All My Fear Came Back

 
“As I think about it, I realize that maybe the cancer is playing with me. I was getting pretty cocky, talking about how we had killed all the visible tumors in my body... all the cancer had to do was say, 'Boo!' And all my fear came back.”
 
 

The following essay is from the NPR My Cancer weekly podcast:

I have to admit, my head is still spinning after last week. It all started with an MRI Tuesday. For those of you who have never had one, it's a very strange experience. You lie in a big tube, your head and body immobilized, and you are bombarded by really loud and very strange noises. Those are the magnets in the machine. Clicks and bangs and buzzers, all at full volume. The first time you go through one, it's a little disconcerting.

After a while, though, like everything else, you get used to it. I dozed off through most of this last one. But all the while, the machine is searching. Looking and prying, trying to see the tiniest piece of cancer that might be hiding in my brain or spine. The MRI lasted about an hour and a half, and then I was done. I tried to get the technician to tell me something. Had she seen anything? But of course, she was totally professional. Which means she told me nothing.

Then the waiting. The scans have to be read by experts, so you usually don't get the results until the next day. And when that phone call came, my heart sank. It appeared that a new tumor had developed on the site of my original brain tumor. That's a common problem. My tumor was removed by surgery, and then I had radiation to clean up the area where it had been, to kill any rogue cells the surgery might have missed. But it's almost impossible to get them all.

But 24 hours later, the world changed again. After a whole team of doctors had looked at the scans one more time, they decided what they were seeing was not a new tumor. It was probably scar tissue from that first operation. So I got a reprieve. The governor called at the last minute. I would not have to go through the gamma knife procedure. That is an amazing machine that focuses radiation as precisely as a laser. They screw your head into a frame -- literally screw it in -- and that hurts. I wasn't looking forward to it.

We always talk about cancer being a roller coaster ride. No kidding. And I feel a little like you do when you first get off a great coaster. My stomach is somewhere up near my throat. My head is spinning. My heart is pounding. It was a helluva ride. But what did I get out of it? I'm not sure. An adrenaline rush, for sure.

As I think about it, I realize that maybe the cancer is playing with me. I was getting pretty cocky, talking about how we had killed all the visible tumors in my body. I was winning my fight. I was starting to think about the future, something I had pretty much stopped doing. And all the cancer had to do was say, "Boo!" And all my fear came back. My world changed, even if it was only for a day. I'm pretty sure there is cancer hiding somewhere in my body, and I'm sure it got a good laugh out of all this. But that's OK. When it does show up for real, when it does get big enough to see, then it will be my turn. This isn't over yet.

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Thank goodness that the doctors got it right after re-visiting the scans. Man! Congratulations on a very successful RFA procedure. I know the recovery process very well. I can relate to your roller coaster ride too and as always am sending you the best wishes!

Sent by Cathy Q. | 5:56 PM ET | 04-01-2007

You know, it's an illness, not a personality. I know that a lot of the time, it helps many of those dealing with cancer to talk about it as though it was gunning for us, and it was intentional. It's not a shoot out at the OK Corral, it's just cancer. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm so glad that you DON'T have new tumor in your brain, but to think of cancer as an entity that plots to drive us crazy, scare us, and play with us isn't really helpful to my way of thinking. I try for healing, for as much balance as I can get, and don't think of this illness as some evil dooer out to ruin and ultimatly take my life, but an illness, plain and simple. Let's not give it more power than necessary....not even in our heads.

Sent by Nancy K. Clark | 9:18 PM ET | 04-01-2007

Leroy,
I had to laugh when I read your post. I too had a "reprieve" from the beast. Three years ago, after I had completed 18 rounds of chemo for Stage 3 Ovarian Cancer, a very dear friend had planned a "hooray chemo is over" party for me. My friends all congratulated me for "beating" cancer. While it was happening, something inside me was feeling a little on the nervous side for having the hubris to think the battle was over. In fact, two months later, it came back with a vengence. I'm now on maintenence chemo for the duration. The funny thing is, I still thumb my nose at the beast, and it feels just great!
Much love to you and strength for the journey~
Lorraine

Sent by Lorraine Powell | 10:03 PM ET | 04-01-2007

Leroy, I feel for you. When you figure out how (without resorting to particular religious perspectives) how to live your life well on a tight, cyclical roller coaster ride, please let the rest of us know. Sometimes one longs for a level of consistency for more than 2 weeks at a time. Emotional whiplash is really hard on the "patient" and the family. We don't make plans for more than about 2 weeks at a time -- and no one else seems to get why. Not my boss/workplace, not our kid, not our family, the tax accountant, the dentist, the auto mechanic. Living in the moment sounds great but isn't practical.

