Survivorship vs. Survivorshit

The shortlist of ailments, doctors, meds, and questions, lots without answers.

Survivorship is a weird word, like, if you die from cancer, which people do, lots of people (585,720 in 2014 alone, according to the American Cancer Society), then you're not a survivor, which feels kind of offensive to say about someone who maybe survived for a long time with cancer and died from cancer, and then it has this connotation that they were never a survivor at all. It's to describe those who've beat it, to honor those living with it, and that is commendable, cause let me tell ya, it ain't easy. There are lots of books, lots of "things" that celebrate cancer's aftermath: the amazing shifts in life that occur as a result of not dying from cancer, surviving it. That is so very true, I get that.

I feel blessed, and I also feel bad, guilty complaining about virtually anything after having cancer. Like, I'm alive, so be fucking grateful, end of story. I thank God every day for my body, for His healing, for doctors and nurses and science and medicine, for saving me, for saving my family, for waking up in the morning and realizing, once again over and over, that I am here. 

Most days, I have conversations with God. But, there is another conversation that isn't being had all that much. More so lately, and that's a wonderful thing because it means more people than ever before are surviving with cancer. But, there are consequences to that, and no one, not survivors and not doctors are sure exactly what to do with us. So there are studies, new research trials, scientific meetings, and voices rising up about this very thing, because survivors are saying help us know what to do next and doctors are saying we don't really know what to do next, "just enjoy life," they say. 

It can be hard to enjoy life the way we want to enjoy life when we know all too well that it can be taken away in an instant, and when you're racked with anxiety about recurrence, or numb fingers, weird electrical zapping in your feet at random times, a weak hand grip that makes it impossible to screw off the top of a baby bottle or to open a bottle of medicine or a bag of cheese, stabbing pains below radiated skin that come out of nowhere, a tender-to-the-touch bruise that never goes away, and if God can't take away my fear, then who can? When will it end? Will it ever end? This is the next chapter.

It Only Takes Two Minutes

A woman named Judy called and left me a message. She said she's the nurse practitioner for Dr. Asrari, the radiation oncologist who I met with at Johns Hopkins. Dr. Asrari just wanted to check in and see how I was feeling she said. I have a thing for Judys, so I called her back, of course. We talked for a few minutes about chemo, how I'm feeling pretty great – all things considered – Neulasta and the nasty flu aches. Judy explained that my body thinks it's fighting off an infection when I get the white-blood-cell skyrocketer, hence the flu-like symptoms. She said that's no good and I should try taking Claritin a day or two before the injection. I need to ask about this tomorrow when I go in for my CDC (complete blood count). If I can alleviate the Neulasta nasties, I'll be good to go. Yippee!

Dr. Asrari holds a special place in my healing heart. When I met with the team of doctors at Johns Hopkins, every single one of them made me feel encouraged, inspired, motivated, and like there wasn't a chance in hell that I won't get well. My shortest visit was with Dr. Asrari, not as in short in stature, although we both are, so it was literally a short visit, but we only met for a few minutes. The last thing she said to me was this, "You are brave woman. I see it in your eyes. You fight. You be okay." (She's Iranian, and beautiful – like every other Iranian woman I've met. What's up with that?) Those words have become my mantra, and I think of them everyday, and sometimes more. Fifteen words and two minutes that might have changed my life, saved my life, simply by giving me strength, confidence, hope, faith. I am certain she knows what she's talking about, and I believe that God asked her to say those words to me, knowing that I needed to hear them at just that moment. It's remarkable the impact you can have on someone in under two minutes. Try it. Say something awesome to someone today. It might be just what they need to hear.