<p>Wow, talk about a great attitude towards life. Living it to the fullest… You certainly won’t look back at this causing you to miss opportunities. Good luck! PS- your H’s anger shows how much he loves you and cares about you.</p>
<p>Congratulations and good luck with the interview. If it was my decision, I would hire you in a minute!</p>
<p>And I loved your scype story.</p>
<p>Sunrise, haven’t been on these boards in awhile, so a late reply.
The day of my D1 interviews with a few colleges here for Sepember '08 College Fair I was in diagnostic surgery. A friend brought her to the interviews. I came out of surgery wuth a cancer that was eventually a Stage IV due to one met. My daughter’s senior year saw me having radiation/chemo, followed by major surgery, followed by very aggressive chemo. My treatment lasted throughout my D’s Senior year. I was running marathons prior to diagnosis, and actually ran a half at the beginning of radiation. The aggressive treatment did knock me down. It was hard on my daughter because, although we have extensive support network, she was the only one at home. I am a solo parent. Her brother was in his last year of med school thousands of miles away. I remember most her brigning me small plates of perfectly arranged little bits of food. She would not talk of negative outcomes. I think the idea of being parentless was overwhelming. I made sure she had a school counselor aware and checking in with her. Her college applications and subsequent financial aid paperwork was guided by her brother over the distance. I was there, but preoccupied and so fatigued that I was afraid I’d miss something. He was amazing, patient and loving.
It’s now two years later. She is a Sophmore in a great school l and doing well. We are better able to talk about cancer. She confides that she was so afraid that I’d die she could not let the thoughts stay, thus the inability to talk. Avoidance was her way of coping in the moment. She is aware that things can change, and more able to discuss the ‘what ifs’. I am currently cancer free. Each time I go in for a PET/CAT scan I know I can be thrown back into the fight. Yet each time I get to show up for a graduation, her high school, his med school ; a wedding, my sons, and my nieces ; Christmas and birthday’s and breakfasts and hikes and the sunrise, each day I get to show up I am the happiest most greatful person. I live my life to the fullest . No one of us comes with an expiration date stamped on our foot. Hang in there and fight your fight. Embrace your life.</p>
<p>yesshecan, It is so WONDERFUL to hear from you! I am thrilled you have stared down the cancer and are enjoying the milestones we long to share. Kudos to your S for being there for his sister – it’s quite a tribute to your parenting. I’m glad your D is thriving and able to talk with you, and am thankful for the counselors and other angels along the way who kept an eye on her.</p>
<p>Yesshecan - what a great story!</p>
<p>Your S was able to guide your D through the college application process while he was in Med School thousands of miles away? Amazing, siimply amazing. Buy him a beer for me, please.</p>
<p>Sounds like you have two great kids there.</p>
<p>yesshecan,</p>
<p>thanks so much for sharing your experience. I can’t imagine going through this as a single mother. The biggest source of my support and comfort is my husband. You are 1000 times stronger than I. My hat’s off to you.</p>
<p>I completely get it when you talk about your treatment period coinciding with your D’s high school senior year. 10 minutes after I processed the information that in all likelihood I have a very late stage cancer with the highest mortality rate (though in not absolute number) that affect women, I was so relieved by two things: (a) I am the one in the family going through this, not my kids or my H, and (b), S2, who is a high school senior, already secured a full ride merit scholarship at his top choice school. Though, I was dismayed that his otherwise carefree second semester in high school should be marred with his mother going through all this.</p>
<p>S2’s scholarship was an external scholarship that took two years in the making: a lot of stratetizing and very careful long range planning. Getting the scholarship he can take to an exorbitantly expensive school required a very careful, yes, I admit, gaming strategy, which was way above the pay grade of a 15-17 year old kids (the institution that gave out the scholarship, for obvious reason, prefer much less expensive, in state schools). Especially. the last minute careful strategy this fall was very important. So, if I had started this cancer journey even three months earlier, I don’t know whether the outcome would have been so ideal.</p>
<p>So, this was very high on my list “what I am grateful” list that I put together immediately after I got the biopsy and CT scan results. </p>
<p>I also love your outlook in life. I feel the same way. Technically, they don’t use the word “cure” for my cancer. The goal is to have the maximum length of remission, and very infrequent recurrences or none. The joke is, when you finally die of something else, they say, you have been cured of this one. I am fine with that. Worst comes worst, as long as I can handle chemo and other treatment every once in umpteen years, so what? I will consider myself as a person who lives a full life with a chronic disease. I already have one: hypothyroid condition. So, how I am different from millions of other people with chronic medical conditions like diabetes, etc. Nobody thinks of them as a time bomb. </p>
