Diagnosis (2016)

18 Mar 2016

Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. The words came out of his mouth so normal, so smooth. Calm & quiet.

Cancer.

Suddenly the world changed. Not dramatic like an earthquake that kills hundreds of thousands of people, or a tsunami washing over the land with a force incomprehensible, or a loved one dying or leaving for good. Just change, calm & quiet like his voice and words. No press release or formal ceremony nor a panicked firestorm of emotions and grief. Calm, quiet shift in reality.

Cancer.

I went home and laid on the bed. Cried and then slept. I woke, alone, the room was dark. For a split second I didn’t have cancer and then I remembered I did. I have cancer. It’s real, I didn’t dream it or imagine it. I have cancer.

Cancer!

Me. So stubbornly strong and healthy. Nothing affects me and if it does, it affects me with a quarter of the severity of others. Me. With olive-ish skin, full thick curly hair and at least 20 extra pounds since moving back from Haiti two years ago. That’s right, no unexplained weight loss for this girl. Multiple trips to/from Haiti with no unexplained illnesses to drive me to the hospital for tests. No night sweats. Preliminary blood tests stubbornly showed no cancer markers or raised red flags. That’s right; no symptoms. Did I mention my body is stubborn? Complaints of fatigue and a few swollen lymph nodes sent us to an oncologist hoping for a biopsy. One touch of my lymph nodes and the oncologist said he suspected Hodgkin’s and 2 days later his suspicions were confirmed. Three days later Stage 3 was confirmed.

Stage 3 Hodgkin’s.

The ensuing two weeks were full of appointments and invasive procedures to prepare my body for the rigors of treatment. My body, my schedule were no longer my own. Turns out a diagnosis of cancer shoots your life into warp speed even as your body and energy are waning. One appointment or one procedure and I’m wiped out for the day. Bone marrow biopsy? No sir, neither awake nor sober, ever again. After a few days, both forearms were tattooed with bruises from multiple difficult sticks for IVs. I’d never seen or heard of a port and winced at the very idea. Then I realized it meant the end of IVs. Bring on the port. Where would you like to put it? Oh, just to the left side of the chest of a woman who wears v-necks virtually every day? Sure, no problem.

Stage 3 Hodgkin’s.

Lymphoma doesn’t much scare me. But hearing phrases like “advanced,” “stage 3 and possible stage 4 if it’s in your bone marrow” are a bit concerning. Ok, Alarming. But my beloved and my oncologist both tell me that for lymphoma, staging doesn’t much matter except to let the medical powers that be know the animal they are fighting. In fact, most lymphoma isn’t diagnosed until it’s progressed that far because it’s simply difficult to detect if one doesn’t have a certain set of side effects. For lymphoma, at least for me, a stage 3 or 4 doesn’t change prognosis. Thankfully I’m a firm Stage 3 because the horrific bone marrow biopsy procedure netted a negative result.

Stage 3 Hodgkin’s.

I’m a statistic. We all are. But for most of our lives it’s easy to forget. Cancer reminds you of your stats: a 42 year old woman, unmarried, no children, bachelor’s degree, some graduate level training, youngest of three siblings, non-smoker, occasional drinker, veggie eater. No high blood pressure, no diabetes, no heart issues, no known allergies. Medications include generics for joint pain, mild acid, low dose anti-depressant, anti-histamines. This sounds depressing but a diagnosis reduces you to numbers on a page.

Stage 3 Hodgkin’s.

Of course, I’m more than stats. We all are. I’m a girl, a woman, a missionary, a warrior, a believer, a girlfriend, sister, daughter, friend, boss, co-worker, momma to two dogs and a cat, and whatever else the spirit moves me to be. Cancer can’t hold up to all those things wrapped up in one body especially the “believer” portion. So, move on, cancer, nothing to see here. I will beat you.