December 31

On this date ten years ago, I was in the hospital awaiting the results of my biopsy, which I’d had…I don’t remember when. The day after I’d been admitted? (Which had been December 28, 2008.) Two days after?

It’s not important. What is is that before noon, the oncologist, Dr. Patton, came in and officially confirmed what the pulmonologist, Dr. Kuhn, had alluded to when he’d stopped by first thing that morning: the tumor was not a fungus ball. (I never thought I’d ever pray to have a fungus ball in my body.) It was cancer. (That wasn’t surprising. I’d already known that back in August. I just couldn’t get anyone to listen. Still I was hoping I was wrong. I’d have taken a fungus ball over cancer.)

Dr. Patton’s job was to tell us exactly which kind of cancer.

The Diagnosis

Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma.

What the fuck is lymphoma? was one of the many questions swirling in my head.

The other one, the biggest one: Is this kind of cancer treatable? Or am I going to die? And how close to that am I? Because I feel pretty fucking close.

Dr. Patton was explaining lymphoma, and the difference between B cell and T cell, non vs Hodgkin.

All I got out of it was that it was a blood cancer and I had one that was aggressive, but in this case that was a good thing. It was treatable, and after they did some other scans and a bone marrow biopsy, they’d know what stage and exactly what kind of treatments we’d fight it with.

Fifty-Fifty?

“But how good are my chances?” I persisted. “Like, what’s my percentage of beating it?” I pressed.

“I don’t like to look at it that way because everyone’s different,” Dr. Patton said.

But I wouldn’t relent…and he must’ve seen something in my expression because he finally conceded

“Well, right now I’d put it at pretty good. We’ll know more after your bone marrow biopsy and the PET scan, but given your age and health prior to this, I’d say fifty-fifty.”

Fifty-fifty was pretty good? Eighty-twenty seemed pretty good. I’d had even rejoiced at seventy-thirty. Maybe even sixty-forty. But fifty-fifty?

Yes, it was better than a 20 percent or under chance. It was equal. I was either going to live or die.

How to Live?

So naturally my next question was advice on how to get to the living side of fifty.

“What do you recommend I do to make sure I beat this? Like, what have people done that you see who do the best and keep living?”

“That. They keep living. They get off the couch and keep as normal a routine as possible.”

He went on to explain that attitude is everything. Hard to have a positive one with news like that, but happier hearts heal better.

I knew being unhappy and stressed had caused my cancer. I’d been in a toxic situation that had both shattered my heart and made my blood boil.

No wonder I’d gotten a blood cancer.

Well, I made up my mind right there and then to do whatever it took to stay on the happy side of life.

The Phobia

Hard. I was terrified. Needles. There had been a lot during my hospital stay and there were going to be more for the foreseeable future. Until then I’d done everything possible to avoid them –and doctors.

I didn’t have a doctor phobia exactly, but I most definitely had a needle phobia. Even just seeing one, even if it wasn’t going to be pressed into me, made my stomach roil and my head light.

And if I had to get a shot or a blood draw? Forget it. I suffered a very distinct set of physical symptoms. Starting with getting hot, then I’d break out into a drenching sweat, followed by dizziness, wanting to throw up…and usually needing to. So I always had to know exactly where the bathroom was. And then would come the diarrhea –sometimes at the same time as the puke.

Oh yeah. Fun times.

So naturally I avoided needles at all costs because those using them weren’t always sympathetic to my symptoms. I’d had some hairy situations and some very rude prickers who were just plain pricks when my panic hit.

Because the panic and anxiety was high trying to control my symptoms, and when I couldn’t I’d lose my shit (literally and figuratively), making the whole situation worse.

Needles. Death. Not having lived. (There’d been so much I’d denied myself.) Leaving Wayne behind. Leaving our animals mom-less.

Happy New Year

All I wanted was to check out of the hospital. But no. I was stuck –and I’d have to sleep in awful compression socks because of the bone marrow biopsy they’d been able to do that afternoon so I wouldn’t have to come back.

Wayne had left briefly at some point early that evening. When he returned he had New Year party hats, apple juice and champagne flutes for us.

That’s how we celebrated. Early. Before midnight. We were both exhausted. Neither of us was going to make it past 10.

The Socks

Then, tired, Wayne left…and here came the damn socks.

My left arm was out of commission. I’d lost the feeling in and use of my middle, ring and pinky fingers in my left hand. I was in near constant agony from the pain in that shoulder and arm.

How the hell did the nurse expect me to pull up those socks with one arm? But if I didn’t, I might get a blood clot. I had to get the socks on.

But I couldn’t. And no one was helping me. They just expected me to do it.

So there I sat on the edge of the bed, alone, holding those stupid socks feeling helpless and stupid and furious.

I’d just wanted to go home. At first they told me there might be a chance. Then they kept me. Dirty trick.

Personally, I think the nurses took pity on Wayne. He was a wreck. That pain I had? It made me howl. Like a banshee. I’d wake up when the morphine wore off screaming my head off.

As much as they’d be happy to get me off their floor and not scaring the other patients anymore, it was better for them to deal with me one more night. Give Wayne a chance to get some things in order.

My Sock Knight

And then all of a sudden there he was in the door again. He’d left to go home 20 minutes or so before. But then he was back.

I think he’d forgotten something. I didn’t know why he was back. I just knew he was. I burst into tears. Mad, racking, sobbing tears.

He rushed to me and held me until I calmed down and could explain why I was upset. He immediately set to work helping me. Or tried to. Even with his two good hands it was a struggle.

But it was funny. Him bouncing me up and down trying to get these socks to fit. We ended up cracking up. That kind of deep, belly jiggling laughter that’s hard to reign back in.

We needed that laugh. It felt so good.

We eventually got the socks on. He tucked me into bed, kissed me goodnight and left again.

The Long, Dark Night

Alone again, the tears returned. The bargaining with Spirit continued as it had on and off since my admission on December 28 and the news of the tumor inside me.

The terror wouldn’t be quelled. I don’t know how long it was after Wayne left that a nurse came on her rounds to check on me. I was up. My pillow was drenched. She gave me more pain meds, something for my nerves and something to sleep.

Goals

Back then I didn’t dare dream of envisioning my life 10 years into the future. That seemed greedy.

I was aiming for five. When I made it, I partied all year long with Five Years in the Clear celebrations.

Then during the last big celebration, a Mediterranean cruise, I was bereft. Now what? I’ll never forget how depressed I’d felt –until it dawned on me: Aim for 10 and do it all over again.

10

And here I am. (Almost.)

December 28-31 will always hold a tender place in my heart. I had to face a lot of realities –Death, yes, but also how much life I’d let slip by.

Every day I’ve gotten since then has added up into the Extra Years. If I make it to June 2019 healthy and no recurrences, I’ll be at Ten Years in the Clear. And, me oh my the ideas I have in mind to celebrate!

It’s what’s kept me focused, hopeful, positive.

It does my soul good to revisit the terror, sorrow and loneliness from back then. Back when one life ended and a brand new one started.

Hello, Ten. I’m knocking on your door. I’m hopeful you’ll answer. I’ve got loads of adventures planned for us if you do…

But until then, I have respect for my Past and the path it set me down. Thank you for these Extra Years, Spirit. I believe I still have some promises left to keep to you…