<p>Of course, this disease can grow uncontrollably, but if that happens, well, it happens. I am not afraid of death for myself. In fact, there is a silver lining in this also. I have always been an agnostic when it comes to the question of whether there is something after death. Is there such an enduring entity as soul? I won’t know until I pass. If I discover that I have a soul, wow, what an amazing discovery that would be!!! If not, well, I won’t be disappointed, since I won’t know anything. I can’t lose. This is a perfect winning hand for a gambler: I win no matter what.</p>
<p>Good luck to you for decades of wonderful life.</p>
<p>I have not joined this group because I had nothing new to say but now, with your comment about “chronic illness” I can share. My husbands assistant of 20 years or so has had one form of cancer or another for about 30 years. It started with breast cancer and has gone through almost every other kind. Her body takes to chemo and radiation very well, she goes every Thursday evening for treatment, misses Friday, and recovers for work on Monday. She started with this disease praying to see her son graduate high school. She has seen two college graduations, a wedding, and is soon to be a grandmother. Her optimism is beyond belief.</p>
<p>For some cancer has become a chronic disease that they can live with for years, like diabetes. Here’s hoping the best for sunriseeast and yesshecan.</p>
<p>Yesshecan & Sunrise,
Please keep posting. You both are inspirational. (from a long time Ca ‘survivor’)</p>
<p>Sunrise,
In the cancer arena there is no’stronger than’,just strength in our own battle. You seem pretty amazing to me, I’m not sure I could have thrown in a job interview,distance traveling or not . Your sense of humor mad insights are appreciated . Thanks for sharing these slices of your life.
In many ways you are already winning.No matter what. And may you also have the many decades to continue to enjoy your great adventure.
Dadinator, yes, son was pretty amazing. I’m greatful both kids were able to be present in ways that were needed.
S wedding was across the country four weeks after chemo, three weeks after surgery to remove damaged eye (chemo related, exacerbated old issue). I had a great wig and amazing prosthetic eye. I danced a lot, drank a little and laughed until the wee hours of the AM. He chose a bluesy/ jazzy ‘You Are My Sunshine’ for the mother/son dance. It is a song I sang to the kids when they were little, so I connected it to that . It didn’t hit me until we were dancing to listen to the lyrics. There wasn’t a dry eye at the wedding.
Enjoy the day. </p>
<p>“And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.” Beatles</p>
<p>yesshecan</p>
<p>The description of your son’s wedding touched me very much. You and I, let’s make a pack. We will outlive all the healthy doom and gloom souls!!! (there are those around, you know)</p>
<p>Its a deal!</p>
<p>One thing that I did not intend to learn or anticipated learning about after my diagnosis was people’s reaction.</p>
<p>There are those friends and acquaintances I thought I was not particularly close to or did not even know well enough but came forth with generosity of their heart and most amazing kindness. Then there are those who I thought would come rooting for me who remain oddly silent the moment they heard about my condition other than a short oneliner. Last, but not the least, there are those who I knew would become my big cheerleader who ended up exceeding even the wildest expectation by a mile long margin. </p>
<p>In net, I realize that I am getting so much more support than I deserve, and I am grateful. Those who went missing in action - well, I think, to a certain degree, it’s their loss, not because I have any sinister plan for them as a result of their callousness, but because I am starting to realize how much genuine satisfaction some of my generous and kind friends were drawing from the knowledge that they are able to provide support and help when I am most vulnerable and when I need it most. </p>
<p>Those missing in action lost the opportunity to get that sense of being genuinely selfless. In this sense, I also owe - their absence became a reminder of what not to do. When there is an opportunity for me to be supportive and kind in moments of vulnerability on the part of friends, I won’t miss the opportunity to redeem my otherwise mundane existence full of petty and self centered pursuits. </p>
<p>After all, other than those who devote their lives to help and support others selflessly, how often do we, the mere mortals, flawed in many ways and busy with our life, work, and family, get the opportunity to have our innate, and often dormant, goodness profoundly affirmed in this manner? </p>
<p>My feelings towards those missing in action is more in the line of anthropological and academic curiosity. I would love to be able to analyze their psyche. Maybe they are uncomfortable dealing with “CANCER”, maybe they think I am falling apart, and too afraid to see me. I think this probably covers most of it. However, there are also people who were always very good at being on the receiving end of the equation but never equipped to being on the giving end. I think this is the case for a friend (I call her friend) who started off as a nanny for my two kids. I owe her a debt of gratitude for life in that she took care of my kids literally as if they were her own (for 14 years!!!). As a parent, this is a debt I don’t think I will ever be able to repay, notwithstanding the fact that she was doing it on my payroll. The relationship blossomed in such a way that she became a quasi member of my family, and we did things for her and her family WAY, WAY, WAY beyond what a concerned employer would do, financially, emotionally, and in all other ways.</p>
