Fear of the Unknown

I’ve started treatment. As mentioned in a previous post, I’ve developed a 5 cm growth in the area near my armpit, and it’s so unmeshed in muscle/sinew that it’s currently inoperable. The goal with this new treatment (also called second line, which means you’ve already been through chemo once) is to reduce the tumor in order to be able to cut it out.

The drugs? Xeloda and Taxotere. The Taxotere comes in the form of an infusion every three weeks, and the Xeloda is a 2 weeks on, 1 week off cycle of 8 pills a day. So far the 3-4 days after infusion are a wash of exhaustion and aimlessness*, but otherwise so far so good.

I keep returning to what the oncologist said: that there’s only a 30-40% chance of success with this. That even if all goes well, there’s a very high likelihood of recurrence, and then, then….who knows? Who knows? It’s like I call into a canyon and cancer has muted the world. There’s no reply. Just silence.

It’s in this space that I live my days now. In treatment for a recurrence, running the second lap around the infusion clinic, I’m not as optimistic, not as intrigued about the novelty of cancer treatment. The first time felt so much more new somehow, I felt like I’d joined a sisterhood and even baldness felt cool. Tough. Empowering, even. And I thought that if I beat it this time, then surely I’d be one of the lucky ones who made it past the 5-year mark. 

Not to be. It came back. The cancer came back. And this time, more so than the last, I’m tired and grief-stricken. The hair loss stinks, quite frankly, and this recurrence feels somehow more serious. My family is quietly afraid, and the pain this disease has inflicted on friends, family and coworkers fills me with such sadness. I hate it. I hate this disease. I hate cancer.

It’s these small, repeated losses that begin to add up. I picture a full, 1000 piece puzzle with color, depicting someplace beautiful. Paris, say. That’s my life. But now each new treatment, each surgery, each new diagnosis, each new big and small loss is a theft of its parts until, corner by corner, segment by segment, only a few disconnected pieces remain.

What goes with what? And who, what’s left?


(*except for an initial migraine reaction which sent me to the ER twice, and to the MRI machine)