A New Paradigm

I wish I had perfect news. I wish I could give everyone, working hard for us, the kind of news that everyone deserves. I want everyone to have a happy ending. Right before Christmas, that would be more than convenient. I had really high hopes for a miracle. I knew it would require one. Stage IV Breast Cancer is a chronic disease that doesn't just "go away." Given the fact I am stubborn, can take a pretty good hit, and don't take no for an answer, why would I expect my own cells to be any different?

There is good news to report. I am responding very well to chemo and radiation treatment. The radiation I received in September is still hatving an effect. Most of the lesions in my brain are gone and the ones that remain are much smaller, reduced by half as a matter of fact. My physician explains that sometimes the cancer cells just die and leave behind a non-active mass that remains. Normal organic tissue behaves similarly by leaving a scar. Cancer cells die a little differently because by their own definition, the genetic component that mutates is dysfunctional. They literally refuse to die and grow exponentially into tumors and masses in inconvenient places. So when we actually kill them, It makes sense that instead of disappearing, they just shrivel up and die.  They're just bitter, because they lost, but I get to keep a portion of them as a souvenir.

The lymphadenopathy in my abdomen is gone. The areas surrounding my aorta and my kidneys are clear. There are still some nodes that are active but the overall picture is good. The disease is responding and will continue to respond as I move through the phases of treatment.

So why am I not jumping for joy and posting selfies on Facebook?

It's Cancer still there. I still have this. Portions of my chest have active lymph nodes and my lungs are "fuzzy," which remain unchanged since my last scan. My Doc's not even convinced that what's going on in my lungs is actually cancer but thankfully, does not want to biopsy every little thing he finds in my body (because that might actually kill me). The presumption is that it is a collateral relation to cancer and is being treated that way. It's not worsening but it's also not changing. It might just be something I have to live with. My doctor is optimistic. He's happy with the results. He's so happy that he decided to add three more cycles of chemo.

Three. More. Cycles.

That's 9 more weeks of hell.
"But you're tolerating it so well," He adds.
Technically, this is correct. I am far more capable than most of his other patients who can't keep weight on,  who suffer from severe neuropathy, who can't eat, can't drink, can barely function. Yes, I am tolerating "well," but my standards are far higher. I am spoiled. I want to THRIVE. I want to relieve Marek of all the extra work he's having to do for us. I want the girls to have an actual mother with some credibility and doesn't forget what she told them 5 minutes prior. I don't want to lay in bed in misery every Thursday. However, he is right. I am tolerating "well," which means I have not reached rock bottom. I am still not at the point of rescue. I can still take more poison that will eradicate what currently remains.

And this is also the new paradigm. There is no cure, only treatment, which means that it will never go away. It will never truly be gone. It will always be hiding. I learned that from my friend Spencer who fought Multiple Myeloma for 8+ years. He was always in and out of chemo, in and out of thriving and dying. I know this is probably my reality now and I haven't figured out how to live my life accordingly. We've been in crisis mode since diagnosis and I've had my nose to the grindstone since.

Three. More. Cycles

Marek and I have been trying to plan a "post-chemo" vacation. We both need a break from all this chemo fun, and anticipated we would be done a little sooner. As you know, we roll a little differently. Generally, we go to remote locations and we go for extended periods in third world communities. Now, we have guidelines. My doctor was mortified when I told him we wanted to travel around the Philippines or the South Pacific.
"There's no Tertiary Care Centers there! Things happen. What if you have an emergency?"
I don't think he travels much, which is why he is my oncologist and not my travel agent. But he does know that the likelihood of pneumonia, or blood dyscrasia, or infection of any kind will level me.   Just for giggles, I asked him what could possibly happen. He listed things like Renal Failure, sepsis, Gall Bladder problems, Cancer.... Doomsday. What does he know? I choose denial. I have Cancer. None of that other stuff applies. (Which is total BS. It applies even more. Denial)

Three. More. Cycles. 9. More. Weeks.

I am psychologically wrecked right now. However, I also know that my doctor is right. 3 more cycles will not only increase the efficacy but will also increase my life on this planet. 3 more cycles means Christmas on chemo and an endpoint of February 21st. 3 more cycles means 2 ½ more months of side effects. It also means life... after 3 more cycles. My fear is I will be coaxed into 3 more cycles forever and die bald, sick, grumpy, and unpleasant. Living life far outweighs anybody else's version of survival. I'm not going to win any medals simply surviving. Quality of living and surviving must be mutually aligned. 3 more cycles it is because my doc gets it. He knows I refuse to fade away. I think he knows my limits and since I'm "tolerating well," he's going to push me.

My scans are good. I am beating it back. Slowly.  I just have to get through 3 more cycles. I'm afraid I'm going to need a little help from my friends on this one. Nothing new. Just everything you've been doing. I promise not to quit if you don't. Thank you in advance.