<p>She went AWOL since my diagnosis. S1 is particularly disappointed and hurt. The other day, I had a conversation with him about this. I told him “XXX has already earned her stripes, in that when I needed her most, that is, when you two were growing up and needed somebody there while I was working, she did it better than anybody I could possibly think of. Nothing she does or does not do now can negate that. Everything else is a secondary issue for me”. I believe S1 is still hurt, probably out of his protectiveness of me - lately he became very protective of me…</p>
<p>Sunrise - It is interesting how so many of your experiences are similar to ones I had. I was pleasantly surprised at the number of people who rose to the occasion when I needed them. My son’s school actually started a caring committee to help those in need. They would post my therapy schedule in the school store and those parents who could drive me to or from therapy would sign up on the schedule. My therapy was 3x per week for almost a year. I had my regulars and my one-timers. Some are still friends 11 years later. Many would bring dinner for my family when they came to pick me up. I ended up tirelessly volunteering at his school until he graduated.</p>
<p>There were those who were uncomfortable being around me, seeing the disability only. Those people are no longer in my life. They are part of my before surgery life.</p>
<p>Just try not to be too hard on the AWOL folks. Lots of people out there have friends or family who didn’t win the battle; those who are AWOL may feel that they can’t contribute any positive or optimistic thoughts at this time. Their journey with a loved one may be so raw that they just don’t feel they can go on the journey again. And if someone fears they will be negative, you really don’t want them to make the journey with you, do you? </p>
<p>There are people who are afraid they will say all the wrong things who really DO say all the wrong things!</p>
<p>I’ve noticed the same thing. I am driving a friend to chemo once a week. Before she asked on facebook for driving help I was more of an acquaintance. I’m surprised that she doesn’t have closer friends who have stepped up but I speculate that because we aren’t such dear friends I can handle it better. Anyway, since I am self employed I am available on Tuesdays which is difficult for many working people. I’ve enjoyed getting to know her better and thinking about someone beside myself for a change is a good thing.</p>
<p>Actually, I have no hard feelings for those missing in action. I don’t take anybody’s good will for granted (I don’t feel that they owe me anything), nor do I feel that I am entitled. Whatever good will I get is all bonus and icing on the cake. I am grateful, and that’s that. </p>
<p>It’s a matter of anthropological curiosity on my part. None of those in this category for me has/had any members of their own family with medical issues. So, it cannot be because of traumatic experience they went through. I think they are uncomfortable dealing with this disease. Or they think I will fall apart in their presence and they won’t know how to deal with it. Either way, it’s OK. When I am better, I will let them know that, and we can reconnect then. No problem. </p>
<p>Now that I think of it, there is a lot of loaded emotion associated with cancer. One could easily think of other diseases with even graver implications and somehow people don’t react the same way emotionally. For instance, someone with a chronic serious heart condition won’t use the word “Big H”. Yet, we have this “big C” lingo. very interesting. If anything, many types of cancer, discovered early, have excellent prognosis for a complete cure with no recurrence (OK, mine does not fall into this category). With these types of cancer, once you are done with chemo, that’s it: you go on and enjoy your life. On the other hand, serious diabetes will require constant care, and then there are other kinds of medical issues that won’t let you have a normal life.</p>
<p>As for me, I am prepared to consider my condition a chronic disease, and if I have to go through chemo once every few years (recurrence), so what? In between, I get to enjoy life the normal way. If this shortens my life expectancy, well, that’s life too: people end up shortening their life expectancy for all sorts of reasons, many as a result of their own unhealthy life style. </p>
<p>Any way, another chemo week with no side effects! I started to wonder whether they were giving me chemo drugs that expired, and then I saw the white blood count tanking and hair starting to fall out. So, after all, I am getting the real McCoy :)</p>
<p>You can never really know what other people are thinking. When a relative had a serious cancer with treatment like yours, we really wanted to help. We called a number of times asking what can we do, can we babysit etc. (my own d was small and theirs was just a bit older). Our offers were not accepted, and in our minds we said that they did not prefer our help - which was fine. They got what they needed I suspect from others who were closer or hired help or whatever. After that I have to say that I am not so quick to offer help in general, but when a coworker became ill after that, I said, please call me if you need me; I said I felt awkward calling to see how this or that went, and that I would be happy to help in anyway that I could, also for babysitting or whatever. I am not sure if I seemed reluctant or insincere, because I tried hard to convey that I really meant it. I think she had enough help, and she did not need me. Now that she is fairly well recuperated, I have heard from her again. I just did not feel comfortable intruding with how are you doing etc. even though we thought about her all the time. If someone asks for help, I would try my best to do it, but this is the easy case.</p>