Sent by Teri | 6:19 AM ET | 04-02-2007

Leroy, This is the first time I got your blog without any comments on the bottom. I guess I'm the first because it's 6.37am in the U.S. and 8.37pm here on Monday night. I just had my first MRI for a sciatic problem (it wasn't fun), and my mate is about to undergo radiation therapy via what sounds like the gamma knife. Like you, he's doing better than anyone expected, but he's not looking forward to his head being screwed into a frame. I had another friend who told me before he died of cancer about having his head in a mask being bombarded by radiation when a nurse walked into the room, and threw open the blinds and said: "What a beautiful day!" He said: "I'm glad I couldn't respond." He kept his sense of humor until the end, just like you. I hope the end for you is about 30 years from now ... in bed overnight during a good night's sleep. Hang in there. I know you will.

Sent by Tom K in Sydney | 6:47 AM ET | 04-02-2007

Leroy,
I'm glad it was a false positive as they say. You've got to be just a little bit smarter than the cancer. It sounds like you and your medical team indeed are that. I am fascinated with your comments now that you are starting to think about the future again. I appreciate your guidance.

Sent by Lisa | 7:23 AM ET | 04-02-2007

Leroy~ Have your doctors ever told you what would happen if they stopped all the "tumer hunting" for a while and let your poor body rest? This may seem like a strange question but I cannot understand what all this is doing to an obviously fine man.
There are no guarantees in this life and you have been dealt a terrible hand. But where does it all stop? Can you ever feel that you are completely, permanently, (whatever that means), free of tumers & cancer? What is the quality of your life? You seem to be living, breathing, and thinking cancer every moment.
Twenty four years ago I had breast cancer which had spread to a few lymph nodes. It was all removed and, except for bone & brain scans, we stopped looking for any more signs. Today I don't know whether it is still inside me waiting to pounce or what.
Should I be hunting for more?
Is it possible for you to be able to enjoy life once again-ever? What do your doctors say?

Sent by Jeanne C Rakowski | 7:43 AM ET | 04-02-2007

Leroy: I woke up with an acute case of the "what if's" and no matter what I tell myself I still feel petrified.

What if we had gone to M.D. Anderson in the first place...what if we still go? What if there hadn't been a leak in the first resection? What if they had taken more tissue with the first surgery? Did I fail my husband by not taking charge? Is he REALLY going to die in the next few months? What will we do without him?

We caregivers know the fear, too. How do we make it go away?


Sent by Nikki | 8:40 AM ET | 04-02-2007

Leroy; The roller-coster ride continues for all of us. Thank you for shareing your strenghts and weaknesses, your bravery and fears. As we try to make sense of what cancer does to our lives, it helps a great deal to be able to read your words and hear your voice! When you wrote about "getting pretty cocky", thinking that the cancer just might be gone, I had to smile for just a second. I would love to feel cocky like that, we all would. But we are just one phone call away from a different reality so that keeps us in line. Someday we can experience the feeling of beating cancer and have our Doctor's blessing in doing so..Fight The Good Fight....David G.

Sent by David Grimmius | 8:41 AM ET | 04-02-2007

i find fear to be my greatest enemy..fear can take over my entire being....if i allow it to. these days being involved in ongoing treatment, fear is at bay. but for my loving husband, who does not want to loose me to cancer, fear is a large part of his day. we are told to "address" our fears ..how the hell do you address a demon? i ask myself if this cancer is hell on earth? i truly hope it is , so that when it is over i can get on with my life again.

