<p>I am laughing and crying as I read your essays. You write so eloquently that I can almost hear you telling me your story in person! </p>
<p>If this agent isn’t excited about your work, please keep looking. There are many people who will be positively moved after reading your essays!</p>
<p>Sunrise, I’m buying your book.</p>
<p>When can we pre-order on Amazon?</p>
<p>Actually, I think you can self-publish on Amazon Kindle. If you don’t find an agent willing to work with you (but I can’t imagine this will be the case) then this might be an alternate route.</p>
<p>Another early journal entry from what feels like eon’s ago. It will be part of the book project.</p>
<hr>
<p>Cosmic Score Keeper</p>
<p>I had a six week post op consultation with my doctor. All is good. He thinks I am doing very well yeah, like I did not know, but its good to have it confirmed. I finally asked him the question of staging of my cancer. Right after the surgery, he said extensively metastatic and advanced but did not go into the actual staging statement. Maybe he did, and I was too out of it to pay attention. The origin of my cancer was ambiguous: ovary or uterus. I knew it would be at least stage 3C if the final diagnosis was ovarian in origin. It could be stage 4 if it is the uterus. </p>
<p>The last time I was in his office to have the surgical staples removed was the day after I had a really dark, macabre time performing an act of self flagellation by doing mortality statistics analysis with grim perseverance of a world class masochist and resolute thoroughness of a trained researcher. So, I was really not in a mood to delve into the subject matter.</p>
<p>Today, I pressed him, and he said his clinical assessment is that of the uterine origin and its stage 4B. There is no 4C, and there is no stage 5. So, this makes it as advanced as it goes. He was quick to point out that the prognosis and treatment are about the same. He also stressed that the overall statistics dont really matter since how my body handles the disease is a much more important variable to determine my prognosis, and all indications are I am doing as well as anybody could possibly expect. He declared those statistics you read are not for you.</p>
<p>Yes, I know all this. Probably better than he does. Statistics this is my field after all. Deviation from the norm, an outlier and all that. In fact, this is how I debriefed my kids, carefully building an air tight case why their mother is not going to fall smack in the middle of the statistical curve. That, their mother will end up at the far right end of the curve - an extreme outlier. Still, even if the odds and prognosis were the same, I wanted to avoid the stage 4B label. There was part of me hoping and hoping that perhaps my cancer did not go all the way, perhaps it’s shy short of that. No, nothing really changed between yesterday and today. Yet, the phrase stage 4B is not easy to swallow. There is no way to spit it back out, so I tried to hold it under my tongue like a bitter pill. But, the longer it stays there, the bitter and bigger it grows. </p>
<p>After I left his office, I sat in my car for a few minutes. I thought I might cry, but it did not happen. It did not surprise me. When faced with a severely distressing situation, I tend to have an automatic shut down of any emotional reaction. It comes later. I turned the ignition on. Where to now? Home? I decided to head to the mall instead. It was snowing again in New Jersey, and a mall is a good place to take a walk. I read that other than the usual factors such as a successful surgery and chemo, the single most important factor for a good prognosis is exercise. So, exercise I must. I spent a good portion of my walk in the mall crying. If anybody had been paying attention to me, I must have appeared a bit unhinged - a middle aged woman walking with a determined air of purposefulness while sniffling and sniveling.</p>
<p>I must confess, for about a nano second, I did wonder why me? I have lived such a healthy life! But then again, I thought, why not me? In fact, if there is a Cosmic Score Keeper whose mission is to keep everyones fate a fair and balanced deal, he would realize very fast how I have been given all the advantages in life and how unfairly fortunate I have been all these decades. Even with this disease, I have been favored by fate and fortune, and I have been given a winning hand to handle this condition with maximum odds of success while so many women have to struggle with both hands tied in the back. So, better not tip the Cosmic Score Keeper off of his mistake by letting my complaint about my current situation draw his attention to my ledger. He may feel compelled to “redress” the balance. No need to tempt fate. </p>
<p>Tonight, I will swallow the bitter pill under my tongue before it grows too big and suffocates me. I have faith in my ability to digest it and metabolize it. Tomorrow, I will claw my way back from the abyss. Tomorrow, I will walk twice as fast, twice as long.</p>
<p>Another essays that will be included in my book project. It was written the night before my post treatment consultation.</p>
<hr>
<p>The Judgment Day</p>
