The Lifers

Last week at chemo, I ended up sitting next to Newbie and Spunky: the three of us were all diagnosed a short time ago and are in Round One of our cancer battles.  Their treatments are bi-weekly, so I didn’t see them today.

Today, I sat with new-to-me friends: Bear, Sunny, and Vivid.  They are self-described “Lifers” in the Chemo Room.  They are all living with cancer in their bodies, and will likely get chemo for the rest of their hopefully-very-long lives.  One was diagnosed eighteen years ago; one is in “remission”–her cancer is unchanged for the past four years; one has a grand-daughter Maren’s age who has never seen her with hair.  They are undergoing “maintenance” chemo.  Chemo is keeping them alive.  They follow on protocol until it stops working, then they switch to a new cocktail.  Repeat.  Forever.

These women live life with perspective.  They are grateful for the Chemo Room, the nurses, the doctors, the treatment.  They don’t complain about the cost of gas to get to chemo (others do).  They don’t complain about the side effects (others do).  They don’t complain about having to come to chemo, forever.  They don’t complain about the weather, or politics, or anything really.  They have perspective.  Again, we laughed: we were the rowdy crew in the corner by the window.  Today I sat by the window, and the Lifers, apparently, always sit by the window: they have been here a long time and they view it as the best seat in the house.

Vivid and I are both bald.  I complimented her very-evenly-penciled-in eyebrows.  She said thank you and that the hardest part is definitely trying to make them symmetrical.  (I agree!)  She made me choke with laughter with stories about how, over the years, she has glanced in a mirror after being out-and-about and realized that she had scratched an itch and rubbed her eyebrow right off.  She has wisps of hair and does not wear a wig.  She’s the only other person I’ve met who exposes her bald head regularly.  I like her a lot.

Bear broke the rules and had her fourteen-year-old daughter, Kip, with her today.  Kip was delightful, and I let her graffiti on all of the tissue boxes near the windows.  (Her mom had said “no”, and I said, “Oh, do mine, I need something interesting to look at–I don’t think anyone will mind.”)  I think Bear was happy I gave her daughter affirmation and a project.  Bear is raising a loving, bright, mischievous daughter while living with cancer.  Go Bear!

Sunny has had a double mastectomy.  We talked about her experience with that some; she is the first person I’ve met who was open about it.  In my very early learnings about surgery, it has become very clear that reconstruction after a mastectomy is nothing like a breast augmentation (boob job).  I’d call the result of reconstruction more the illusion of breasts, rather than actual breasts.  However, all I have to do is focus on the cancer-free body, and I am thinking I am pretty darn happy about whatever is to come for me!

All of us with cancer have “bad luck” or “been dealt a poor hand” or just “what the _____?”  The Lifers look at everyone else with cancer and think, “Gosh, that would be great!”  Their situation, incurable cancer, is grave, but their attitude is hopeful.  All of them expressed a profound faith in God.  I breathed in their spirit today and felt grateful that my cancer has not metastasized and that my tumor(s) are responding to treatment.  It might sound weird, but I would be proud to carry a glimmer of their dignity and grace in the face of adversity.  I’m definitely learning some life lessons in the Chemo Room.  Thank you God.

In other good news, my cancerous lymph node has shrunk down to the point where we can’t find it during the clinical exam.  Yes!  More cancer is dead!  Dr. Wonderful and Nurse Practitioner Rockstar smile and nod through my appointment: I am progressing in the right direction.  Everyone focuses on what is happening right now, today.  Tentatively, I asked about making an appointment with Dr. Awesome, my surgeon, to start anticipating the logistics and the details of the upcoming surgery.  I was given the go-ahead to make the call and get an appointment on the calendar.  Yay!  (I’m a planner, what can I say?)  In general, no one talks about what will happen medically next month or in the winter, or next year.  I am thankful for this, it helps me to live in the moment and Do Today Well.  We assess today, we treat today, we make decisions about today.  And today, today was a good day.