Sent by marianne dalton | 9:36 AM ET | 04-02-2007

Talk about yer stomach-turning events, Leroy!!! There's a reason for all this, I hope it's that you're done w. cancer for a long long time, or everrrr
Love and prayers to you

Sent by Sherri Eggleston | 9:49 AM ET | 04-02-2007

Leroy, I would like to direct this reply to the group to get their opinions. I am going to see my oncologist on Wednesday and I know he is going to ask me if I am willing to do more chemo after having surgery Feb. 13. He isn't sure of what to do since my case was not typical. I had more chemo than usual before surgery therefore he felt that it may or may not be necessary now. The two surgeons said that they got it all and immediately following the surgery they told me that I didn't need additional surgery. My oncologist said that to be "on the safe side" I should do more. My recovery period (which I am still going through) has been very stressful, I am still struggling to try to get some sort of normalcy in my life. I am on a anti-depression pill and trying to gain weight (not very successfully) and I really don't feel good about doing chemo again. I would like to ask you all your opinions, what would you do, in order to help me come to some decision before I see him on Wednesday. Leroy, I would appreciate hearing your opinion too. Thank you.

Sent by Ruth White | 10:20 AM ET | 04-02-2007

I think Nancy made some really good points. Once, when I was expressing anger at the cancer, someone told me that it wasn't some foreign object in my body. It was, in fact, part of me and my body,and that anger towards it wasn't going to accomplish much. Certainly you want it gone, but for me it was better to visualize that in a peaceful way.

Sent by Patricia | 10:31 AM ET | 04-02-2007

There is a very comprehensive Cancer news page here: http://news.congoo.com/subchannel?channel_id=22&category_id=262

I thought I would share

Sent by David Frescas | 11:01 AM ET | 04-02-2007

Hi Leroy. I just started reading your blog and your story - would like to share my story. I was diagnosed w/colon cancer and kidney cancer (two primaries) in 1998 - surgery to remove kidney and 4 inches of my colon. Was told I was clean, no treatment required. Six years later, in November, 2004, the colon cancer recurred. Was detected by rising CEA level, and then a ct/pet scan showed a 2 cm tumor, which surgery revealed was attached to the left common iliac artery and wrapped around my ureter (only one I have). Two surgeries and a total of six months of chemo later, I'm currently -- can I hope to say it?--- tumor-free? Cancer-free? All tests indicate this is the case. But it is a roller coaster ride every time I have tests and see my oncologist. I have been told that it will probably come back again, and even though I am now Stage IV anyway, I basically know what that means - it's treatable, but not curable. So far, I have never asked "why me?" My sister asked me that question right after my cancer recurred - if I had ever questioned God why. I told her no, that I hadn't because I knew that I wasn't an isolated case, that there are so many people out there fighting this battle, many people of whom I feel are much "better" people than I am. But I know that has nothing to do with it either. If/when it comes back, I'll just do everything I possibly can to fight back. I really enjoy your blog. When the Tony Snow story came out last week, I turned to the internet to look for answers again and that's how I found your blog. I used to be online for hours reading about cancer, treatments, etc., but reached a point where I didn't feel I needed to continue doing that. But I'm back at it again! Thanks for sharing your story, and my prayers are with you.

Sent by Brenda | 11:08 AM ET | 04-02-2007

Leroy - I feel your pain. A similar thing happened to me in that a CT scan about 16 months after remission for lymphoma showed enlarged lymph nodes in my chest. I made the mistake of reading the radiologist's report where he said something like "indication: Hodgkin's lymphoma." A PET scan was ordered, which I got a couple of weeks later, and then a week later the results came back - no evidence of cancer. It was 3 weeks on pins and needles, and I had mentally prepared myself for the worst, and was fully expecting to start back for more chemo. So when I got that call with great news from the oncologist, I was nearly speechless (but for a good reason) and it did feel like a huge reprieve. Now I am a month away from 5 year survival and still in "NED". But I do remember that time well, after 16 months of thinking that it was all in the past and then unexpectedly thinking that it staring me in the face again. My heart goes out to anyone who goes through this.

Sent by Art Ritter | 11:08 AM ET | 04-02-2007

I'm so glad that you were able to get the news relatively quickly. Having to wait is the worst, and it seems that this disease offers so many opportunities for waiting.

