A long, hard year has come and gone since brain cancer
returned last June. I’ve experienced plenty of good in that time period, along
with plenty of challenges (just rereading my blog from 8/10/15 is a reminder of
how far I’ve come). And yet, despite all the time that has passed, I’m still in
the treatment phase. I’ve taken a daily chemo pill for 190 days and counting.
It feels a little bit like the ritual of taking a daily vitamin, only this isn’t
a Flintstone, this “vitamin” targets any possible cancer cells lurking about in
my brain. In early February, my neuro oncologist laid out a plan for me to
take eight 28-day cycles of this targeted chemotherapy pill. However, during my
most recent visit to Duke in July (after learning the good news that MRI and
PET scans were clean!), my doctor asked me, “How’s your quality of life?” I
knew what that question implied: Do you think you could handle more cycles? Apparently,
there was agreement across the clinic staff that not only are my MRIs, blood
draws, and neurological test results evidence that I’m tolerating chemo well,
but my physical appearance is encouraging. In other words, according to the
numbers and how healthy I look, my doctor wanted to know how I felt about
continuing on past the eight cycles he prescribed initially.
While all of the positive test results and my healthy
physical appearance are good news, I can’t help but want and need a chemotherapy
grand finale. This would be a date I can stick on the calendar, a date to look
forward to—an end goal. Some of the more obvious reasons that this date is
important to me is so that I can finally cleanse my body of toxins, regain my
strength/endurance, and begin to grow back my hair. One not so obvious reason
I’d like to see an end date to chemo sooner rather than later is so that I can
begin the least scientific (and yet hardest) part of my cancer
journey: processing everything I’ve been through. But despite all of these reasons I’d like to be rid of taking a daily chemo pill, I am committed to
soldiering on and on and on. As Erin said to me about a possible extended chemo
plan, “If four more months could mean forty more years, then by all means
you’ll do it.” Of course we don’t have that kind of guarantee, but I am totally
on board. Now is the time to hit any possible trace of cancer hard. If there’s
one thing I’ve learned about myself over the last 40 years, it’s that I’m a
strong and resilient person.
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| Happy 40th Bdays--Sareana and dear friend, Mary in Durham |
One source of strength and resilience comes from inspiring stories
of survival (not necessarily cancer related) who have overcome hardship or from
those whose perspective on life has truly had an impact on my way of thinking. Interestingly, a recent thought-provoking comment came from a UPS delivery guy.
I saw the brown truck outside, so when the doorbell rang, I raced to answer it.
I flew the door open and greeted him with a friendly hello. He smiled back and
asked me for a signature. While I was signing he asked if I had cancer. It
wasn’t until that moment that I realized I had answered the door bald. For the
record, I have never been offended by someone asking me that question, though
it rarely happens because I’m typically wearing a wig and a hat in public. So,
when the UPS guy asked if I had cancer, I admit I was surprised, but at the
same time, I didn’t feel vulnerable or self-conscious. After all, I was at home
where I feel most comfortable with my baldness. He could tell I was at ease and
he began to share a story of a friend who had had cancer. His friend told him
that after being diagnosed with cancer that his perspective on time had
changed. He said, “Time is now much wider than it is long.” I thought about this
concept of measuring time not by length, but by width, and it really resonated
with me. In other words, I won’t complain about how long I have to take this
chemo pill, rather I think about how today is a good day to be alive. It’s a
perspective of someone whose mortality has been challenged by a serious illness.
Another related deep thought is that a long life is something to hope for, but
a wide one…to me that sounds even better (picture my arms outstretched in
victory!).
There are so many people in this world that have been
touched by cancer (as a reader of my blog, you are one of them) and sharing my
story or another survivor’s story with someone can create inspiration for
others. And so, my dear friends and family, thank you for sharing this journey
with me and sharing my journey with others. With that thought in mind, I plan
on setting my own end date for this blog next month in which I will update you
with my MRI results and my end date for chemo. I have truly enjoying sharing my
story over the past year. I hope it has meant as much to you as it has to me.
Love,
Sareana
P.S. This may be a fact already known to some of you, but I
wanted to be clear that I am currently cancer free and have been since my
operation last summer. I am careful to use that term “cancer free,” because I
know that I stand on the precipice of bad news each time I have an MRI.
However, thanks to two amazing neurosurgeons, both of my craniotomies in 2008
and 2015 respectively, removed the entire tumor. This is known as a total
resection and is a very good thing in the world of cancer. Therefore, in my
case, radiation and chemotherapy are used as tools to keep cancer from
returning. After treatment is over, MRIs and PET scans are the primary tool
that doctors use to detect if there is a sign of tumor regrowth. As one
radiation oncologist told me last summer, “With this recurrence, you have
signed up for a lifetime of MRIs.”
A few pics from a fun-filled busy summer:
