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Illustration by Drew Shannon
I have cancer. I’m going to die. Those are the first two lines in the journal my doctor told me to start. On a Saturday morning in September, I went for a run and later in the afternoon the same GP called me while I was buying my groceries and said, “You have metastatic melanoma, Stage 4.″ What happened to Stages 1, 2 and 3 , I wonder?
What is the first thing you think of after hearing that information? My husband is older, he is supposed to die first, not me. And then, I haven’t cleaned out all those boxes in the basement yet! There’s a lot of junk down there that I don’t want the kids to have to go through. It’s probably not the first thing most people think of but it crossed my mind.
Most people will get cancer if they live long enough. I’m in my 70s, that’s not long enough. So how does one navigate this new world, this new club they didn’t ask you to join? The hard part is telling your family and friends. Once you get through that and a lot of tears, cancer is a fascinating experience, well, maybe not fascinating but interesting. I am lucky that my cancer – melanoma – is not very painful. Unfortunately, it is one of the deadliest cancers.
But where did this melanoma come from? Ten years ago I had a mole removed, a huge chunk of my back was taken out, lymph nodes were removed and I saw a dermatologist often for follow up appointments. I did that but still got metastatic melanoma. Growing up I loved lying in the sun, I didn’t wear sun cream in those days. Now we know better.
I decided I would share my treatment with those who wanted to know what was going on. Being a retired teacher, it seemed like the most educational and sensible thing to do. I sent photos of me receiving immunotherapy. This is a fairly new treatment for melanoma and it encourages my immune system to attack the cancer cells. (I wonder where those cells go once they are attacked?) I had tumors on my back like golf balls and now they are gone. Yes!
The first month before the treatment I was subjected to three different types of scan so that doctors could find out where the cancer is. Mine is in my lungs, thyroid, right femur, brain and who knows where else. Radiation was scheduled for the knee and brain as immunotherapy does not work as well in those areas. I wondered how it was possible to radiate the base of my skull. Technicians constructed a mask of my face, then clamped me on a table. Although I cannot move, I am asked if I can turn slightly to the left. I think I look to the left but nothing more, and the radiation device is rotating around my head. After five treatments I got to take my mask home. I’m trying to see how I can use it for next Halloween.
Once others know you have cancer they want to come visit, wish you well, send positive thoughts, healing energy, prayers and make food (before you die). There should be a guideline to follow when dealing with friends with cancer. My husband would sometimes act as a “gatekeeper” during the first few weeks in case I was tired. As it turns out, I loved the company and well-wishers, especially since I was feeling really good.
The food distribution was the most interesting. Some of my teacher friends offered to provide me with a meal train. Unfortunately, they didn’t explain exactly what it meant. I didn’t know when the food would arrive, and I usually had a ready-made lunch. No problem. That meal became lunch the next day. A big hug to the lovely friend who brought the lunch she was already making herself and dropped it off right at lunchtime.
So here I am into the third month of treatment and I feel no side effects (just a rash), I walk every day, cook meals and even vacuum. I have yet to empty any of those boxes in the basement but it is on my list. The oncologist says things are going well. The care at the Cancer Clinic has been excellent and the warm blankets are the best.
I’m thinking of MAID, Medical Aid in Dying. This is a biggie. I felt it was something I should do before I couldn’t make the decision. Remember I have cancer in my brain. I spoke to my doctor and the form has been filled out. I’m dying but maybe not yet. There is no deadline for using MAID. It’s there if I need it.
When I checked with Dr. Google, I learned that a patient with Stage 4 melanoma can live at least five years. I just renewed my passport and went for the 10 year option. You never know…
Mary Gidney lives in Victoria.
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