3/17/08

PART ONE

A year ago today I was euphorically swimming in the perfect happiness of my then almost 14 month-old son - whom we’d tried, wished, waited, and prayed seven years for.

A year ago today I was immeasurably grateful for my husbands love, dedication and commitment to me, to our marriage, and to his son.

All has remained the same. Nothing has changed. Nothing except...

A year ago today I had not been diagnosed with cancer.

PART TWO

August 2007 – Out-of-body Experience

8/23/07:

Drifting back into reality, as my eyes slowly opened, all I could make out was my surgeon kneeling next to my bedside. I could feel the comforting warmth of his large hands enclosing my own. My drug-induced haze portrayed him as an angel. He was the only thing in focus. Like a dream, everything else remained a soft fuzzy white. I smiled. Or at least it felt as if I did. In his quiet voice, that revealed his gentle spirit and kind heart, he spoke.

"Dee Dee, sometimes we have a surgery and everything goes as expected. Sometimes we have a surgery and we find something completely unexpected. In those times we may not understand what we have unexpectedly found, but we must carefully assess the situation. When we went inside we found a very large tumor on three-fourths of your liver. We believe its cancer. We have successfully removed it, and sent it off for further testing. I am here for you ever step of the way, for as long as you need me, and I am going to make sure that everything we can possibly do is done…"

Driving from the hospital with my 19-month-old son and my husband, reality started to set. After almost a week of being hospitalized I was finally free! Free to do whatever I want. The air never smelled as fresh, as its calm and quiet breeze brushed against my skin. The sun never seemed to shine as bright, as it warmed me from the outside in. The color of the trees never appeared so rich, with their countless clusters of multihued leaves.

Then, out of nowhere, I had an out-of-body experience.

As the world remained perfect, my world, feel silent. All appeared to stay the same. The sun was shining. The trees were blowing in the breeze. The cars were going. The people were moving. My husband was beside me on my left. But the air; it had abruptly stopped and all was quiet around me. There was no sound – movement, but no sound. As if someone were messing around with the resolution on a television screen, the world faded to black and white. But dull. The air; I couldn't breathe.

Then, I suddenly realized that,

I… had… cancer.

For the first time, the tears began to fall.

PART THREE

Cholangiocarcinoma, also known as Bile Duct Cancer, is a malignant (cancerous) tumor of the bile ducts within or outside the liver. The bile duct is a thin tube, about 4 to 5 inches long, that reaches from the liver to the small intestine. Its major function is to transport bile, which is produced in the liver, stored in the gallbladder, and passed to the small intestine, where it aids in digesting food and liquefying fats. Cholangiocarcinoma is a rare disease, occurring in approximately 2 out of 100,000 people, and a majority of cases are found in patients above the age of 65.

Statistically, only 20% survive 5 years. Now… with that being said… people are not statistics. Every person is different, and every person will have their own experience with cancer and its treatments. Statistics themselves are calculated from data that may be 5, or even 10 years old. So basically, treatments available today may offer newer and more effective treatment options than those of more than 5 years ago.

Surgical resection offers the only potential chance of cure, while fewer than 10% of all cases are actually curable by surgery. However, most patients have advanced and inoperable disease at the time of diagnosis. Survival also depends on the tumors anatomic location, which can affect its resectability (removal), and how advanced it is. As well as whether the tumor can be completely, or only partially removed. If the tumor cannot be completely removed, cure is generally not possible. In this situation, with treatment, about half of patients live a year, and about half live longer.

PART FOUR

My Heart Speaks of Poetry:

As Before -

It dwells in my body
Growing
Unfamiliar
Trying to break me
A devastating rupture
Defined by its strength
Satisfyingly feeding
Upon my crimson veins
Sacrificing a life
For its own
Eating away
All that is
Insensible to the pain

As I suffer
I break
Physically
Mentally
Emotionally
Weakened

All the while
I refuse
To surrender
To submission
My defense is stronger
This is not my first attack
To try and break me
From within
I
Am
Strong
I Will Survive
Again

PART FIVE

December 13^th - Surgery 2

Granted, I am in complete confidence of my doctors. My life in their hands feels as secure as my love for my precious son. Bestowing everything that lies important for me in a doctor that will be finalizing medical treatment for a patient with a terminal illness; kindness, compassion, gentility, patience, intelligence, and straight-forwardness, I am peaceful with their role in my life. I strongly presume that my team of doctors treat me as well as they would their own spouse or child(ren), and with that being said - enough said.

Although, I can't seem to stop thinking that cancer, not my doctors, has ultimately laid out my life's plan, and that cancer is in control. There is no cure for this disease, only remission. Cancer can say when and where, maybe even how, it wants to feed on my body – gratifying its hunger. Its footsteps are as undetected as the sound of a tree falling in a forest with no one to hear it - making "no sound". Ah, but it does.

