As I have explained in previous posts, I am thrilled to be at a large cancer center in Syracuse. The physicians, and nurses are at the top of their respected fields. The equipment is state-of-the-art, and the treatment plans are extremely comprehensive. The fellow patients and staff are warm, and more than welcoming. I couldn't ask to be at a better facility. That being said, not every aspect of the hospital can be all sunshine and roses. With every good piece of a news, a bad piece of news is surely to follow.
My bad piece of news came on the second day of treatment in Syracuse. The first day was mostly orientation. I met many members of the hospital staff, my new doctors, and got familiarized with the my new surroundings. The mood was light, and overall quite positive. I remember feeling terribly nervous about the introduction to my new oncologist. What would they think of me? Are they looking forward to working with me? Am I going to be just another name on their list of patients? Will I be just another number? To my surprise, the introductions were successful, as well as, fairly pleasant. I felt confident embarking on a new treatment path. That all changed on day two at the cancer center in Syracuse. I continue to have complete faith in the facility, and the wonderful staff at the hospital. The doubts lie completely within myself. The question at the forefront of all my healthcare concerns is: Do I have the strength to maintain this fight? My doctors and I, are both, beginning to ponder said question.
The second day at the cancer center carried a much darker, and more intense feeling. I sat down individually with each of my new physicians. We spoke in depth about my "case", and my tumors. Everyone loves to chat about themselves now and then, but in this situation, I couldn't wait until these conversations were over. I anxiously sat with each doctor as they asked me a battery of questions. By the time I got to the last oncologist interview, I was filled to the brim with tension and anxiety. I could not wait to leave his office, and jump in the medi-van back home. The questions had become torture. I was passively answering, in hopes to swiftly maneuver through the interrogation. It was working to my advantage until he shocked me with his final statement of our meeting. He told me that the oncological staff will work tirelessly to accommodate my healthcare, but he doesn't foresee a long lifespan in my future.
What the hell? Who pitches that statement at someone, stands up, shakes my hand, and proceeds to usher me out of his office? I was left in utter shock. I kept my composure until I sat down in the car. The minute I fell into the seat, the tears began welling up in my eyes. It was truly the longest ride home of my life. How do you digest that kind of information? I decided I wasn't going to share what the last doctor told me the day before, until I spoke to the other physicians.
The next day I stormed into the cancer center with a mission. I was going to confront the entire oncological staff. I was absolutely sure they would discredit what the doctor told me the previous day. I was floored at what I heard. The consensus was that my life will be cut short due to cancer. They couldn't give me a timeline because I have defied the odds before, but the science doesn't lie. I will most likely run out of treatment options if the tumors don't stop spreading soon. In that moment, I felt my heart sink to my stomach. What have the past four and a half years of treatments, surgeries, and procedures done for me? Why have I been subjected to immense pain, fear, and heartache for so long? Why did I even bother to fight?
I wallowed in that empty feeling for a few days. I'll be the first to admit, I was a SUPER bitch during that time. I was ready to lay down and die. I fully succumbed to my illness, until I looked over at a picture of my family and friends on my wedding day. We all had smiles on our faces, and happiness in our eyes. I could feel the love pouring out of that picture. In that moment, I realized that I got married while battling cancer. The most wonderful day of my life happened amidst my cancer fight. Why should I give in to my illness now?
My life may be cut short, and I will to fight until I take my last breath. My cancer will most likely kill me, but I vow to keep living until that day. I am not just living for me. I am living for the family and friends from the picture that surrounded me on my wedding day, and for all of those who where there in spirit. I'm living for all of the patients that have crossed my path along this cancer journey, and for those I have yet to meet. I'm not giving up. I'm living.
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