Recently I was invited by my parents' pastor to be part of his internet radio show, the Naked Church's Naked Talk. Before you get your hopes up, it is strictly a voice interview, not webcam and the name is definitely misleading (something I embarrassingly found out after the fact).
Throughout my ordeal I have tried to look at the positive side of things, because frankly, I don't have a choice. Sitting around stewing about things doesn't help anyone, so why not be positive? And I think I have a lot to be positive about. I found my cancer early, and even though I ignored it for a month, it still didn't spread. I was Stage I and had the "best kind of cancer". I had doctor's that moved swiftly and quickly treated me before things had a chance to get any worse. I only lost approximately half of the balls I started with, and just found out what is left still works (in theory, still trying to make it work in practice by having a mini-me running around). Even the one hiccup with the bad oncologist resulted in me finding a great oncologist that helped to unite all of my doctors into a team. I only had to do one round of chemo and I made it through that fairly unscathed. All in all, I think I am pretty lucky.
We have all heard that there are no atheists in a foxhole, and I wish I could say the same for cancer patients. many of us do depend a lot on faith in God and man (now Bowie's Modern Love in running through my head). On one hand, you have to have total faith in your oncologist, because your life literally is in his/her hands. So in that sense, you are putting your faith in man to cure you. Many of us also spend a lot of time on the horn to God asking that he guide that man to help us through what we are going through, as well as help us as we fight to survive the cure (which can sometimes be a harder fight that the sickness, but at least you have a fighting chance of surviving the cure).
The people I don't understand are the ones that curse God for their cancer. As I said in my unfortunately clothed radio interview on the unfortunately clothed Naked Church, for those that say "Why me?", you can also say "Why not me?" In this world, we can't all walk around with everyone having the perfect life. Some of us are going to lose jobs, some of us are going to get cancer, and some of us are going to be given American made Paul Reed Smith guitars with twenty-four frets and double cutaways for Christmas. I had all three of those things happen to me last year, and I think I made it through OK.
For the atheists, they don't have anyone to curse, and they also have no one to put their faith in other than man. Personally, if I were an atheist with cancer, I think I would hedge my bets and find some faith quickly. After all, if there isn't a God, you won't be any worse off than you were already, right? It's the people that curse God for giving them cancer that really confuse me. If you think God gave you cancer and you are cursing Him, what sense does that make? If you believe He is the type to do something like give you a disease, won't cursing Him just make things worse?
One of the ladies in my group said a friend of hers said, "NOTHING is a surprise to God." And I don't think that phrase needs to be expanded on or thought about in depth, just repeated when you think life has taken a dump on you. Nothing is a surprise to God. I don't know if it was a plan, a punishment, a blessing, a break from working, a rest, a teachable moment, a way of that extra scrotal weight I have been carrying around all these years, or what. I just know that I experienced it. I made it through with God's and man's help. And now I will hopefully use these life experiences to be a better person and help others. And if you are the type that doesn't believe in God or curses God, what do you have to lose by becoming a better person from all this?
Don't get me wrong, there are periods of frustration, or confusion, or exhaustion, or apprehension. But there are also periods of relief, elation, joy, and a whole different outlook on life. So far I think my faith has served me well, and I don't plan on giving that up anytime soon, which is a good thing because I already have the tattoo (wish I could say the same thing about the wedding ring tattoo, guess I am stuck with her now). I don't mind talking about my ordeal and I don't mind talking about how my faith got me through it and continues to get me through things. The only time I think I have really asked "Why me?" is when I found out, that the Naked Church is false advertising, but I still managed to enjoy that too. I guess I will have to find somewhere else to show off my new, slimmer sack.
Showing posts with label Stage I. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stage I. Show all posts
Monday, January 17, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
When Are You "Done" With Cancer?
Today I went to my cancer support group. For the past two weeks the subject has come up on when it is time to "graduate" from the group. The moderator has said, he doesn't foresee ever kicking anyone out, but it has brought about a bigger question within the group. When are you done with cancer?
For all intents and purposes, I want to be "done" with all of this cancer crap. I have completed my surgery and finished my chemotherapy. My oncologist and urologist can throw out statistic after statistic about how low my chances of a recurrence are. And they can site those numbers all day long, but it is difficult to really believe them when they want to test you every three months. I have my first post-chemo scan next week, and I didn't think it would bother me at all, because according to all the people that I give co-pays to I have almost no chance of this cancer ever coming back. But as I get closer to the date, I find myself dwelling more and more on it. I can't imagine what life will be like the week between the scan and getting the results. This is where the comfort of the group came in for me. I learned about "scanxiety". At first I laughed it off as a funny term, but as I get closer to that date, I know exactly what she is talking about.
