<p>Good morning, sunrise. Your posts this week have been an inspiration. Best of luck tomorrow, and may you continue to avoid the side effects.</p>
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<p>YES! I am completely analytical and prefer to analyze all aspects of any situation before moving on to the emotions. I knew i liked you 
And macabre jokes all the way, others might think our family is twisted, but there have been a plethora of ovary jokes this year, including Christmas joke gifts.</p>
<p>Yep. I have to be very careful about what I say in these situations, because finding humor is often my second response to difficulties. My perspective is not always understood or appreciated, so I save it and entertain myself and the few who get it. So glad your husband is one who gets it.</p>
<p>And I find emotion dumping to be neither helpful nor cathartic. I’m glad others do and that there is a safe place for them to do it.</p>
<p>The year before my aunt died of breast cancer (which she had been fighting for over a decade), I went to visit her and my Grandmother (who was living with them at the time.) Uncharacteristically, my vivacious and chin-up aunt did not greet me at the door. When I asked where she was, my grandmother told me, “She’s staying in her room this afternoon. This is how she prefers to handle her darker moments, and she doesn’t want to be disturbed.”</p>
<p>These times were rare, but I now understand that she was fighting her dragons during those dark solitary afternoons, and she didn’t want an audience. I have immense respect for her choice and am glad we had the wisdom to let her cope with her illness, particularly near the end, in the way she wanted.</p>
<p>Support groups are interesting, my Dad had prostate cancer and went to the local support group for at least 10-15 years after he was cancer free. He enjoyed offering support to others and was good at it plus he was just medically interested in the stories.</p>
<p>My Mum never wanted to talk to anyone about her cancer.</p>
<p>CC is rather an intellectual college support group isn’t it?! Probably more of us here tend toward the analytical rather than emotional support.</p>
<p>Definitely different strokes for different strokes! Something else- some noncancerous conditions are equally life shortening and debilitating. They often don’t get the consideration they deserve because people don’t understand how anything can be worse than cancer (it can). Just the physician in me reminding us.</p>
<p>I wish some of you and I lived in the same town, or even area- I would love a rollicking intellectual group to interact with in person. There is so much more to being likeminded than sharing a disease, subset criteria to meet to want to be involved in a support group.</p>
<p>Wow- how you handled the presentation of the major family lifestyle change. Impressive. </p>
<p>I wish I could have discussed my melanoma when I got it- wasn’t aware of CC then… I anm also lucky to have a med school friend who knows the subject and can listen even though her cancer is so much worse in theory (now just a nuisance for decreased frequency scans and such). The book I just finished was not only interesting and informative, but made me reflect on several occasions. Good for an intellectual book discussion of so many topics.</p>
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<p>Yup. That’s what I’m doing. There are a whole lot of people out there who are now living with cancer as a chronic condition as treatments improve. When I was diagnosed, they told me 3-5 years if I didn’t respond to Interferon (and only 20% did; I was lucky I had a an excellent response for two years). Now I’m on a drug that has yet to establish a median survival rate because more than 75% are still alive, 12 years out. Very good news. </p>
<p>My goal is also to stay one step ahead of the game – for me, that is not taking the latest-greatest drug unless it’s medically necessary. I want that extra ammo in my back pocket in case the ol’ Gleevec ever quits working.</p>
<p>sunrise, I felt like I killed my kids’ childhood when we told them I was ill. But it wasn’t really that way at all. We kept on living life as we always have, and that included driving and camping cross country while schlepping refrigerated Interferon and giving myself injections every night. I told them when I felt crappy, told then when I felt good, and didn’t limit their choices in life because of my energy/health. You’d be amazed at how many people were stunned that I’d let them attend a HS that represented significant logistical considerations for us or to even “go away” to college. What, they should sit by my side, hold my hand and wait for me to die? No thanks. I have things to do. So do they.</p>
<p>Where, oh where is Epistrophy? sunrise, you’d really like his perspective.</p>
<p>I dont attend a physical support group but I do on line. It has its good points but also bad ones too. When someone has a concerning test or not good result it can be draining and devastating. the good thing is you can pull back. What I have found is that they understand the issues surrounding treatment, and someone has always had the side effect or a suggestion. Sometimes the docs look at you like you are an alien when you experience symptoms beyond what they expect. We also post the latest research, studies etc… People dont sit around and cry because Iam sure the media doesnt allow for it. but sometimes people vent. mostly its just encouragement and information. I firmly believe in life but especially at a time of crisis, to do what speaks to you . One size does not fit all.</p>
