I Have Cancer, Again.
.
I'm sitting in my doctors office needing medication for an infections I got when I ask her about my biopsy the week before. I know I should wait for my appointment to meet the surgeon, but having had five cancers before I already know the routine. When she pulls up my information on the computer and immediately I can see that I have cancer again. She looks at me and says "I don't know if I should tell you." I almost laugh at this because that statement pretty much confirms what I was able to garner from her body language and facial expressions.
I take a moment to let the news sink in and and a rush of emotions him me in the middle of the chest. Its an ugly feeling that feels cold and wrapped with a electric shock of anxiety. I can't believe it, well I can, but what are the chances of having cancer six times and four of those be different types of cancers. Interestingly my mind stops thinking and I only feel the physical manifestations of the emotions that are running through my body. Time seems to stand still and I am in a very peaceful state until my next thought comes in. I ask, "what kind of cancer is it?" Turns out its anal cancer and its labeled "invasive," which does not sound promising. My doctor and the physician assistant are HIV experts not cancer specialist so we do Google searches on the specific cancer I have, what each stage mean, what types of treatments are available and so on. The more I learn the more frightened I become and the reality of my impartiality hits full force. I try not to lose control because if I do I don't think I will be able to stop.
The moment comes when I can't hold on anymore and I fearfully bury my face into my small hands and cry a few moments. My face contorts, my breaths become labored and I feel the full impact of my emotions. Within a minute I settle myself and focus on what needs to happen next. Next will be a CT scan to find what stage my cancer is in, meet with the surgeon who will officially confirm my diagnosis and then meet with an oncologist to start treatments.
Fortunately, I have a 12-step program that has me in a position to be able to take the next right steps in taking care of myself. As I walk out of the hospital I think of God and to my surprise my brain thinks, "your will be done." I'm taken aback by this thought which is a common saying in 12-step meetings. I analyze the thought and wonder if it's parrot talk or a sincere thought. I come to believe it was instinct from the years of practicing a 12-step program. The first thing I do is call my sponsor and let her know what is going on. The phone call is short and uneventful. I am honest and tell her what my plans are for the rest of the day. I pick up my best friend and go over to my mothers.
My poor mother, she is stressed out and this is just one more thing she does not need to deal with, but I can not keep it from her. I sit in her bedroom and tell her I have cancer and there is a long silence. She looks at me and says, "I am so sorry." I am taken by surprise by those words. It never crossed my mind that my mother would say those words. Those four words are filled with such love and compassion that I fall into my 64 year old mothers arms and cry. Its been a long time since I been in my mothers arms needing love and support. For a moment I feel safe and loved in those arms that have taken care of me from the day I was born. I'm so grateful to have the mother I do, she has been one of the greatest blessings of my life.
After I leave my mothers I go to my home group and unexpectedly am asked to chair the meetings. I wasn't sure if I was going to share on my news, but I knew I needed to be there. Being the chair changes everything and I know I need to talk about the cancer and my fears. When we open up the meeting we say the Serenity Prayer and instantly I know that it will be our topic. Sharing was honest and raw. I talked about my fears and how grateful I am to be sober. I make sure to share solution and hope because who wants to hear a boo hoo story that offers no solution. I'm big on not dumping in a meeting and I hold true and fast to my responsibility to the newcomer.
I force myself to go out to dinner with some friends for fellowship. I am not really happy to be there, but I know this is what I need and frankly its what they need to. I'm the first one to leave and I arrive home exhausted. I go straight to bed hoping to sleep the night through. I awake at 12am and for the next three hours I'm on the computer researching my type of cancer. I learn a lot, but until I find out what stage my cancer is I'm flying blind.
Tomorrow, I go and get my CT scan then wait until Monday for the news. I am so very grateful for my life today. I still think I'm one of the happiest people I know and don't expect this to change that one bit. Don't get me wrong, I will have bad days where I will be frustrated and possible angry, but today my life is a privilege because of my sobriety.