A brief story: I scheduled my annaul mammogram for the first appointment of the day to reduce the waiting that comes with a backup of patients. So, I'm sitting in the waiting room and people come in and go out. Time passes. I'm starting to get anxious. Then a tech comes in to say that the radiologist has requested additional pictures. Within a nanosecond, I'm thinking that I won't see my kids grow up and that the years between my initial diagnosis and today is but a respite. It was truly amazing to me that although cancer is nowhere near front and center in my mind, I returned to the fear and worry of 5 years ago almost instaneously. Happily, additional pictures showed that I dodged the bullet this year.

Peace and healing to you.

Sent by Judith | 11:29 AM ET | 04-02-2007

At breastcancer.org (http://www.breastcancer.org/ct_0703.html ), I found the following today "...we found the yoga group compared with the control group had a reduction in intrusive thought, the unbidden, unwanted thoughts of cancer that intrude on our lives, and a reduction in cancer-related symptoms."
So, "intrusive thoughts" is what they are. Leroy, my yoga teacher has just started working with men and meditation and everyone is benefitting. Perhaps it could help in your fears and fighting.

Sent by Ann | 11:32 AM ET | 04-02-2007

You had an optimistic moment recently. Hold on to that moment, Leroy. I have a MRI, CT scan, chest x-ray done every other month. I always see my doctor in person to get the results and I always bring my support team with me in case I forget to ask a question I wanted to ask. Again, at some point, you might want to consider targeted therapy. I have had great success with it and it was even mentioned in the New York Times yesterday as a new direction for treating cancer in the future (NYT! so you know it has to be true, LOL)

Keep that positive attitude!

Sent by Larry Hamm | 11:46 AM ET | 04-02-2007

To Ruth, before cancer, my philosophy was that I would do everything I could in whatever I endeavored to do, and leave the rest to God. I still feel the same way, and I would do the chemo. Pamela

Sent by Pamela | 12:15 PM ET | 04-02-2007

To Ruth: The last time I went to Chemo I knew I had only one more treatment left. Since then the Tony Snow and Mrs. Edwards news came out. Someone told me, (mayby it was in this blog) that chemo gave you peace of mind. That you knew you were activly fighting the disease, not just waiting. Chemo is like using a nuclear weapon as apposed to a bandaid. If my doctor would have said..yes we can do 2, 3 or 10 more treatments,I would have said then let's go. My cancer diagnosis was a long time coming. It took from May 2nd until October 13th when I had my mastectomy. The doctors kept calling me back(after an initial core biopsy, 8 MRI's with biopsies and lumpectomy) to tell me that the news wasn't good. It finally culminated in a mastecomy with lymph node invovlement. For some reason the cancer was not visible or dignosable (is that a word?) on anyting other than a microscopic slide. Now I live in the fear that it is in my ribs, my shoulder (pain) and my hips. Chemo has not been easy, but Ruth if they said yes, let's do more Chemo I would jump at the chance. Good luck, I know you have been through so much. Talk over your fears with your doctors. Tell them exactly what you have told us. You are the one that has to make the final decision and you need peace of mind, you need to know you have done everything you can. We are with you....God Bless

Sent by Patti | 12:59 PM ET | 04-02-2007

Hello Ruth,

I don't know what you SHOULD do, but it did seem to me that you were pretty "tuckered out" just now. Why not postpone the decision to have more chemo and give yourself a chance to recover a bit? I'd ask my doctor for a vacation!

Sent by Diana Kitch | 1:08 PM ET | 04-02-2007

Leroy,

When I read "all my fear came back", I thought that must have been pretty brutal for you. Like having the initial level of distress more than once. I am presuming that your fear is about dying and my thought is that maybe if you could make some headway with your feelings about death, your fear of your cancer returning might be less frightful.

Sent by Diana Kitch | 1:15 PM ET | 04-02-2007

I just read a quote by Rachel Naomi Remen, MD that immediately reminded me the fear that comes with NEDor finishing treatment: "Healing is possible even in the absence of cure. Cure is about the recovery of the body. Healing is about the recovery of the soul." I think it is a great and fitting quote. It comes down to finding peace again and giving the mind a chance to settle down.

