There are countless Christmas gifts I have been given throughout this year that I can’t possibly wrap.
How can I wrap up my gratefulness for a second gift of life? How can I wrap up the gifts of family and friends who have been steadfast in their loving support of me during my 2010 cancer journey? Wrapping of these gifts are impossible tasks.
The only thing I can do is to be aware of the gifts of my renewed life and of the people in it. I don’t know where to begin to express my heartfelt thanks to all of the people in my life. No words can ever express my gratitude to those who have been on the cancer journey with me this past year.
I feel so small in comparison to the enormity of kindness that has surrounded me for so many months. To all of the people who have journeyed with me during this cancer diagnosis and treatment, a simple thank you just isn’t enough, but a million thank you-s can’t come close to the appreciation I feel.
The gifts of love and support from family and friends that I have received throughout this year could not be bought. They are greater than any Christmas present I could ever receive. The givers of these offered the gift of themselves freely to me. They are priceless and deeply cherished.
Christmas 2010 will be a very special one. It will be low on commercialism and high on time with family and friends. Love and joy will take on new meaning this Christmas. We will celebrate the season as it was meant to be, not with things, but with each other.
To all who have been there for me in body and spirit this year, I wish you a joyous and blessed Christmas filled with abundant love. My wish for you is that you treasure the people in your life, for they are priceless gifts.
Christmas this year gives me a whole new appreciation for living in the present. I will celebrate the gifts of those who give me Strength, Courage, and Determination.
I am so relieved that chemo is completed, and the most dangerous and toxic part of my treatment is behind me.
Daily radiation is now the last active part of my cancer treatments. As of this past Friday, I am half way through the 16 radiation treatments that will end on January 3.
In Manitoba, there are currently eight radiation treatment rooms for the entire province, with another radiation treatment facility opening in Brandon in the near future. Most appointments are scheduled at 15-minute intervals. Every room is busy each day treating patients of all ages from across the province.
In comparison to chemotherapy, radiation is much easier to tolerate. It is not at all what I expected it would be. Each day, I undergo two treatments of radiation that are administered on the affected side of my chest and underarm. Each treatment dosage lasts about 30-40 seconds. The radiation is painless and fast.
Medical staff has told me that I can expect to feel fatigue by the third week of treatment, which takes me to the Christmas and New Year’s holidays and ¾ through my treatment cycle. This is also when I may start to see some treatment side effects with my skin.
Staggering Numbers of Medical Caregivers
This second chance that I have been given for life has come because of a big circle of medical caregivers who have walked along side me since last March. All have been patient, kind, and encouraging in this cancer journey.
To date, there have been over 120 medically associated people who have played a role in treating me and cheering me on in the fight against cancer. The medical caregivers include 19 specialists and ER doctors, 37 hospital, chemo and oncology nurses, 35 x-ray and lab technicians, 13 Canadian Cancer Society volunteer drivers (for treatments), several treatment schedulers, six chemotherapy “coffee and cookie” volunteers, a social worker, a dietitian, an art therapist, and a yoga instructor.
The various treatments also have some staggering numbers. By January, there will have been 149 daily injections of blood thinners, 45 injections of blood boosters, 18 radiation treatments, 15 blood work tests, six chemotherapy sessions, surgery, and a central line port installation and removal. Add to this, an array of tests and scans including a mammogram, tissue biopsy, CT scan, Muga scan, MRI, and various x-rays. No part of my body has been left unexplored.
Walking in The World of Cancer
In all of these months I have walked in two worlds of cancer, one of hope and one of sadness. At 51, many times in chemo and radiation wards, I have been the youngest cancer patient as the majority of cancer patients I have been amongst are seniors.
In this journey, I was told that the radiation treatments would bring the world of cancer into a sad reality. It is true. I have come to realize that despite my cancer diagnosis, there are other lives with cancer which are much sadder.
There are so many images of cancer one sees as a patient.
Tuesdays and Thursdays are treatment days for children at the cancer facility. I have seen a worried young mother tenderly hold her bald, jaundiced infant (about 15-18 months old) following treatment, as they waited in the patient transportation lounge for their ride home.
Another child, a girl--perhaps about three years old, was carried over her father’s shoulder as they exited the facility after treatment. A big, strong man, the dad literally and figuratively was carrying the weight of cancer on his shoulders.
A pretty teenage girl, with a patch on her treated eye, was waiting for her ride home while texting on her cell phone with her good eye.
A young, 20 something, wigged female, fresh from chemotherapy treatments, was waiting for radiation at the same time as me. Totally oblivious to the number of people who have been rallying around her to make her well from cancer, she was seen a few minutes later smoking a cigarette outside the treatment facility.
Ongoing Treatments
On Tuesday, I will be grateful to be having my last daily blood thinner injection. I am looking forward to no longer contending with a swollen and welt-filled abdomen. Hopefully this will allow me a few more clothing choices. On Wednesday, I will have my troublesome chemo port removed. It will be a relief to no longer feel the port’s gentle tug on my jugular vein that I have lived with for the past six months. I no longer need sleeping pills, painkillers, and antacid medication as the potency of chemo and related side effects have left my body. Slowly, my body is “resetting” to its new normal.
The active treatment for my cancer will end in just over two weeks. There will be ongoing passive treatments that await me the next few months, along with regular appointments with my oncologist, surgeon, and family doctor. In early January, I will start taking daily hormone blocker medication to help prevent a cancer recurrence.
I am scheduled for another mammogram, and various follow up tests and scans post chemo and to further explore some medical concerns that were raised with my initial CT scan last July. There will be ongoing blood work, another CT scan, another MRI scan, a colonoscopy, an endoscopy, and a dental follow up, which will all take place early in the first part of the new year.
On the recommendation of my oncologist, I will also be pursuing genetic testing to see if I have inherited a breast cancer gene and am a carrier of it in my family. I have chosen to do so to benefit my mother, sister, and children. Fortunately, none of them have had cancer, but could be affected if my genetic testing indicates a family source for my cancer.
Each day, the weight of living with cancer is getting lighter as I journey to complete the last active phase of treatment. Each day, I make a pledge to continue to fight cancer with Strength, Courage, and Determination