I don’t often think about it, but I realized today that this week marks 6 months since I completed the full shebang of cancer treatment here at Dana-Farber. I should have put two and two together when checking in last week for the first of probably many semi-annual blood draws and follow-up visits. I’d like to invoke chemo brain for this oversight, but I think we’re passed that point (file moving past this medical phenomenon in the “great things” bullets below).
Death, taxes, and oncology check-ups – not necessarily in that order!
There are many great things that have happened since I’ve entered this post-treatment survivor phase:
• My hair is back. I missed it. A lot, more than I had realized.
• I work out at the gym more. Okay, you caught me. I never went to the gym pre-cancer but the LiveStrong program at the YMCA got me moving and I’m wearing out sneaks faster than ever now.
• I am making plans for, and participating in, activities I took for granted before. Tomorrow never ever came. For example, I always wanted to attend a concert and more Sox games at Fenway but always procrastinated and begged off opportunities. This month we rocked out with Pearl Jam and then last week suffered through a miserable and lackadaisical loss to the Mets. I always talked about wanting to snowboard but never made the time. Now it’s the goal that drives me to wake up extra early to work out during the week and to get core strong, hoping that the inevitable face plants of a new snowboarder will be just a bit fewer this winter when hitting the slopes for the first time in 23 years.
• I made friends who I hope to know forever and a day more. I LOVE randomly running into my treatment team members at the elevators, hallways, sidewalks, connector bridges, and cafeterias located across the DFCI campuses. During active treatment I met one patient who became a friend with whom I regularly keep in touch. We shared the good and bad along the way, but I do hold the Mets game against Maureen since she gave me her extra ticket and brought me along! I also met a group of seven women one weekend back in December at Mary’s Place by the Sea in Ocean Grove, NJ. It’s a respite house for women with cancer, whether you’re still in treatment or recently finished for whatever reason, good or bad. That group is now only 6. Onto the not so great…
This weekend, to within one day of 6 months post-treatment and to within 3 days of 23 months post-diagnosis, I will travel to NJ to officially say goodbye to the one in the group we lost. She died only 3½ months after the respite weekend. The group is holding a seaside memorial back in Ocean Grove. We’ve been planning Saturday evening’s activities since Michelle earned her angel wings and completed her arduous 3-year brawl with Stage IV pancreatic cancer. Not a day goes by that I can imagine her not physically there with us. She was the magnet that drew our group together and the person whose absence you’d notice first. This is not the reunion we all envisioned when the retreat weekend ended, and we brushed new dusty snow off our cars, hugged goodbye, and proclaimed to see each other again soon.
That’s the hard part of survivorship. For me, it’s not about guilt or the question of, “Why not me?” It’s more the fear of making friends and creating meaningful relationships with people who might not be around longer than I. As I considered registering for the retreat, and then again when I arrived at the retreat house just as lunch was being prepared, I hesitated. I was warmly welcomed by several kind, smiling women. Some outwardly displayed the badges of lengthy cancer fights, others looked healthy and intact. My knee-jerk thought was, “Why am I putting myself in the position of meeting people who might die??!!” In that moment I wanted to run the other way and head back to Massachusetts. Thankfully I was able to pause, take an invisible deep breath, smile, step forward, and introduce myself.
Of course, we are all going to die. Don’t know when, where, how, or why. I read the book When Breath Becomes Air early on in treatment – coincidentally, it was already on my nightstand just collecting dust before I was diagnosed, and I was looking forward to the read. One of the things that still stands out today (chemo brain was in full effect at that point so I’m sure there would have been other standout points to share) was the author asking himself regarding his terminal diagnosis, “Why me?” He came immediately to, “Why not me?” Strangely, remembering this piece from the book served me well as I wended my way through treatment and onto getting back to real life.
Michelle and I kept in touch for the 3½ months post-retreat and had developed a strong bond. She was the first or second person to donate to my DFCI 5K fundraiser back in March, a mere week or two before she suddenly died. Treatment had become ineffective and she was starting to worry that the end was nearing. We texted over Easter and made plans to see each other soon. She texted that she was proud to donate to the BAA 5K in honor of me (this blew me away, she’s dying and I should be running in honor of her fight), ending with, “Beebe, you are clearly Boston Strong, and that [she] would get through this, it’s just another big bump in the road…” Of course, I replied that, “No, dear Michelle, you are Jersey Strong.” She died of complications less than a week later from new metastases to the stomach.
Michelle is a great example of the best and worst part of survivorship for me. I am so grateful I walked through the retreat’s front door in NJ, stayed for those three days, and met these women in the same boat as me. Michelle and I knew quickly we’d be friends for life. I want to say “lifelong” but that sounds wrong to me, it wasn’t long enough.
Survivorship is funny that way. I went through cancer treatment never doubting a positive outcome (we’ll see, I suppose). I had not thought about the joys of survivorship and the renewed opportunities it brings, nor had I thought about the burden of out-surviving those I would meet along the way.