<p>According to some fanatics, Rapture was supposed to take place last Sunday. Obviously, it did not happen, and all the sinners can now merrily continue to sin as their judgment day is far off and there will be time to repent at the last minute and be saved. I am not so lucky. Tomorrow is my judgment day. My last chemo infusion was a couple of weeks back followed by a PET scan a few days ago. Tomorrow, I will have a consultation with Dr. S, and find out whether I am in remission or not. I noticed he is not the kind of doctor who will call the patients the moment tests or scan results are available. I see the logic behind this practice. An alarming finding might be better discussed in person with ample room for clarification that will lessen the anxiety of the patient. Given how extensively metastatic my cancer was at the time of the initial diagnosis, and the suboptimal surgery outcome with a tumor the size of a big lime left behind which did not shrink in the mid chemo CT scan, odds are not in my favor. Based on everything I read and researched, a betting man should bet on some form of continuing treatment with 9 to 1 odds. </p>
<p>I have been thinking about what I would end up dealing with when Dr. S. walks into the room to tell me what he learned. Here are possible scenarios. The best scenario is, I am declared in remission. I now join the civilian population. Instead of being a cancer patient, I become a mental patient, perpetually paranoid about every single odd sensation and wondering whether this is a sign of recurrence or not.</p>
<p>The next scenario is, there is no evidence of disease progress, but the solid mass tumor is still there. I will need a further treatment. Either surgical removal of the remainder, if it is possible, or a radiation therapy. In the case of the former the surgery, I join the rank of the recidivists, the hardened cases who could not reform their way out in the civilized world and had to be hauled back to the ward for further reeducation. I hear human mind can get used to anything short of a truly exceptional calamity. I wonder whether that will apply to me. May I will even get to savor the hospital food. In the case of the latter the radiation therapy, its daily entertainment for 4-7 weeks. I hear its a lot of fun. I finally get to experience the full repertoire of cancer arsenals: cutting & sewing, poisoning and now burning. They give weekends off though. Yay, I still have time to solve the world hunger problem even with my busy schedule of continuing personal improvement.</p>
<p>The final scenario would make me stand out among my distinguished fellow classmates. It is a case of disease progression while on chemo. Though it is fairly rare for chemo virgins, the patients going through the front line therapy (the first chemo treatment), it does happen. Hey, I emerged as a triumphant stage 4 cancer patient in short seven months from a perfectly clean annual physical and gynecological exam. I have shown an ample potential for being truly exceptional in so many ways, so why stop now? Actually, to be honest, they call women who develop ovarian/uterine cancer with no known family history and/or genetic predisposition sporadic cases. I prefer exceptional it makes me feel special. </p>
<p>Even though all the indications are, chemo seemed to work for me so far based on the mid chemo scan and blood work results since then, there is no guarantee that I can avoid this scenario. There are cases of women for whom chemo initially worked but became ineffective during the later treatment phase. The possible explanation is, the initial chemo killed all the cancer cells that are sensitive to the chemo drugs, and cleared the field for a different line of cancer cells that are resistant to chemo to flourish to live long and prosper, as Tuvoc would say! </p>
<p>If this is the case, it is truly alarming. No kidding. We now start a game of treasure hunt except, unlike the usual variety of treasure hunt, there is no guarantee that there is a treasure hidden somewhere. The most powerful and effective combination of drugs is no longer working, so we start a random search of a new combination of drugs that might work for me and try them and see if they work. If not, repeat. I will finally know what it feels like to be a woman with a very odd body shape who cant find the right outfit no matter what she tries on in a fashionable boutique. </p>
<p>The odds are, patients in this situation tend not to stay in remission long even if they manage to find drugs that work. Now, we are talking about a full time occupation as a chronic cancer patient, that is, if I am lucky, because it could very well be a very short stint. Not that I think thats the end of the world. There are much worse fates than accumulating frequent visitor mileage points in an oncology wing. If I get enough points, do I get a few free chemos? Or, have 20 chemos and get 5 radiation free? I wonder when they are going to start a promotion. How about a Valentine special? A romantic candle lit dinner for two accompanied by a delicious cocktail of Carboplatin, Taxol, and Avastin! For those whose passion for each other cooled over the years, we will rekindle and reignite that passion with a radiation torch!</p>