Sent by Martha | 2:08 PM ET | 04-02-2007

To Ruth~ Have followed your case here on Leroy's messages. A wonderful way for us Cancer Survivors to reach out to each other.
I had to make a similar decision over 20 years ago and I have never been sorry. Chemo and the effects were ruining the quality of my life and I wanted whatever time I had left to be rewarding. I wanted to and have contributed to life since. Yes, I am always worried, but sometimes I feel that the medical profession is getting a little "paronoid".
Ruth, whatever your decision, my best wishes are with you. I chose to live, while I could and have, with the fear. It makes each day more precious instead of miserable.

Sent by Jeanne C | 2:16 PM ET | 04-02-2007

I absolutely understand. It is seven years since the diagnosis of Stage IIIA rectal cancer (1-4 positive lymph nodes; "trace nodes," they called it.)

As I anticipate my upcoming mid-April check-up, that feeling of choking in the heart and throat coupled with a sinking feeling in the stomach, takes up more permanent residence inside me.

And the check-ups, followed by the blood tests and the phone ring by phone ring wait for the results---the CEA test level.

What will my seven year fate be? Many say that rectal cancer recurrence often occurs in the first two-three year period. Then, I think of metastatic cancer and a bizarre verse of that vintage baseball song--"Meet the Mets, Meet the Mets; Step right up and greet the Mets," starts playing in the right brain.

I meditate. For the moment, I am aware that my mind is playing games again. I will have to wait--one nanosecond at a time.

In healing,
Deborah

Sent by Deborah | 2:56 PM ET | 04-02-2007

Dear Ruth,

When I faced a very hard life decision, someone advised me to imagine making one choice, and write down the pros and cons and feelings I had about that, then to do the same process with each of the other options. When I compared the lists, my preference was pretty clear. Perhaps that will help you now with your delibrations.

Sent by Sarah | 4:26 PM ET | 04-02-2007

"This isn't over yet." With the improvements in treatment, I think there are a lot more of us in the category of treatable-but-not-curable. That means the roller coaster is a lot fuller! Are there a lot more us walking around with these drawn out death sentences? So yeah, continue to campaign, to meet the press, to buy a new suit once in a while. This isn't over yet!

Sent by Lee | 4:38 PM ET | 04-02-2007

Leroy,
I recommend you drop everything and run to the nearest lottery ticket outlet and buy several. Then go to the horse races and enjoy the day.
You obviously are living under a good star at the moment. Take advantage and enjoy.

Sent by Sara | 6:07 PM ET | 04-02-2007

Dear Leroy and friends:

STOP THE ROLLER COASTER A READY! There must be a break somewhere within our own cars we can pull or push. Bloggers are talking about how to TREAT cancer within (like an enemy or just part of us). I don't know about the rest of you, but I am just not sure I have control over the cancer cells. I take the chemo, I do the rads, I agree to the surgery, and I also do yoga and meditation. But I really do not have control over the cancer cells! Oh yes, I can agree to scans for new sites. I can do MRIs. I can count new tumors and wait in terror for mets to lung, liver, and god forbid the brain (where if so, I now all know control is lost).

I do have some control over the roller coaster, however. I can put on the breaks and I think, Leroy, it is time to put on the breaks. Enjoy the view and release yourself from the fear we all suffer as we consider the downward path.

Ruth,go with your gut. What do you want? You must be so weary. Do you want for us to encourage you to go for more chemo? Do you want to put the breaks on the whole trip? We will support you.

Sent by SusanP | 8:08 PM ET | 04-02-2007

Said a prayer for you, sir. Your writing is excellent and moving.
For inspiration I offer:

Mark 11: 22-24
Phillippians 4:13
John 3:16
Psalm 23

God bless you,

Ed

Sent by ed | 8:29 PM ET | 04-02-2007

Terror prior to a scan is just part of living with and after cancer. I no longer live close to my oncologist so once I spent the night at a friend's house prior to a bone scan. I awoke screaming in the wee hours. Needless to say, I don't stay with friends anymore prior to diagnostics!

Sent by Jo Ella James | 2:38 PM ET | 04-13-2007

i am meena 59 yrs last year i was detected i have breast cancer. i gone surgery and 6 chemothearphy to over.

lumpectomy treatement was finished before six month but i have pain in my chest what are the reason.

can i wear bra if so what type i should wear

Sent by Meena | 7:13 AM ET | 05-31-2007



   
   
   
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