Stage IV Cancer: When Shit Gets Real
I was diagnosed with cancer the week of my birthday in April, 2011. That seems a really long time ago now that we live in a state of constant political PTSD. In actual fact, it was seven and a half years ago. In a nutshell: out of the gate, I had metastatic breast cancer which had spread to my spine. My oncologist at Memorial Sloan Kettering put me on a hormonal treatment to curb the estrogen that was feeding the cancer.
For several years my biggest quandary was aching joints due to the medication. I worked full time. I did not in any way feel disabled. I was absolutely sure that state would be my status quo for, say, twenty years. And all remained copacetic except for occasional frightening scans which resulted in medication changes, for a very long time. Sometimes I even forgot I had cancer. During a movie or a concert, for instance, or reading a book.
This was my reality until two years ago. Then I started having trouble walking and standing for long periods of time, which I cavalierly dismissed and chalked up to age, not exercising, and being in bad physical shape. I had not had any symptoms of disease since the initial diagnosis, so it never occurred to me that a warning bell was being rung. Shit was getting real.
In the spring of 2017 I had to face the fact that I was in serious pain and it was not age-related. I quit working and applied for early Social Security so I could pay rent and buy food, and had spine surgery in July. All seemed to be well until five weeks later when I could hardly walk.
I checked into MSKCC’s urgent care unit and ended up staying nine days in the hospital, where I had a second surgery and platinum rods were inserted into my vertebrae. I can’t even express how grateful I am to the team at Sloan who took care of me; the nurses and doctors and aides at the hospital who are truly angels among us; my friends and family; and my employers, who were incredibly supportive and caring.
It was the wake up call of a lifetime. Due to my physical ailments and life in general, I had been in a terrible state of depression — the lowest I had ever been. Many mornings, I could hardly get out of bed. And then the bell rang. As I’ve written at some length prior to this, everything changed.
I had a second surgery, learned to walk again, bought one of those old-lady alarm necklace things, and slowly came back to myself. With one difference: I was happy, thrilled actually, to be alive.
- There is nothing like almost dying to make you want to live.
I had hoped the drama would get less dramatic after last year. But the true fact of the matter is that my disease had turned a corner and demanded my attention, front and center. I had really not been paying attention: Cancer woke me up.
Earlier this year, scans indicated additional tumor growth in the spine and pelvis. In February I started a new drug regimen, this time with oral chemo. Over the past two months, the assigned chemo drug proved to be too much for my system and I’m starting a new drug later this week.
Lately I’ve been really exhausted and short of breath as well, more than usual. I will have tests next week to see if this is anything more than cancer fatigue, which is very common in bone cancer. As someone who was only seriously sidelined once in my life — last year pre and post op — I am really annoyed that I can’t live life the way I always have. I don’t want shit to get real. But there’s no fighting reality.
I’m in it for the long haul, however. To quote the late, great Tom Petty: I won’t back down. As I’ve said before: I have cancer. It does not have me.
And it never will.