<p>I do appreciate when talking with a support group, or IMHO, even better a forum, both re: my surgery last year and re: my Mum’s difficult to treat issue (over the past 10 years) that impacts life greatly, I get way more ideas as to how to deal with issues, avoid pitfalls, solve problems, think of questions, and make connections from a large group of others who have gone through it than from the physician. </p>
<p>Heck, he is one guy, how can he take the time to go over hundreds of possible connections, but reading the anecdotes of others has helped me to improve day to day life in many situations, not a cure, but an improvement in the way she/I felt on a daily basis. Not sure I would want to do that in person, no crying and all that, but to read it all on the forum has been quite educational for me.</p>
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<p>I am in total and complete agreement. </p>
<p>SRE, I so respect your approach of laying everything out there regarding your condition. People have to do what they think is best but after watching a number of family members maneuver around disclosing their cancer diagnoses and treatment I have come to the conclusion that not being straightforward adds additional stress to what is already a tough situation. </p>
<p>Like everyone else on this board I wish you as easy a course of chemo as possible and a clean bill of health in the very near future. I think of you daily and hope that you are doing well.</p>
<p>Funny about the writing a book. I am actually a published author - in a different language, my mother tongue. The book was about the business culture - I published it while I was commuting between NJ and Far East Asia twice a month (nobody is ever allowed to complain about their commuting problems in my presence, EVER!!!). </p>
<p>English is not my first language. It’s the langue of my academic education (starting with the graduate school - that’s when I came to USA by myself), and the language I speak with my husband and two kids. Given that both my husband and I grew up speaking different languages, it’s English that is common to us all. </p>
<p>I love to play with words. Sometimes, I read books for the sheer pleasure of reading wonderfully written prose, even if the story line may be crappy. Dorothy Sayers - what a pleasure to read (though she is an anti semite - all three men in my life, H, S1, S2 are Jews). There are times when I am really dismayed by a popular best seller because of the lack of the highest quality writing, even though the plot and the story line may be scintillating and titillating. </p>
<p>Odd hobby for a statistician working in high tech, heh???</p>
<p>(PS. I am setting up a blog collecting all the writings I have done on the Big C last 5-6 weeks. A lot of what I posted on this thread will be ported there. I figured it’s a way for my friends to find out how I am doing without the awkwardness of asking me about it. Though I don’t mind, some people seem afraid to ask.)</p>
<p>Wow, after reading what you wrote, it doesn’t surprise me that you’re a writer, only that it’s not your native tongue. (As my FIL says, I never had an accent until I came to this country)
Its been amazing reading your comments from diagnosis to now. Your positive attitude comes shining through- I love the humor, especially sometimes the impulsive black humor as there’s so much truth in it. I always check to see if there’s an update from you and I’m always glad to see the good things. I’m sure there will be bad days ahead but I hope all of this is just a giant bump in your road of life.</p>
<p>I read your initial post when it first came up, and I am glad to hear of your good spirits and good results thus far. You have a fabulous attitude, and if you can figure out how to package that and transfer it to others you will be the next “Deepak Chopra” if you know what I mean. I will look forward to seeing you a talk show, and then having your own talk show (should you so decide.) I can’t believe that English is not your first language (but I do believe it); you write so well.</p>
<p>Wishing you all the best in your treatment, your life, and that of your family.</p>
<p>Today is exactly one month after my surgery, and I feel that was a decade ago. So much happened since then. And, I am feeling SO much better. </p>
<p>I was looking through some of the writings I have done last 5-6 weeks, I found the following entry on the day when the biopsy and CT scan results came out. That was the darkest day of my journey. Reading this as an outsider looking in, I wish I had a time machine to go back in time. I would hold her hand and tell her things will turn out fine. There is an eerie sense that that woman is me but at the same time not me. There are tens of thousands of doppelgangers of me, each frozen in her own time. That timelessness entitles them a status of their own - free of my master control. Reading this journal entry, I had an aching sense of pity. If I could, I would like to hold her and let some of her angst flow through me.</p>
<p>********** Dec 6/2010 *****************</p>
<p>I picked up my husband in the train station this evening. Told him about the CT scan that showed things in the liver. This make it stage 4, and there is no stage 5.</p>
<p>I thought I processed the most raw emotions during the day. I thought I would be more composed when I picked him up. I was wrong.</p>