The more positive and assured that I am, the more terrified I become. Terrified to this unknown. Consider this: Cancer vs. AIDS. You see, the difference with AIDS is that, essentially, with today's breakthroughs and medicine, it can be managed to a great extent: put in submission and nearly held in place as a ball in mid-air. Cancer, on the other hand, has yet to come in contact with such a phenomenal treatment. Cancer knows no such medical remedies. You can, literally, live with AIDS. You cannot live with cancer. When present, it does not submit – to anything. Unless remission occurs, and even then there are no promises, eventually, it proves to be, and is, the stronger force.

Nevertheless, I am a strong person. I find this to be one of my greatest qualities. Knowing struggle as almost a sibling, with its almost ceaseless presence in my life, I successfully rise above. Recurrently faced with profound, multi-layered and deep-rooted battles, in almost a fight for my life, or a fight for the very things that make and create my life, I still somehow manage to rise above. As much as I am attacked, and tried to be broken like a wild horse, I rise above. So how does this, this cancer, make it any different?

I have, continuously, and will continue to, rise above.

I will

again

rise above.

PART SIX

Almost a month after my second surgery, I wrote this: 

My life has literally been spared. I have victoriously conquered my battle with cancer. The best ending to my particular terminal illness was complete surgical resection - and we did it. Not only was the removal of everything cancerous a complete success, but there were also no other indications of it multiplying elsewhere.

What a miracle - truly a miracle.

I don't know how many times my husband and me, my team of doctors, and others who are familiar with this form of cancer have said time and time again, that if it had not been for the accidental findings of my doctor last year, I would be dead. I do not say this lightly. This is, without a doubt, an accurate statement. We were so lucky to have found it at such an early stage. There must be more in store for me in this world because my time is not over. My life has been spared.

Now, all I can do is think back to what it felt like… to be dying. I admit that through all my optimistic outlooks, death was essentially staring me in the face like an unsought staring contest. I would secretly think how much time is there? How much time do I have left? Will I grow old with the love of my life? I saw so much in the eyes of my husband through those times. In his tears and in his pain my heart ached. It throbbed. My heart broke because I didn't know if I was going to be in his future. The future that we have so meticulously planned. Or will I live long enough to watch my son grow up, graduate, get married and have children of his own? I found that when nobody was looking I would stare at them both and mourn the time that I would not have with them. I felt robbed. Cheated.

I felt desperate. 

But you know… my heart was also happy. Happy because each day that I remained I was given the gift of make lasting memories with them both. 

Fortunately for me, on the other hand, which far outweighed its counterpart, told me that cancer, this cancer, was not the last word. Hope was. I told myself that I would fight tooth and nail to beat this thing; I would be joyous and thankful in the midst of being in pain and full of anger. That it was okay to not be able to answer the tough questions. And that it was even okay to question everything and nothing at the same time.

I constantly told myself to see through the moment, to see through my possible future and live for that moment, for that day. I had chosen to make lasting memories in that moment and not succumb to the "what ifs" about tomorrow. I had to keep going. And I had to choose life.

Cancer does not have to be a curse. Nor does it have to be a punishment.  It is not in any way "deserved", nor or a payback of sorts. Cancer may not add years to your life, but why chose to be miserable? If there is one thing that cancer cannot take away from me it's my hope. My moments with my family. Cancer may have the power and the ability to take my time on this earth, but it does not have the power to steal my hope, or my moments in the now.

It isn't about the cancer. It isn't about the ability that it has to destroy our bodies. It isn't about the constant tests, the needles, the surgeries, the treatments, or even the parts of us it takes away. It's about the journey. It's about rediscovering the parts of yourself that you never ever knew or dreamed existed, and giving them room to grow and room to take flight. It's about seeing life through cancers eyes and being better because of it. Being more whole. More alive despite it.

Sure… there were days that felt like a Mac truck just bulldozed over me. There were days that I looked into the mirror and thought, "Who is that person?" But there were also days that I was fully alive and energized too. It's part of the journey, my journey. It's part of life.

But it's not the only part. Not the defining part.

It's about living.

I am still a mother. I am still a wife. I am still a daughter, a sister, a friend, an aunt. I am still the same person that I was before I found out that I had cancer - maybe just a little more mature and a hell of a lot less naïve. But I still have the same heart, the same dreams, the same desires… I am still me. Cancer cannot take that away. It only makes me stronger.

You see, we have to step out. We have to keep going. We have to choose life.

Hug your husband, your wife, your son or daughter, your mothers and fathers. Hug your family. Tell them you love them a little more today, and tomorrow, and the next day. Because somewhere out there, someone just lost there loved one to cancer and will never hear those words from them again. Make lasting memories with them. Hold them a little bit longer. Love them a little bit stronger. After all… it's only for a moment that they are your to hold. Look into their eyes and feel happy, blessed, encouraged, uplifted, and thankful. Most of all, thankful. Be thankful for today. Thankful for the opportunity that you have to be here, today.

I want to tell you… there is hope and life after a cancer diagnosis. This is true. It doesn't have to stop there. 

I have so much that I can share with you - about life, love, pain, and everything in between. Cancer has given me a new set of eyes. It has added a new chapter in my story of life. One of learning, growth, and wisdom. If I come away with anything from my experience it would be that life isn't always fair, but it is amazing and messy all at the same time.