<p>Sending you best wishes on your treatment and recovery.</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>I think this is at the the heart of what keeps some people away. I always offer help and if it’s a good friend (meaning someone I would normally talk to every week or so) I would be calling frequently. But if it’s someone who is more of an acquaintance, I would be reluctant to call repeatedly. Mainly because of my own personal experience with surgery and extended illnesses over the years. It can be quite tiring to have to explain your health status over and over again. And at times, I came to regret confiding in so many people. So I am now more likely to offer help, stress they can call me anytime but I’m not going to bug them either. Some people need peace and solitude to heal, others need to be surrounded by friends and family. It’s really a matter of personal choice and many times people think about how they would want people to respond if they were in that situation and then they act accordingly. So if someone is the type of person who doesn’t generally want help or would prefer to be private about the matter, then they may be reluctant to intrude when someone else is dealing with a major illness. Just my thoughts looking at it from another perspective.</p>
<p>Sunriseeast - you are an inspiration to us all. Please keep posting. I can only hope I will respond the way you are if I’m ever faced with such a serious illness. Keep it up!</p>
<p>
Please keep in mind that some of those “missing” may be dealing with their own personal life problems and simply are not able to deal with the enormity of your illness at this time. </p>
<p>Of course I don’t know those people – but sometimes people just don’t have the ability to offer help because they already are overwhelmed. They may be reluctant to offer for fear that you will actually ask for assistance, when there simply does not seem to be room in their day for yet another item on their to-do list. </p>
<p>My suggestion: accept the help and support you are offered from old friends and new with gratitude and open arms, and don’t worry about those who are not able to give right now. This simply is not the right time for them – perhaps there will be a time in the future when things will change, perhaps not. But don’t waste too much effort wondering.</p>
<p>since we are starting to talk about those missing in action… Actually, the people I have in mind were those who were on the receiving end of my generosity for years and years - the same people who all these years stressed that if there is anything they can do for me in case I need them, they will always be there, and a VERY CLOSE relative (my brother to be exact). They completely disappeared from the face of this earth (not even email or phone call) the moment they heard about this…</p>
<p>I must confess - I think I was doing “the lady doth protest too much” routine when I tried to convince myself over and over again that this does not matter. Yes, it does hurt, especially my brother… Especially given that he is the ONLY one on my side of the family I told about my condition. My husband’s side of the family came roaring in my support. My brother in law (actually, husband of my husband’s sister) was ready to fly from overseas to do whatever is needed to be done. We had to work hard to convince him that that’s not really necessary. </p>
<p>I couldn’t possibly let my parents know. My mother is simply emotionally unable to deal with this. Ever since I was 20, I have been the emotional bedrock for her - it’s been a 100% one way relationship, as in, me emotionally propping her up all the time. Even in my current condition, I never missed a twice-three times weekly call to her to hear her talking out loud about her issues and being a psychologist, daughter, a supporter and a cheerleader for her. Just yesterday, she was feeling down, and I spent a good hour cheering her up. The call ended with her saying, how she will be completely lost without me. If she ever hears about my condition, I will have to call her once a day reassuring her, consoling her, telling her why I will be just fine over and over and over again. Even that won’t be sufficient. I simply can’t deal with it right now. She is 80 years old. If she knows what’s going on, she will live what remaining years of hers being mortally fearful of what will happen to me, and what will happen to her if I am gone.</p>
<p>Those of you who feels compelled to advise me otherwise, please trust me when I tell you I know what I am talking about - based on decades of observation. When her daughter in law was sick, she was so depressed, the rest of the family had to come rallying behind her, and as a result, collectively, there was not much emotional energy left in the family for the actual patient (including my brother, the husband of the patient). </p>
<p>My mother is a wonderful and warm person, and I love her to death - but she is much better as a dependent than someone on whom others depend. So, I only shared my news with my brother, and he has gone completely missing in action - not a pip to be heard from him. He has never been there for me all these years, so I did not expect much, but still… Yes, I am saddened by this. But, if I have to choose between the word’s best husband and the perfect brother, you know what I would choose. I am still a VERY fortunate person. I truly believe that this disease is a blessing in disguise for me, and am convinced that 2011 will be the best year ever for me. AND, so many people have been so generous and kind, I can’t believe it, since I genuinely believe that I have not done anything to deserve that level support.</p>