As far as cancer is concerned, I've had it easy. Many people have much tougher battles, and obviously not everyone makes it through the battle. And then there is the other side. There are people in my group that have been living with cancer eight, ten, and twelve years or more! The thing I found odd today, is that they don't consider themselves "survivors", because they are Stage IV and will always have cancer. These people are a lot more active and look a lot healthier than me! I was floored by their comments. They were given a terminal diagnosis a decade ago, and not only do they continue to kick cancer's butt on a daily basis, but they look good doing it! Heck, I look like crap most of the time and I am considered a survivor! That is probably because I do nothing but sitting around looking for jobs on the internet covered in chocolaty crumbs of whatever that was that I called lunch.
Cancer journeys are so personal in our treatment as well. One of the ten year survivors has never had a chemo treatment. Today we had someone starting their chemo and asking about the dryness that is associated with it. And I (the rookie) was able to give some advice when others couldn't. I think that is the give and take of the group as well. Not only is there a point where the group is relative to you at your point in your journey, but also relative to helping others in their journeys as well. In my opinion, which counts for absolutely nothing, when you no longer are taking anything away for group, nor contributing anything to the group, it's time to leave. In other words, if you are done with everything, and when everyone else is talking about their trials and tribulations and all you can add is how you shared a heroine needle with your STD infected prostitute while nude sunbathing without sunscreen at the equator, that is not only hurting the group, because these are all things you are not supposed to do while being treated for cancer, and you are just rubbing it in.
So, I am torn. On hand, I hope to be free and clear of all of this someday both physically and mentally and never need the group for support again. On the other hand, these are people that I have grown to care about, share with, and in many cases look up to and I don't want to miss out on the weekly talks we have (unless it was the talk about sex and cancer that I apparently missed while I was out, I can miss out on that one). But all joking aside, none of us pay anything to go there. Most of us drive a considerable distance to get there. It is obvious to me that each and every one of us is getting something out of it, or we wouldn't go. Yeah, I do hope I feel like I have "graduated" one day, and maybe I will join the "survivors" group, but I hope the rest of the group is able to come with me.
For all intents and purposes, I want to be "done" with all of this cancer crap. I have completed my surgery and finished my chemotherapy. My oncologist and urologist can throw out statistic after statistic about how low my chances of a recurrence are. And they can site those numbers all day long, but it is difficult to really believe them when they want to test you every three months. I have my first post-chemo scan next week, and I didn't think it would bother me at all, because according to all the people that I give co-pays to I have almost no chance of this cancer ever coming back. But as I get closer to the date, I find myself dwelling more and more on it. I can't imagine what life will be like the week between the scan and getting the results. This is where the comfort of the group came in for me. I learned about "scanxiety". At first I laughed it off as a funny term, but as I get closer to that date, I know exactly what she is talking about.
As far as cancer is concerned, I've had it easy. Many people have much tougher battles, and obviously not everyone makes it through the battle. And then there is the other side. There are people in my group that have been living with cancer eight, ten, and twelve years or more! The thing I found odd today, is that they don't consider themselves "survivors", because they are Stage IV and will always have cancer. These people are a lot more active and look a lot healthier than me! I was floored by their comments. They were given a terminal diagnosis a decade ago, and not only do they continue to kick cancer's butt on a daily basis, but they look good doing it! Heck, I look like crap most of the time and I am considered a survivor! That is probably because I do nothing but sitting around looking for jobs on the internet covered in chocolaty crumbs of whatever that was that I called lunch.
Cancer journeys are so personal in our treatment as well. One of the ten year survivors has never had a chemo treatment. Today we had someone starting their chemo and asking about the dryness that is associated with it. And I (the rookie) was able to give some advice when others couldn't. I think that is the give and take of the group as well. Not only is there a point where the group is relative to you at your point in your journey, but also relative to helping others in their journeys as well. In my opinion, which counts for absolutely nothing, when you no longer are taking anything away for group, nor contributing anything to the group, it's time to leave. In other words, if you are done with everything, and when everyone else is talking about their trials and tribulations and all you can add is how you shared a heroine needle with your STD infected prostitute while nude sunbathing without sunscreen at the equator, that is not only hurting the group, because these are all things you are not supposed to do while being treated for cancer, and you are just rubbing it in.
So, I am torn. On hand, I hope to be free and clear of all of this someday both physically and mentally and never need the group for support again. On the other hand, these are people that I have grown to care about, share with, and in many cases look up to and I don't want to miss out on the weekly talks we have (unless it was the talk about sex and cancer that I apparently missed while I was out, I can miss out on that one). But all joking aside, none of us pay anything to go there. Most of us drive a considerable distance to get there. It is obvious to me that each and every one of us is getting something out of it, or we wouldn't go. Yeah, I do hope I feel like I have "graduated" one day, and maybe I will join the "survivors" group, but I hope the rest of the group is able to come with me.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Not without my basenji...
