It was six months ago this evening that I found out I had cancer and underwent surgery to remove a cancerous growth and have a piece of my liver biopsied. It would be a few days later that I was told the extent of the cancer, and a week after that when I got the full diagnosis, recommended course of treatment, and typical prognosis. Many of the particulars of that day and night are still a blur; I remember undergoing the CT scan that discovered the growth as well as the lesions on my liver (I also remember throwing up the contrast solution afterward) I remember a nurse coming back to tell me the results, that they were likely cancer and that the obstruction in my colon needed to be removed, that evening (I only found out recently that I was also a lot closer to, well, not making it than I knew at the time) I remember receiving the Anointing of the Sick (ie, Last Rites) and I vaguely remember being wheeled into what seemed a very dark operating room. And I remember thinking this all wasn't too good.
The first month was the worst. I still wasn't quite sure of how things were going to turn out, I still had an ileostomy pouch (a result of the colon surgery), and I was facing the prospect of chemotherapy and all that that might entail. I underwent a second surgery toward the end of June (to reverse the ileostomy, and to install a port-a-cath device in my chest through which to administer the chemo drugs once I commenced treatment.) July was better, as I began to regain some stamina and strength (and weight.) The beginning of August I underwent another CT scan (without throwing up!) as well as blood work to determine the extent of my cancer just prior to beginning treatment. It had advanced since May.
Six months out, and a little over three months of treatment, I feel pretty good. Apparently I've been able to tolerate the chemo very well thus far, with minimal adverse side effects (mostly the sensitivity to cold that I've mentioned previously) and the treatments have had the desired effects, no new growths and the existing tumors have shrunk appreciably in size. Physically I feel fine- as I tell anyone who'll listen, if I didn't know that I was sick I wouldn't know I was sick. No pain, no fatigue. Last week I finally got back up to a little over 7 miles on my morning runs, back up to 40-45 mins of cardio at the same levels I was doing prior to May. I'm still a little weaker lifting but getting stronger nonetheless. My energy level and appetite are both good. I feel pretty damn good, a credit to my medical team, and maybe a bit to myself. If you had asked me six months ago if I thought I'd be feeling this good, this well, this normal I'd have said no.
It still seems unreal to me at times; you know these things can occur but you always tend to think they will happen to the other guy or gal, not you. It does give one pause to ponder things. More than anything else these last six months have given me such a greater appreciation of people. The genuine interest and concern I've received from so many people has been humbling; I still feel as if I'm undeserving of such kindness from so many. I've come to appreciate and care about people far more than I ever have in my life, with far less cynicism than I've often had in the past- there really are a lot of very good people in this world. In that regard I'm blessed.
I realize that I'm on the clock; hopefully it won't wind down too quickly. But six months out from a truly horrible day I'm feeling a helluva lot better, physically and emotionally, than I ever thought I would be feeling.
