The Sucker Punch
Tuesday morning started so smoothly. The rain had slowed to intermittent drips, the sky was growing less moody. Even my to-do list was manageable. As I waited for my tea water to heat, I scrolled casually through the list of blogs I follow. Then I caught my breath. When one of my lung cancer friends writes a blog post, it’s because something has happened, and when it comes to lung cancer, it’s usually not swell news. But there it was. An update, with the familiar cast of characters: CT scans, bronchoscopy, a pause in treatments until more about the situation could be discerned.
Even though I wasn’t experiencing this, it felt like the floor had given way. I was suddenly, shockingly, hyper-aware, again, of what it means to have lung cancer. I texted him immediately.
Then, I went to check Facebook. I haven’t been active on my personal feed there for a long while, only in several groups. (If you have EGFR-mutated lung cancer, please check out the EGFR Resisters. Other mutations have their own groups.) Of course, the Facebook page that opened was not the group as I’d expected, but my own feed. And staring out at me was the face of one of the members of our local group, bald as a baby’s butt. The caption to the image: “No Hair, Don’t Care.” She was absolutely rocking the bald look, if I do say so myself. I knew she’d started chemo again, but that knowledge can slide into the background pretty easily– that is, until you get an unexpected visual.
I took these new circumstances in stride, or so I thought. Except when I got on my indoor bike late in the afternoon, I felt a boulder sitting in my chest. It was a challenging ride, yes, but that boulder made it feel impossible.
What I was feeling was tears. It took about 35 minutes for them to make their way to the edges of my eyes, then down my cheeks. As they did, I began to feel grounded again. In myself, yes, but also in the very hard realities of this disease.
As I write, I glance at the postcard of Multnomah Falls I have taped to a bookshelf. I’m tempted to say, “I’ve had it relatively easy,” but CancerShrink does not tolerate any level of crap on this issue, so I guess I can’t either.
I am thankful, though– for medical expertise, for insurance, for responding to the treatments I’ve had so far. For traveling. Bicycling. My cats. My Home Team: husband, daughter, mother. For being alive in the beauty of fall.
Loose Ends
Thank you for reading, and to those of you who drop me a hello, thank you, too! But please remember– I am not any kind of wonder woman, “beating” lung cancer through bicycling, willpower, and positive thinking. Au contraire, Pierre– anything I do is made possible by osimertinib, a therapy that short-circuits specific mutations in my lungs. I can make the choices to travel, exercise, learn, create stuff, etc., because this drug shuts lung cancer down. Some people get a long, long time on osimertinib before lung cancer recurs. Others do not. No one knows if osimertinib will work for them, or, if it does, for how long. But, boy-oh-boy, is life sweet while it’s working.
All of this uncertainty is probably why today’s events felt like a kick to the gut.
Note to self: This moment. This breath.
Here’s hoping you are well.