Cancer plays funny games with your head. I never thought I had a problem hearing my diagnosis. I constantly think I am strong and can handle it, and then I find something happening that says otherwise. From the beginning, it never entered my mind for a second that I would die from this, mainly because testicular cancer caught early is extremely survivable, that's why the checks are so important. Also partially because I can be extremely stubborn and that is not the way I wanted to die. For one thing, my wife and I haven't quite worked out my funeral plans for when the inevitable comes. We honored my father-in-law's wishes and spread his ashes at one of his favorite lakes. I would like to do the same with my favorite place in the world. I have told her I want to be left at Walt Disney World on either the Pirates of the Caribbean, the Jungle Cruise, or Haunted Mansion, but I also don't want to be cremated. Since she hasn't figured out all the minute details on how to make that happen, I better not die yet. But, if it's my final wish, she has to do it, right?
Back to the cancer, a couple things have bothered me. The first is I don't know how long I have to fight this. Not how long do I "have", as in "Be honest doc, how long do I have?" But how many years does the fight generally take? I know I am going to beat this, but am I done now after my surgery? Will I be done after chemo? Am I done after the ten years of monitoring? When are you "done"? It seems I am in limbo on everything from applying for jobs, to planning a trip to Florida, to even getting a haircut. After all, I would feel stupid if I got a haircut if it was just going to fall out in the next week or two anyway.
The other thing is just the word cancer. It invokes so much fear. So often you hear on TV or in the movies, the word cancer preceded by the words "is dying of". And the media also portrays people with all types cancer, all the same. They are always lying in a hospital bed, bald and grey, tubes coming in and out of them, basically creating a "cancer patient" look. These are the things that go through your mind when you get your diagnosis. And you only seem to hear the horrible fights with cancer, the long drawn out battles that are constantly touch and go. Not ones like mine, with a slice, a lot of waiting, and a lot of sitting on the couch watching the Top Gear marathon. OK, I will admit, it probably doesn't make for good television to film someone sitting on the couch watching television, but that is the reality of my cancer. Well, that and the occasional restlessness that leads to me doing something dumb, which leads to me hurting the slice, and leads to even more time on the couch even after the Top Gear marathon ends tomorrow at midnight. Maybe instead of doctors just telling you that you are stage I, II, III, IV, they can show a picture.
"You are here at Stage I." he would say, holding up a photo.
"But doc, that's just a guy sitting on the couch."
"Exactly. The Top Gear marathon starts next weekend, I think if we do the operation now, that will give you a great excuse to watch the whole seventy-two hours."
The picture could have a little sticky icepack that he could move around on the photo, depending on where you get sliced and diced. I don't know if that would help or not, but it certainly wouldn't hurt.
It's these things that hide constantly in your subconscious that lead to the dream I had this morning. In real life we recently rescued an abused and neglected basenji. Yes, after already owning one basenji, we decided it was in our best interest to make the same mistake again. The ironic thing is because of her history, we are working hard to get her to open up and act like a regular dog, however, in my dream she was THE most affectionate dog in the world! The dream had me lying in bed recovering from my last chemo treatment in a scene that looked a lot like the ones you see in the movies. I am laying there, gray and bald and all "tubey", when a lady walks in and grabs Daisy the basenji and starts to walk out of the house (not our house, apparently in my dream they just stick you in a random house to recover from chemo). I ask what she is doing with our dog and she says, "Oh, she's just a therapy dog, and you are going to be better soon, so we're taking her back." I start crying, a lot. I keep protesting that we rescued her and the lady says that they just told me that she was a rescue, she was really just a "therapy loaner". In real life, Daisy has been a big help to me while I have been recovering from surgery. One of the few places she feels safe is on the bed, so her and I had a lot of quality time together the first week. I wake up with a jolt, Daisy laying at my feet on the bed. And I realize I was crying, not just in my dream but for real. My eyes are wet, my cheek is wet, and the pillow is wet. A lot of crying, especially to be something I did in my sleep. I haven't let that many fluids out since I was eight and had that dream I was peeing after drinking a big glass of milk and going to bed (or my teenage years when I had the dreams about Christie Turlington or the girl I saw at the store yesterday). But waking up like that this morning just hits you. It says, I may be convincing some people I am taking this well, but I haven't quite completely convinced myself yet.
