Fighting Brushfires
Well, I screwed up. I meant to set aside a particular note that came in because I wanted to write about what was said, but now I can't find it. I'm sorry, because I may not do justice to what the author said. She used one phrase that stayed with me. If I remember correctly, she talked about the danger of "letting down your guard."
Many of you who have gone into remission, or whose cancer seems to have gone away entirely, have talked about the same thing: that feeling that it's still out there, or more accurately, still in there, just biding its time, waiting to show itself again. It doesn't seem possible to ever really relax, to ever think that, in fact, you're over it.
It's funny, after my first diagnosis and surgery, I never thought about the cancer coming back. After four and a half years of clean checkups, I figured it was something that happened and wouldn't happen again. Sort of like getting the chicken pox. Once you get over it, you don't have to worry about it again. But I was wrong. It did come back.
I can understand that fear. After going through a bout with cancer, it's hard to totally believe it may not come back. It often does, and I guess the heartbreak of that recurrence is worse the second time. At the same time, we can't all live our lives in fear — of anything. It's easy to say that, not as easy to do it.
Those of us who still have active cancer in our bodies feel a little of that same fear, that reluctance to "let down our guard." Having cancer can be a little like fighting a brushfire. You put it out in one place only to have it show up in another. You're constantly on the lookout for that next hot spot. My doctors thought I had a tumor in my liver, but it turned out to be harmless. One hot spot extinguished. Then a new tumor showed up on my spine. New problems.
It's not like I can really do anything about those new flare-ups. As my doctors said, it doesn't matter if you have one tumor or six, they're going to attack them all. But that doesn't make that feeling of unease, of needing to be watchful, go away.
I guess peace of mind, a life free from worry, is another thing that cancer takes away from us. I guess we're sort of like those guys in the old Western movies who always say, "It's quiet. Too quiet." You know that as soon as they say it, they'll get hit by an arrow. I think a lot of cancer patients flinch ahead of time, because we know what it feels like when that arrow strikes home.
6:37 AM ET | 10-18-2006 | permalink

