Change of seasons

Autumn is a time to reach back into the closet and pull out that thick sweater that you put away mere seasons ago.  That sweater smells and feels like another time and pulling it over your head brings back memories and feelings and anticipation of change. The sweater I dug out of the closet this week was the one that I put in there with the fantasy that it would stay in there getting threadbare and musty and would be revisited as only as a faded memory.

Last week I had my 3-month CT Scan after a year of great health and good energy following that weary summer of chemotherapy.  I knew that my scan would be clean because my body and spirit were so on top of the world.  But the minute that Dr. Scott came into the room after reading my report I gathered that the news would be different this time.  Instead of a proclamation about great test results, he began asking if I had any pains or congestion, and did it hurt when he touched me here or there.  “No, I feel great!”

At the end of the exam, he sat down and showed me the printout of the summary analysis and explained that the CT scan had indicated that the previously inactive spot on my liver had grown from 7mm to 23mm; still very small but clearly active.  He then showed me the blood report where the “tumor indicator” reading had spiked from neutral to positive.  This second report pretty much confirmed the first.  The esophageal cancer in my liver was back.

There was a second anomaly in my right maxillary sinus, which showed a “development of opacity”.  This could be nothing but it will need to be checked out.  I have no pain or pressure so I am pretty sure it will turn out to be nothing.

I have no feeling of shock; just some disappointment about having to let go of the affirmation that I had been healed. I wanted the doctors to be wrong about their sureness of a malevolent return.  The worst part is the disappointment of others who shared this fantasy.  It was easy to believe in the wrongness of doctors and their remote diagnoses.

I still know very little about what this will mean about my immediate future and my new job.  Dr. Scott said that he would be taking my case to his oncologist roundtable to gather a consensus about what steps should be taken next.  He suggested that maybe they might try an ablation.  Using radio waves at point blank range, they would fry the tumor (with a little onions on the side). That’s one possibility.  I asked about another round of chemotherapy and Dr. Scott said it would come down to weighing quality of life versus invasive procedure.  That sounds a bit too much like a palliative care issue.  I’ve been in denial about this whole “making life comfortable” thing.  I can handle some discomfort.  I really enjoy seeing what comes next in life.

My friend Bob Russell succumbed to his esophageal cancer in late August.  He had entered into Hospice care back in June and was spending his last days on Glen Lake, just spitting distance from Gram’s cottage.  I visited him just a couple of weeks before he died while I was up there staying with my extended family at the cottage. He was in good spirits and we had a lucid conversation about recognizing the end.  For him, the cancer had spread into his brain and after valiant attempts at getting it under control, he finally conceded that it was time to let go.  He told me that he knew that his skills and intelligence were no longer viable for solving problems or contributing to society in any way.  He added that there were two things that still needed to happen: One, his loved ones need to find a way to let him go. And two, he needed to find a way to let go of life, himself. “It’s damned hard”, he said. “I don’t know how to do that.”

I feel that I am a very long way from where Bob was on that day.  I’ll likely get there sooner than most of you reading this, but right now it feels like that day is still years away.  We are all dying and you never know when and rarely how. Any of us can die on any day.  I could get hit by a car while crossing the road and so could you.  We should all live for the day and enjoy every minute and embrace every situation, good and bad, as an interesting experience that we are privileged to comprehend at this moment.

That sweater is back out of the closet and stretched across my torso and I find it a bit itchy and uncomfortable but I quickly remember that I get to experience another change of seasons. It does not feel as bad as the last time.  I’m grateful that I can go back to work tomorrow.