Although we haven't gone to the new oncologist yet, he has sent us information about the Wellness Community. We have put off going to a group meeting for those dealing with cancer. No real reason, just other things come up, like arguing with our former, crazier oncologist. They have special meetings too at this place. This weekend was a "drum circle". A really cool idea, except in the back of my mind, most of the people I know that did drum circles in college would gladly get cancer just for the medical marijuana. We decided to pass. I think we will go to one of the general meetings this week. It seems talking/writing about things has been a big help, hopefully going to one of these meetings will flush out the things I am still not dealing with. Whatever those things are. I am not telling anyone where I live though, just in case there is a therapy dog repo-man in the room (would that be a "therepo-man"?). Maybe I can find out if other people have these feelings and dreams, or if it's just something I ate. I don't think I can handle ten years worth of crazy dreams and fluid spills.
Back to the cancer, a couple things have bothered me. The first is I don't know how long I have to fight this. Not how long do I "have", as in "Be honest doc, how long do I have?" But how many years does the fight generally take? I know I am going to beat this, but am I done now after my surgery? Will I be done after chemo? Am I done after the ten years of monitoring? When are you "done"? It seems I am in limbo on everything from applying for jobs, to planning a trip to Florida, to even getting a haircut. After all, I would feel stupid if I got a haircut if it was just going to fall out in the next week or two anyway.
The other thing is just the word cancer. It invokes so much fear. So often you hear on TV or in the movies, the word cancer preceded by the words "is dying of". And the media also portrays people with all types cancer, all the same. They are always lying in a hospital bed, bald and grey, tubes coming in and out of them, basically creating a "cancer patient" look. These are the things that go through your mind when you get your diagnosis. And you only seem to hear the horrible fights with cancer, the long drawn out battles that are constantly touch and go. Not ones like mine, with a slice, a lot of waiting, and a lot of sitting on the couch watching the Top Gear marathon. OK, I will admit, it probably doesn't make for good television to film someone sitting on the couch watching television, but that is the reality of my cancer. Well, that and the occasional restlessness that leads to me doing something dumb, which leads to me hurting the slice, and leads to even more time on the couch even after the Top Gear marathon ends tomorrow at midnight. Maybe instead of doctors just telling you that you are stage I, II, III, IV, they can show a picture.
"You are here at Stage I." he would say, holding up a photo.
"But doc, that's just a guy sitting on the couch."
"Exactly. The Top Gear marathon starts next weekend, I think if we do the operation now, that will give you a great excuse to watch the whole seventy-two hours."
The picture could have a little sticky icepack that he could move around on the photo, depending on where you get sliced and diced. I don't know if that would help or not, but it certainly wouldn't hurt.
It's these things that hide constantly in your subconscious that lead to the dream I had this morning. In real life we recently rescued an abused and neglected basenji. Yes, after already owning one basenji, we decided it was in our best interest to make the same mistake again. The ironic thing is because of her history, we are working hard to get her to open up and act like a regular dog, however, in my dream she was THE most affectionate dog in the world! The dream had me lying in bed recovering from my last chemo treatment in a scene that looked a lot like the ones you see in the movies. I am laying there, gray and bald and all "tubey", when a lady walks in and grabs Daisy the basenji and starts to walk out of the house (not our house, apparently in my dream they just stick you in a random house to recover from chemo). I ask what she is doing with our dog and she says, "Oh, she's just a therapy dog, and you are going to be better soon, so we're taking her back." I start crying, a lot. I keep protesting that we rescued her and the lady says that they just told me that she was a rescue, she was really just a "therapy loaner". In real life, Daisy has been a big help to me while I have been recovering from surgery. One of the few places she feels safe is on the bed, so her and I had a lot of quality time together the first week. I wake up with a jolt, Daisy laying at my feet on the bed. And I realize I was crying, not just in my dream but for real. My eyes are wet, my cheek is wet, and the pillow is wet. A lot of crying, especially to be something I did in my sleep. I haven't let that many fluids out since I was eight and had that dream I was peeing after drinking a big glass of milk and going to bed (or my teenage years when I had the dreams about Christie Turlington or the girl I saw at the store yesterday). But waking up like that this morning just hits you. It says, I may be convincing some people I am taking this well, but I haven't quite completely convinced myself yet.
Although we haven't gone to the new oncologist yet, he has sent us information about the Wellness Community. We have put off going to a group meeting for those dealing with cancer. No real reason, just other things come up, like arguing with our former, crazier oncologist. They have special meetings too at this place. This weekend was a "drum circle". A really cool idea, except in the back of my mind, most of the people I know that did drum circles in college would gladly get cancer just for the medical marijuana. We decided to pass. I think we will go to one of the general meetings this week. It seems talking/writing about things has been a big help, hopefully going to one of these meetings will flush out the things I am still not dealing with. Whatever those things are. I am not telling anyone where I live though, just in case there is a therapy dog repo-man in the room (would that be a "therepo-man"?). Maybe I can find out if other people have these feelings and dreams, or if it's just something I ate. I don't think I can handle ten years worth of crazy dreams and fluid spills.
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