Saturday
It takes a while to digest a day of doctors. Wednesday was that day for me this past week. It started with lung function tests, followed by a visit with My Hero, Dr. Lungs. From there, it was on to Dr. Oncology.
After two years, living with cancer has become quieter. While cancer always looms, it also sometimes weaves into the background noise of living, so much so that on Wednesday, DH (Dear Husband) paused working barely long enough to doublecheck that I didn’t want or need company. That’s quite a change from the first year.
Going to the oncologist alone means I get to strengthen my working relationship with Dr. O. This time, she pulled out her phone to find the name of the chocolate/gelato shop in Florence (Italy, where we’re going in May) that she thinks makes the best chocolate ever. We may have talked more about chocolate– and my red sneakers– than we did about cancer.
Because the scans were stable. After a year on the checkpoint inhibitor, osimertinib, my chest CT scans remain stable.
Stable.
So, as I write to you from the Lung-Cancer-Research-Saves-Lives Department, I’m resting in layers of gratitude. I have access to excellent doctors. My care has been superb. We can pay for my life-saving medicines. I don’t have to work. Instead, I can actively think about what makes a meaningful life and I can takes steps to create that. I have support from other lung cancer people and my beloveds– although I fly solo through treatments, anxiety, grief, fear, etc., I’m not alone. And it seems that almost daily, new research results open options to live longer.
What’s happening in my life since I got cancer wouldn’t have happened without being diagnosed with lung cancer. I will never be glad I got cancer, but damned if the way I’ve approached it hasn’t changed me profoundly, for the better.
And then I’m reminded. Wednesday, in Dr. Oncology’s waiting room, the elevator opened and one of the people in my local lung cancer group stepped out. Her lung cancer has taken hold in her brain and awakened again in her lungs. She is weak, unsteady on her feet, easily exhausted. Whole-brain radiation may have forestalled the cancer’s progression, but it’s also damaged her hearing. I held her in a hug for a long time. What else can you do?
I’ve accepted that may be down the road for me. It helps me remember to focus on what matters.
Riding that damned bicycle certainly matters. Dr. Lung’s visit was ostensibly to just to check the status of my lungs. Mostly we were curious about the impact of my training: has it had an impact on my breathing volume and capacity?
Maybe. It showed improvement, but within the margin of error for testing. I showed him the improvement in output from about 8 months ago. I am still on clouds about it. He merely nodded.
What else I learned: they have no idea about most things. Does intensive training have a preventive effect on disease progression? Is there such a thing as too much– in other words, do I put myself at risk cancer-wise? What happens on a cellular level…etc., etc., etc. Dr. Lungs: <Big shrug> Truly, I wouldn’t expect much else.
He did push a few things. He cautioned that I not push too hard, too fast. Even a 5% gain in time on the bike, with a 5% gain in a small period of intensity made him frown. Losing weight– “I knew you were going to say that, ” I groaned. And then power pedals, which measure your wattage output as you ride. I’m not that serious a rider, I told him. Especially not at the price tag for those beauties, I didn’t say. I’d rather invest in red sneakers, super-cushioned for miles of walking on cobblestone streets of Rome.
The CT technician told me they look like ruby slippers. Click three times and you’re home, before lung cancer?
Not today.
BUT! I did graduate, from checkups every two months, to checkups every three! Hot dog!
Thanks for reading. Here’s hoping your future is filled with the promise of red sneakers and excellent chocolate.