<p>I cried all the way home, and parked the car on the street for a while because I needed to compose myself in case Jon sees me in the family room when I enter through the garage. I am keeping this quiet from the kids yet. Daniel is coming home from college on Saturday, and we plan to have a nice dinner out and discuss this in the evening together as a family.</p>
<p>I don’t know when was the last time I cried so hard. It was not one of those dainty, romantic, and elegant sobs of a movie heroine. It was a loud and painful cry. Almost primeval. It was not a cry about my potential demise or a fear of disease. It’s not even about me. I am not afraid of death for myself, not because I have nothing to live for, but because I believe death is easy on the dying. The pain is for those left behind. </p>
<p>My cry was mostly about my husband. One promise I made him when we got married was that I will sit next to him when his time comes and hold his hand, that I will give him this comfort. I am far from being a perfect wife, but I have always thought that this is one promise I could confidently fulfill. The thought of not fulfilling that promise is unbearable. The thought of becoming a mill stone around his neck instead is beyond despair. He gave up a lot to be with me, and I would hate to see him cheated out of one promise I made to him, and one promise I thought I was perfectly capable of delivering on.</p>
<p>He, as usual, is unbelievably gentle and supportive. I have always thought that if we were to part, the blame would be on me because he has always been the text book example of what a supportive spouse should be. Meanwhile, I am a wife from Mars - that sums it up for our relationship: a husband from Venus and a wife from Mars. </p>
<p>After a while we walked through the door. Jon was watching TV, blissfully ignorant of all this. In five days, there will be an entirely different reality for him, when he learns about what is going on. The veneer of normalcy is disorienting ---- and precarious.</p>
<p>SRE - Wow! So, powerful. I have no words to express my feelings about your writing. None seem adequate.</p>
<p>sunrise - Thank you for sharing your 12/6 entry. It is so moving. You are an impressive writer. Your words are meaningful and very helpful to others. I hope you are doing well this weekend.</p>
<p>These are things I think and cant express. I dont tell people these things. I think your writing would be so helpful for so many. I do want a signed copy of the book.(of course I will pay)
I do find people dont want to discuss it with you . It is over for them. but sometimes it is really beginning for you because you have been so caught up in treatment. 'Then you start to process. and part of getting sick no matter what it is, is that alone feeling. These words make me feel that someone gets it. It might also be informational for caregivers and friends to understand what you are going through. See Sunrise we have plans for you , so you are not going anywhere and we are already keeping you busy!!!</p>
<p>I recently met a woman who is a therapist who specializes in working with people who are recovering from cancer treatment. She works with them as they process all the changes in their lives and the journey as a whole. I believe she was a nurse before becoming a psychotherapist.</p>
<p>Chemo week 2: still no side effects so far. But too early to tell if I am going to get away scott free again. So far no need for anti nausea medication.</p>
<p>A very good friend of mine accompanied me to this chemo. It’s not easy for my H to take every Friday off. She said: I am your driver today. I said, “No you are my chaperon. You should see me flirt with everyone and anyone shamelessly, regardless of the gender and age: doctors, nurses, aides - everyone”. I intend to win a beauty pageant for cancer patients. Gotta charm all the judges and audience alike from the day one.</p>
<p>Humor aside, I intend to become the most lovable patient. I read once an article written by an evolutionary anthropologist. The author was discussing the survival value of a baby’s smile. In a resource strapped community, a baby who smiles early and often is likely to be cared for better and given more of the finite resources, and hence will survive to the adulthood to pass down his/her traits to the next generation. Hummmmm, so there is really nothing innocent about angelic smiles of a baby… </p>
<p>So, extrapolating this to those stricken with serious disease, I would like to believe that there is a survival value of being a likable patient. I would like to make it as rewarding as it can be for those around me to care for me. With the medical staff, their professionalism won’t allow them to treat grumpy patients any worse, but for a patient who makes it so rewarding for them, their positive energy around that patient has to be a good thing. I do believe there is such a thing as a mind over body, and it’s not just MY mind over MY body, but also minds of those around me over my body. With friends and family members, my motive is a bit less opportunistic. I am genuinely grateful for their attention and care, and the least I can do is to make it rewarding for them.</p>
<p>sunrise - So good to hear “chemo week 2” went well. I agree that there will be benefits to being a likeable patient. Being “likeable” is hard to resist. If you keep smiling, being positive, and being likeable, your medical staff, friends, and family will have no choice but to remain positive around you. Best wishes for a good week!</p>