I don’t have anything clever to say about cancer lately. Since finding out my lymphoma is “no longer active”, my life has basically consisted of 1) feeling majorly entitled to eat donuts and drink wine 2) subsequently barfing a lot, and finally, 3) reevaluating my new found “freedom”, which actually isn’t freedom at all, as I am still obligated to finish chemotherapy, my hair has completely fallen out, my body still feels wonky AF, and my doctor now tells me she thinks I’ll need radiation. Essentially, nearing what I thought was the end of this unusual journey has brought me more anxiety than taking the journey itself.
Take this out-of-nowhere radiation predicament, for example: Remember when my doc surprised me with an extra 2 rounds of chemo back in April? Her reasoning at that time was that 6 rounds of chemo, as opposed to 4 rounds plus radiation, was the “lesser of two evils”. Radiation, she asserted, left more long term side effects and toxicity and increased the chances of getting breast or lung cancer later on. Essentially, this doctor has been bashing radiation since I met her. Yet in May, upon receiving my negative PET scan, she responds to me by saying, “now don’t be surprised when I send you to a radiologist after chemo—it’s protocol—but you're doing well, so you don’t need to worry.” I guess in retrospect I should have clarified what I may or may not have needed to worry about, because yesterday, at my second to last chemo, this hoe says, “we’ll be making an appointment soon to meet with the radiologist, and then you’ll be able to determine your schedule for radiation. You will need to go everyday, Monday through Friday, for 3 to 5 weeks.”
She must’ve noticed the gnarled expression on my face and the flicker in my eye as I tried not to shake this bitch violently by her shoulders. “You look surprised,” she said, timidly, with a slight quaver in her voice. I screamed obscenities at her in my mind, but my mouth did not move. After a few moments, I retorted with one of the billions of questions that sped through my mind:
“You just signed my medical release to go back to work, how am I supposed to work while going to radiation everyday?”
“It’s only 20 minutes per day. You can go before or after school. Many patients work during radiation.”
Insert many esoteric ramblings about the physical and etheric life of a Waldorf teacher here. I’m not gonna get into it, but needless to say, this is the most overwhelming shit to blindside a teacher with as she is in the thick of preparing for her triumphant, cancer-free return after 6 months of medical leave. I questioned Dr. Jeffreys as to why I would need radiation if the lymphoma is no longer actively present in my body.
“Because your cancer was bulky, we like to radiate the site, just to deter any recurrence, which is likely within 3 years for those who’ve had bulky Hodgkin’s. I mean, you’ll have to weigh the chances of getting another type of cancer from radiation against the chances of recurrence.”
Was she fucking kidding me? We have known my cancer was bulky (large mass more than 10 cm) since day one. Why, then, was this the first time she is bringing this up? Why did she spend the last few months trash-talking radiation, just to inform me that she thinks I’ll need it? Why is this sweet little lady with the adorable British accent committing the most evil mindfuck of all time upon me?
I have a lot of theories about this: Did she think I wouldn’t go through with all this if I knew from the beginning how long the process would take? Are these western medicine creeps just stringing me along for more money? Does she really believe I will have a relapse? Is she being pressured by the clinic to refer patients to inside doctors? It’s all verrrrrrrrrry fishy to me.
I kinda feel like just saying, “thanks for all the medicine, I’m gonna go do some eurythmy and inject myself with mistletoe and wait for the apocalypse to kill me instead.” Cuz this is the anxiety that cancer gives me—it makes me feel like I have no control over my own destiny. I can be a super healthy person mentally, physically and spiritually and STILL there is some evil disease that will try to kill me. And then I can fight the disease with medicine, but still it might come back to try and kill me. So I can fight those chances with radioactive laser beams, but then I might get more cancer, which will try to kill me. And even if I don’t get more cancer, my friends and family will get cancer. I’m not trying to be a dramatic nutcase—this is real. Just last week my friend was diagnosed with breast cancer. Prior to my own diagnosis, I used to take people’s cancer news in stride, but now it feels so much heavier. It feels impossible, like we just can’t escape this volatile thing, no matter what we do. And it’s not the dying I’m afraid of, but the not dying on my own damn terms. It’s rude.
Anyhow, heavy mindfucks aside, I feel great right now. I just arrived in Portland, I survived a four and a half hour plane ride upon which 75% of the passengers were snotting, screaming children under the age of 5, and despite having had chemo a day ago, I feel like I’m ready to party in the Pacific Northwest. I head to Seattle on Friday, and then to the Cascades on Saturday, where I will spend seven days with a group of cancer patients and survivors, rock climbing in Leavenworth. According to my astrological scheduler, the next ten days will be “super psychic, intensely volatile, great for growth and drastic moves,” and filled with “epic breakthrough ideas and zones” for “readily access[ing] [my] most innovative dimensions.” Transformations await and I am ready.
