August 2015 archive

Post Cancer Blues: The Struggle of Beating Cancer

You’re trapped in a dark room and can see a sliver of light outside. Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness that surrounds you and though you have embraced the fear of the unknown, you are seeking the light. Your goal is to reach the outside, but on your way you fumble and trip on things the darkness hides. You sustain injury by trudging through the hidden places of the room. You run into walls, slamming your face into a barrier. You can feel blood trickling down your cheek. You can’t give up. You refuse to be stuck in the dark. You move forward with your arms outstretched in attempt to intercept opposition. You’re bruised and scarred from your previous struggles to reach safety. Just when your path feels clear, you face another road block. You fall down and begin to weep. The light is an ever-changing mirage. One moment you’re within reach, and the next it’s across the room. You’re confused but determined. Overwhelmed but steadfast.

The dark is turbulent, but you find solace and peace within it’s walls. You’ve been locked inside for years and it’s become familiar, yet no matter the familiarity, you know you must escape. You can’t live like this, so you press on. Sore and frail, you stand back up and trudge forward. Cautious. Slowly. Continually looking at the glimmer of hope the light provides. You’re close now. You’re almost there. Fight for it. Do whatever it takes. Your life is on the line, after all. Though bruised, bloodied, weak, and tired, your spirit has a raging ferocity. Your will is strong. And when there’s a will, there’s a way. After many failed attempts, you finally reach the outside.

Your body spills out of the darkness and is overcome by the light. You’ve been fighting for this moment for so long, yet it’s not what you thought it would be. Your eyes can’t adjust. The light is violently blinding. Your hands stretch towards your face and you cower behind them. For so long your eyes were used to the darkness. You became immune to the blackness in which you survived. Now, the one thing you had been desperately seeking isn’t as relieving as you dreamed it would be. You’re confused and afraid. With light, you thought you’d be able to see which direction to move in. You thought you’d know what to do. You thought everything would be so clear. You feel as blind in the light as you did in the dark and you hate that you feel this way.

Cancer is the dark room I’ve found myself trapped in for years. I’ve fought so hard for the light at the end of the tunnel and for my own survival. I’m now cancer free and have metaphorically reached the light on the outside. However, after the years of strenuous battle, I find myself lost in life after cancer. I would much rather be in this position than still fighting for my life, but being overwhelmed is a very real experience for those in my position. Fortunately and unfortunately, I know that I’m not alone. Many survivors describe feelings of confusion once their treatment has ended and they have received a clear bill of health. We get so used to the fight that we forget what life is like without it. Some refer to it as the “post cancer blues.”

We spend every waking hour fighting our disease by religiously going to our doctors appointments, working towards getting healthy, researching the latest and greatest in cancer care, and receiving scan after scan in hopes that someday we’ll be able to live a “normal” life once more. We’re so consumed with the cancer, that it’s easy to forget what life was like prior to diagnosis. We’ve set aside projects and goals to make room for treatment and the thought of beginning projects and to-do lists can be overwhelming. Fear can linger once health returns. Many say that time naturally resolves feelings of anxiety and fear, yet some continue to struggle with depression long after their disease is eradicated.

I’m squinting in the blinding light of life after cancer. I’m stumbling like a newborn deer. I’m trying to find my bearings and regain my footing. I’m trying to rediscover the world I’m living in outside of the dark shadow of this disease. I know the brightness will dim and my eyes will adjust, but for now I think I need to find myself a good pair of sunglasses.

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Psalm 61:2 (ESV)

“From the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”

Drug Therapy vs Chemotherapy

It’s been six months since I received my very last dose of chemotherapy. My hair is nearly to the length it was prior to diagnosis. My nausea has completely been alleviated. I’m no longer on steroids that caused terrible bloating and weight gain. And although I’m not experiencing side effects from chemo, some still remain. I look healthy and for the most part feel healthy, yet I continue to battle side effects. I’ve traded chemo for the alternative and less intrusive, drug therapy.

While a quick Google search will answer your questions regarding the meaning of drug therapy, I’ll try to put it in easy terms. Chemotherapy is the use of chemicals to treat malignancies. Drug therapy is the use of medicine to treat disease. Because I have reached one year cancer free, my doctors have prescribed that I maintain my health by receiving intravenous medicine once every three weeks due to my history with recurrences. The type of drug that I’m on is an angiogenesis inhibitor and works to inhibit the growth of new blood vessels. The goal is that if any malignant cells were to form, they would have no blood supply to grow. Medicine amazes me. To every doctor, nurse, technician, and researcher, thank you. You’re the ones that stand beside us and fight with and for us.

The administration of drug therapy is no different than chemotherapy. At least not for me. I receive treatment at my usual infusion center in the hospital. I sit in my preferred chair with my lovely nurses in attendance. My port is accessed identically as in treatments prior. Unlike chemo, however, drug therapy requires less time. Some chemo treatments lasted up to eight hours for me, while this therapy only lasts about two hours. It’s a fairly quick process, and doesn’t eat up most of my day.

As with any treatment, there are possible side effects. In fact, before I was cleared to receive this drug, I signed a form that lists in detail what could potentially happen. Every side effect form that I sign off on reminds me of pharmaceutical commercials. You know the ones. “Taking [generic drug] will greatly improve your [generic ailment].” These productions are set in rolling fields full of beautiful flowers in which the paid actors are frolicking through, holding hands and smiling without a care in the world. At the very end of the commercial, an auctioneer voice quickly rattles off every possible side effect. “Heart attack, stomach ulcers, and certain types of cancers have been linked to this product.” Oh, and your arms could probably fall off from it, too. Similar to these hilarious pharmaceutical commercials, the side effects of the prescription drug I’m receiving now can be alarming. Heart attack, bowel perforation, and stroke are on the top of the list.

Many have asked how I’m feeling. The truth is, I feel great. I do suffer side effects from this angiogenesis inhibitor, but I’ll gladly take them. They pale in comparison to what I experienced while on chemotherapy, but still have an impact on my daily life. Thankfully, my blood pressure and blood counts remain at normal levels. Because of my age and health, my doctors assure me that heart attack, bowel perforation, and stroke would be rare. As long as I keep a close eye on symptoms and listen to my body, I should be in the clear.

I’ve had eight cycles of drug therapy, and the side effects have joined the party. Who knew that we all have a layer of protection on our tongues? I didn’t until it was gone. Anything too hot or textured and the slightest amount of spice feels like acid and knives in my mouth. It’s unfortunate that I love spicy food. Things that didn’t affect me before really do now. Take watermelon for example. In the summer, I obsess over watermelon. I don’t let my sensitive tongue get in the way, but now I have to eat it gingerly. Typical toothpaste feels like fire, so I use Biotene (which is sent from the Heavens, I’m convinced). In addition to my tongue troubles, my hands and feet are increasingly more sensitive. Remember when I had Hand and Foot Syndrome? This time around my skin hasn’t entirely fallen off, but my palms and soles consistently hurt. My feet more so than my hands, and that probably has to do with me being on them most of the time.

The fact is, I’m lucky to be alive. I’ve survived cancer four times. I’m alive and healthy. I’m able to participate in my life more than I have in the last few years. My troubles now are spilt milk. These side effects ain’t nothin’.

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1 Thessalonians 5:18 (ESV)

“Give thanks in all circumstances.”