those seeds. Too many times, though, I’ve read stories of people who were treated at Stage IB, only to emerge from follow-up visits with disease that has erupted in new ways, sending them right into Stage III or IV.
I don’t think staring into the face of this reality means abdicating hope. After all, I’ve been trotting around like I’m cured. This is good– I’m not really thinking about cancer; I’m living my life. (Have I mentioned how lucky I am?) But it’s also important to remember this is how lung cancer works, so you aren’t crushed when something new turns up. (I just noticed I wrote when and not if.)
Now, about that hope thing: people live for dozens of years with Stage IV cancer. As medical research slogs toward a cure, their discoveries are, more and more, making lung cancer a chronic illness. This is also why we need more funding for lung cancer research. (It’s a supremely underfunded area in cancer research. )
Meanwhile, have you had your house checked for radon yet?
News from Frosting School
Thanks for reading. Here’s hoping you get some good news and a bunch of sunny days.
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Credits
- Street: Blatantly stolen from a website about Portland because it’s where we walk
- Ships: Gustav Adolf Closs, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
- Skeleton: Stefan Keller
- Dandelion: Adina Voicu