I'm sitting in my doctors office needing medication for an infections I got when I ask her about my biopsy the week before. I know I should wait for my appointment to meet the surgeon, but having had five cancers before I already know the routine. When she pulls up my information on the computer and immediately I can see that I have cancer again. She looks at me and says "I don't know if I should tell you." I almost laugh at this because that statement pretty much confirms what I was able to garner from her body language and facial expressions.
I take a moment to let the news sink in and and a rush of emotions him me in the middle of the chest. Its an ugly feeling that feels cold and wrapped with a electric shock of anxiety. I can't believe it, well I can, but what are the chances of having cancer six times and four of those be different types of cancers. Interestingly my mind stops thinking and I only feel the physical manifestations of the emotions that are running through my body. Time seems to stand still and I am in a very peaceful state until my next thought comes in. I ask, "what kind of cancer is it?" Turns out its anal cancer and its labeled "invasive," which does not sound promising. My doctor and the physician assistant are HIV experts not cancer specialist so we do Google searches on the specific cancer I have, what each stage mean, what types of treatments are available and so on. The more I learn the more frightened I become and the reality of my impartiality hits full force. I try not to lose control because if I do I don't think I will be able to stop.
The moment comes when I can't hold on anymore and I fearfully bury my face into my small hands and cry a few moments. My face contorts, my breaths become labored and I feel the full impact of my emotions. Within a minute I settle myself and focus on what needs to happen next. Next will be a CT scan to find what stage my cancer is in, meet with the surgeon who will officially confirm my diagnosis and then meet with an oncologist to start treatments.
Fortunately, I have a 12-step program that has me in a position to be able to take the next right steps in taking care of myself. As I walk out of the hospital I think of God and to my surprise my brain thinks, "your will be done." I'm taken aback by this thought which is a common saying in 12-step meetings. I analyze the thought and wonder if it's parrot talk or a sincere thought. I come to believe it was instinct from the years of practicing a 12-step program. The first thing I do is call my sponsor and let her know what is going on. The phone call is short and uneventful. I am honest and tell her what my plans are for the rest of the day. I pick up my best friend and go over to my mothers.
My poor mother, she is stressed out and this is just one more thing she does not need to deal with, but I can not keep it from her. I sit in her bedroom and tell her I have cancer and there is a long silence. She looks at me and says, "I am so sorry." I am taken by surprise by those words. It never crossed my mind that my mother would say those words. Those four words are filled with such love and compassion that I fall into my 64 year old mothers arms and cry. Its been a long time since I been in my mothers arms needing love and support. For a moment I feel safe and loved in those arms that have taken care of me from the day I was born. I'm so grateful to have the mother I do, she has been one of the greatest blessings of my life.
After I leave my mothers I go to my home group and unexpectedly am asked to chair the meetings. I wasn't sure if I was going to share on my news, but I knew I needed to be there. Being the chair changes everything and I know I need to talk about the cancer and my fears. When we open up the meeting we say the Serenity Prayer and instantly I know that it will be our topic. Sharing was honest and raw. I talked about my fears and how grateful I am to be sober. I make sure to share solution and hope because who wants to hear a boo hoo story that offers no solution. I'm big on not dumping in a meeting and I hold true and fast to my responsibility to the newcomer.
I force myself to go out to dinner with some friends for fellowship. I am not really happy to be there, but I know this is what I need and frankly its what they need to. I'm the first one to leave and I arrive home exhausted. I go straight to bed hoping to sleep the night through. I awake at 12am and for the next three hours I'm on the computer researching my type of cancer. I learn a lot, but until I find out what stage my cancer is I'm flying blind.
Tomorrow, I go and get my CT scan then wait until Monday for the news. I am so very grateful for my life today. I still think I'm one of the happiest people I know and don't expect this to change that one bit. Don't get me wrong, I will have bad days where I will be frustrated and possible angry, but today my life is a privilege because of my sobriety.
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