About a month ago I went in for a routine clinical visit with my principal oncologist. Everything had been going very well. I had been weened off of Oxycontin and had resumed my normal chemotherapy schedule, and my scans (though a little ambiguous) supported remission. Life was good. So of course I brought up my prognosis, which I expected was considerably better. The doctor smiled, patted me on the shoulder, and reassuringly said that I "had a 90% chance of survival."
Alas, this only happened in TV-sitcom land where everyone has perfect hair and every story has a perfect ending. In onco-world nobody has perfect hair because they don't have any and every story isn't perfect. The doctor cleared her throat and matter-of-factly informed me that my "odds are much better now. You only have a 30% chance of a fatal recurrence." My chance of survival has almost doubled compared to my initial prognosis, which is pretty cool. But no 90%. No cigar. No really, there are no cigars. Where are my cigarettes? I need one.
As I was leaving her office, the thought of skydiving randomly popped into my head. Why hadn't I gone? Because I had been afraid of dying. But statistically speaking, I have a much better chance of surviving a skydiving attempt than I do at surviving cancer. And why hadn't I taken that trip to Alaska a couple of years ago? Because I was afraid of airplanes. My odds are much better with airplanes than with cancer.
A lot of dreams which I had had over the years floated through my mind, ancient dreams which I had abandoned long ago out of fear. I have had several fears much more legitimate than airplanes, vague ephemeral spooks like J.K. Rowling's Dementors which have haunted my daydreams and sucked the joy out of my life. Everyone has their own personal demons, whether it is some sort of personal tragedy, a fear of rejection, or any number of things. What power did these stupid little demons have over me, other than that which I had freely given? What could they do to me that cancer couldn't do? Why am I still afraid? Cancer is King Kong, and I kicked King Kong's arse - well, at least I 70% kicked King Kong's arse.
That night, I had a very strange dream. I had just gone to my oncologist and received the disappointing news. I had a 30% chance of dying of a cancer recurrence. I drove home and as I pulled into my driveway, I noticed that there were a bunch of zombies running around outside, as if this were just the most natural thing in the world. I noted to myself that I had at least a 50% chance of perishing from zombies, in that weird omniscient way that we just know things in dreams. So of course since I was up on my zombie survival skills, I ran screaming into the woods.
For most people, having a nightmare where they are told that they might die of cancer is bad enough. But noooo...I have to add zombies! I don't know if this makes me a "glass is half-full" kind of person or a "glass is half-empty" kind of person. Apparently my glass is full of zombies.
Anyway it's always those things which you least expect. I had been afraid of airplanes, when really I should have been afraid of cancer. And I had been afraid of cancer, when really I should have been afraid of zombies. Nobody knows when they are going to be hit by a bus or have a vending machine fall on them or be attacked by a rabid herd of flesh-eating lamas. In my mind, I could either submit to a sense of fatalism about the whole thing or get up and fight those zombies. Or cancer. Or whatever. I'm not going to let anybody put an expiration date on me.
In case you are concerned about zombies, our President has addressed this pressing issue. I know that I can sleep at night now.
Alas, this only happened in TV-sitcom land where everyone has perfect hair and every story has a perfect ending. In onco-world nobody has perfect hair because they don't have any and every story isn't perfect. The doctor cleared her throat and matter-of-factly informed me that my "odds are much better now. You only have a 30% chance of a fatal recurrence." My chance of survival has almost doubled compared to my initial prognosis, which is pretty cool. But no 90%. No cigar. No really, there are no cigars. Where are my cigarettes? I need one.
As I was leaving her office, the thought of skydiving randomly popped into my head. Why hadn't I gone? Because I had been afraid of dying. But statistically speaking, I have a much better chance of surviving a skydiving attempt than I do at surviving cancer. And why hadn't I taken that trip to Alaska a couple of years ago? Because I was afraid of airplanes. My odds are much better with airplanes than with cancer.
A lot of dreams which I had had over the years floated through my mind, ancient dreams which I had abandoned long ago out of fear. I have had several fears much more legitimate than airplanes, vague ephemeral spooks like J.K. Rowling's Dementors which have haunted my daydreams and sucked the joy out of my life. Everyone has their own personal demons, whether it is some sort of personal tragedy, a fear of rejection, or any number of things. What power did these stupid little demons have over me, other than that which I had freely given? What could they do to me that cancer couldn't do? Why am I still afraid? Cancer is King Kong, and I kicked King Kong's arse - well, at least I 70% kicked King Kong's arse.
That night, I had a very strange dream. I had just gone to my oncologist and received the disappointing news. I had a 30% chance of dying of a cancer recurrence. I drove home and as I pulled into my driveway, I noticed that there were a bunch of zombies running around outside, as if this were just the most natural thing in the world. I noted to myself that I had at least a 50% chance of perishing from zombies, in that weird omniscient way that we just know things in dreams. So of course since I was up on my zombie survival skills, I ran screaming into the woods.
For most people, having a nightmare where they are told that they might die of cancer is bad enough. But noooo...I have to add zombies! I don't know if this makes me a "glass is half-full" kind of person or a "glass is half-empty" kind of person. Apparently my glass is full of zombies.
Anyway it's always those things which you least expect. I had been afraid of airplanes, when really I should have been afraid of cancer. And I had been afraid of cancer, when really I should have been afraid of zombies. Nobody knows when they are going to be hit by a bus or have a vending machine fall on them or be attacked by a rabid herd of flesh-eating lamas. In my mind, I could either submit to a sense of fatalism about the whole thing or get up and fight those zombies. Or cancer. Or whatever. I'm not going to let anybody put an expiration date on me.
In case you are concerned about zombies, our President has addressed this pressing issue. I know that I can sleep at night now.
1 comment:
Hi Jenn-
So great to connect with someone who has an ewing's sarcoma that isn't, like, 10.
Reading your blog is inspiration because while I've just begun this thing, you're well on your way to the finish line.
I'm not sure if you're a friend on PC, but add me if so. I'd love to talk anytime!
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