February 16, 2014
When did it hit me that I have cancer? 2010 diagnosis and surgery? I certainly thought so. During 6 rounds of front-line chemotherapy that left me weak as a kitten? One would think so. Nineteen months later with news of recurrence? Certainly that would have driven the point home. No.. all those experiences were just that – one time experiences. Intellectually I was aware that I have advanced stage metastatic ovarian cancer. I’ve been in some form of chemo treatment continuously for over a year now. Even that didn’t knock me back like actually getting sick from the tumors themselves. I only thought treatment sucked. The consequences of cancer romping freely about my abdominal organs to reign down havoc to my gastrointestinal system, now that got my attention. Nothing like surgical intervention to reroute your plumbing around tumor masses as a wake up call. So, this is cancer…. The bit by bit destruction of the body.
Where the mind goes, the body will follow and vice-versa. So, being physically weak feeds the fear monster, and fear enables the physical weakness. It is a vicious cycle. I’m now quite fearful about not only my limited time, but the quality of my life for that time.
As I soaked in a hot bath yesterday evening, I put my hand on my stomach, traced the length of my recent incisional scar and wondered what is happening in there right now. I could almost visualize the steady devastation occurring. Is this chemo drug working? I sometimes try visualization and body scanning… sitting quietly and visualizing tumors shriveling, backing away and letting loose of my organs, shrinking and dying. I like that picture.