<p>Everybodys coping mechanism is different. Mine is detachment and black humor. Oh, I do examine my emotions and try to reflect on my innermost sentiments. But, that luxury is usually reserved for after the crisis is over. I cannot afford to be swept up by my emotion when I am in a crisis management mode. This is how I have been operating last few days. Truthfully, I am scared. Have been scared since I had the scan. If indeed my disease had been progressing last couple of months while I was on chemo, the implications can be pretty dire. I coped by mapping out all the contingency plans for each scenario. What would I do under each circumstance? What are my options and what are the factors affecting my decision? What needs to be done fast, and what can wait?</p>
<p>I spent most time carefully mapping out all possible actions and plans for the third scenario that my cancer progressed while I was on chemo. Realistically, I think the most likely scenario is the one of continuing treatment for the stragglers. However, the potential ramifications are most severe for the third scenario. As such, it deserves most attention and research. In this scenario, I do not want to waste any time in my doctors office, too dazed and stupefied to have an intelligent conversation about the next course of action. I need to fully engage him immediately. My doctor is the expert, but in the end, I have the final say on what is being done to me. In order to earn the right to be the final decision maker, I had to learn as much as possible about my options. I have done my research, and compiled a list of questions for all potential courses of actions Dr. S. might suggest. I have a flow chart mapped out in my head. By the end of the consultation meeting, I will leave with a clear plan for the next move, which will be executed immediately. I do not want to waste time mulling over my options, and give my cancer a nice long break to continue its territorial conquest unopposed. </p>
<p>I went through all scenarios, contingency plans, and options so many times over and over and over again in my head last few days, the worst scenario lost its shock value. This is precisely the point. There is something to be said about objectifying one own crisis. A clinical detachment helps. My husband will accompany me tomorrow to the doctors office. Though functionally speaking, I am entirely capable of conducting a solo performance, it will be nice to have him with me, both to celebrate with if it is a good news, and to lean on if its a bad news. I went through all the scenarios with him multiple times. It helps me to articulate and pre-digest the worst possible scenario with him. A rehearsal is great. A rehearsal with audience, even better. It also helps him be emotionally prepared just in case. He is not just a by stander. He will be affected as much as I, maybe perhaps more than I, by this. I want to spare him the shock. </p>
<p>Its 2 AM, and I am wide awake … I remember reading a post on the Internet forum for ovarian/uterine cancer patients. The poster was devastated when she found a note the morning after her cancer diagnosis left by her husband. It read, Life is too short, and I dont want to live next few years in pain and anguish. He sailed off to Bahamas in his boat they lived on the shore in Florida. Well, so far, my husband proved to be remarkably dependable and supportive all throughout this. I couldnt have asked for better and more supportive partner. I know he will stand by me and comfort me if the worst scenario materializes. Wait, did I notice that furtive gaze of his last time we were taking a walk in the marine park near home? Bahamas is far off, but Bermuda is a relatively short distance from the Jersey Shore …</p>
<p>sunriseeast–sheer genius! We are so lucky to have previews of your book, which should be a bestseller and inspiration to all!</p>
<p>sunrise, have I seen this one before? It looks familiar. Still excellent, btw. :)</p>
<p>dougbetsy,</p>
<p>a much short version may have been posted before. When I was not thinking about the possibility of writing a book, I posted much shorter versions on this forum, not the full, stylized essays.</p>
<p>by the way, for those who have not followed this thread, and wonder what happened (am I in remission or not), here is the addendum to this essay that will be included in the book project.</p>
<hr>
<p>Fast forward – a day after. I am declared in remission! The scan is clear. The tumor that did not shrink in the mid chemo scan disappeared without a trace. Dr. S. almost smiled when I told him “Today, you look almost handsome!” I wonder which one is a more momentous achievement on my part – that I got into remission so handily given where I started, or that I made him smile. I think it’s the latter. I bet many women in his care go into remission, but I doubt anyone made him smile. Dr. S is a scary looking dude who hardly ever smiles let alone laugh. My next goal is to make him laugh. I have the feeling that this will be quite a challenge and may take years of scheming and practice to accomplish. That’s OK. I am patient, and I intend to hang around long enough to accomplish this mission.</p>
<p>Very very happy for you and yours today, Sunrise East. </p>
<p>Please get out and enjoy August 2011 in a new way with some of the worry released. Thank you for posting and please keep doing so!</p>
