Eve of Battle

This week I went to MD Anderson for my tests and scans. Doctors had decided in October to move my appointments from every three to four months. My brain tumor was stable and unchanging for a year. This doesn’t mean cured or remission but it’s the next best thing in the cancer world. It was a really great benchmark to reach and each positive scan was more of a sigh of relief.

Then the news, the brain tumor that had been stable and unchanging for a year had doubled in size since October. There it was, the news I feared. In the next few weeks I’ll undergo gamma knife brain radiation and recovery. The surgery is promising with a 95% success rate to eliminate a single tumor. Afterwards there maybe additional treatments and steps. My lungs are clear of tumors but lymph nodes are enlarged and immune system shot. Gamma knife had been on the table as a possibility before, but seeing the tumor stabilize last year it was determined to not move forward with that plan last year when it was stable, and unchanging. Now that’s the definitive plan and immediate next step.

Like many people I crave stability and certainty. When those are not in my environment I do whatever I can to control my bubble and create those assurances myself. But when you’re facing a battle that you have fought before you know what needs to be done. You know what’s required of you, but that doesn’t make it easier. In short it’s a return to full catastrophe living. It’s a readjustment of priorities (again) where one thing matters at the core—survival. What are you going to give up to survive? How far are you willing to go and what sacrifices are you going to make? Those are the searing questions that reality brings to the table. The immediate answer for me is “Everything. Do whatever it takes.” That’s the automatic visceral fight response. That’s what I know in my heart needs to be done above all else. Getting there and being mentally prepared is another journey.

Being stable and having the words “remission”, “possibly cured” repeated gives you hope that an enemy is defeated and you can take what you’ve learned from the past and move on. New priorities and goals emerge and you start thinking of the months, years, and decades ahead. The feeling of “ready to drop everything at a moment’s notice” subsides. When you’re fighting to survive all you can do is react- sometimes there’s no time to think or analyze, just do what needs to be done at whatever cost.

Right now I’m grieving the loss of safety, certainty, health, and several goals. Priorities that were so clear a few days ago need to be altered. Some temporarily and others let go completely. The fact is that I don’t know how many more battles are ahead of me. It’s imperative to take the time to grieve. To take the time to acknowledge every emotion and feeling as valid. To face every fear and “what if” possibility and giving the space and time for each one of those. Again easier said than done. But an important lesson learned during the cancer journey. If you jump right into battle all those thoughts and fears will return.

Yes it is scary. It’s overwhelming both knowing and not knowing what lies ahead. Have I always been a fighter, yes. Am I going to fight this again, of course. But it takes a toll and leaves many scars. The journey continues.