<p>I sent my book project to a literary agent. First rejection. I am not surprised at all. Their reason was exactly what I thought would be the case: without a “platform” that will be a spark for instant attention and interest, they don’t think this book will stand out among so many books about cancer. </p>
<p>Later, it was explained to me that “platform” means, something like a celebrity status, a name recognition, like the Jersey Shore female character who managed to publish a book this summer on how to win a guy, something like that. </p>
<p>I will try a few more agents. If I don’t find any takers, I will just self publish it as an eBook. I never meant to earn a living with this. A collection of my thoughts that I can share with friends and family members and leave behind for my kids was what I was looking for anyway.</p>
<p>I have already gotten the benefit of writing these essays, and everything else is simply icing on the cake!</p>
<p>Platform can also mean having a blog with followers, and a Twitter presence, also with followers. Actually, college confidential is sort of a platform. And self-publishing is a great idea. Many well-known people are doing the same.</p>
<p>One of the parents at my kid’s school sent her book out 23 times & it finally got accepted, and has done well. I was amazed that she would have the confidence to keep at it, but I think you do too, if to have a publisher is what you want 
Not accepting it simply means they are missing the bravery and foresight to recognize what we all know on CC is a gem.</p>
<p>Congrats! I, myself have been in remission from CC for a while, so there is a lot to catch up with. I think by the length of this thread, you already have a platform. Keep up with the good work!!!</p>
<p>yesterday, almost 8 months since I saw Dr. S. for the first time, I re-read my surgery report, paying attention to all the details. I felt, boy, have I come a long way! I know my cancer was extensively metastatic at the time of DX, but re-reading this report, it almost sent chills down my spine.</p>
<p>Something to the effect that omentum was essentially a solid sheet of cancer nodules. That, there were nodules studded all over the intestines, bladder flaps, all around the pelvic walls… Plus the tumor the size of a large lime attached to the colon that couldn’t be resected… the list goes on and on. (for those who don’t know what omentum is, it’s a drape like large fatty tissue sheet below the abdominal muscle, over the internal organs. I never heard of this until I started this whole journey). </p>
<p>Are you grossed out yet??? </p>
<p>No wonder Dr. S., upon seeing the mid chemo scan that essentially only showed the main tumor that did not shrink much, and nothing else, thought I was doing so well… He said “you have no idea how well you are doing, considering…” He also told me that there was no point in taking any lymph nodes out for tests. He is not a dramatic type and is a man of few words. These were about the only times he sort of let it be known how bad it was.</p>
<p>Well, seriously though, I have indeed come a long way, and I am genuinely so thankful for your support and encouragement. I don’t know you all personally, but you have been an immense source of comfort and support. Really, I mean it – it’s not lip service.</p>
<p>P.S.</p>
<p>I have a small but obvious protrusion right below my navel. It’s an incision knot (on the underlying muscle) from the surgery. Dr. S. said if it bothers me, he can smooth it out – a simple outpatient procedure. I told him I would ask for it if I decide to go back to my old career as an exotic dancer!!!</p>
<p>Sunriseeast, you are clearly a wonderful person and a terrific writer.</p>
<p>I too am a cancer survivor – had asked only that I survive to see my younger child’s high school graduation. I remember that moment so well – what gratitude I had! Every day since (three years plus) has been gravy, and I have been enjoying lots of delicious gravy!</p>
<p>Best wishes for both your health and your book!</p>
<p>Please continue to keep us posted!</p>
<p>sunrise, I thought of you yesterday when I heard the news about the new cancer treatment. It’s a gene therapy with T-cells. I hope you never need it. But if you do, may it be as successful with your case as it was on the leukemia patients.</p>
<p>I thought of you, too. The treatment does sound miraculous, although I’m trying to restrain my hopes, as only 3 patients have been treated, and recently.</p>
<p>But this is just one more reminder that a major advance could emerge at any time.</p>
<p>sunrise: don’t give up. She did not:</p>
<p>[Kathryn</a> Stockett’s ‘The Help’ Turned Down 60 Times Before Becoming a Best Seller](<a href=“http://shine.yahoo.com/event/poweryourfuture/kathryn-stocketts-the-help-turned-down-60-times-before-becoming-a-best-seller-2523496/]Kathryn”>http://shine.yahoo.com/event/poweryourfuture/kathryn-stocketts-the-help-turned-down-60-times-before-becoming-a-best-seller-2523496/)</p>
<p>:)</p>
<p>Good luck with other agents, but in addition to Kathryn Stockett, there’s also Lisa Genova, who self-published her book, Still Alice (a novel about early Alzheimers), through iUniverse. After social media buzz and good reviews, she sold it for half a million dollars to Simon & Schuster (and they’ve published her second book, too). Great book, btw.</p>