I recognise myself using a new tone in this blog entry, but I have always pledged to be honest, so I will continue.
Last Monday was meant to be Decision Day at Bexley. I always knew that on my return from Argentina, I would be faced with the hard fact of my progressing cancer, and that I would be asked to make a decision.
My choices were:
1) Faslodex – the final hormone treatment on offer to me, involving painful injections into the muscles in my bottom, with very little chance of effectiveness;
2) Everolimus (to work alongside the Exemestane that I still take) – a return to the targeted therapy that made me so very ill in the summer, but on a reduced dose;
3) Capecitibine – an oral chemotherapy (with side effects that may seriously affect my dancing) with a 50 – 60% chance of effectiveness;
4) No action – (my own suggestion) until the symptoms become too much for me to bear
With my oncologist’s blessing, I left the hospital without making a decision, despite my original intention to begin a new treatment there and then. We wished each other a happy Christmas and she told me to enjoy my relative good health while I still have it. I told her that I enjoy every single moment of my good health, to the max!
I left hospital with an overwhelming sense of relief at having postponed any decision making (yet again), but then I began to feel extremely sick on Wednesday. My palliative care nurse sent me for blood tests without delay in case the sickness was due to calcium leaking into the blood, which would have meant immediate hospitalisation. Fortunately, this was not the case, but living with cancer always means that any illness might be related to it. Hopefully, and in all likelihood, it’s a regular winter vomiting virus that anyone could have. I still feel queasy and uncomfortably ‘strange’ in a way I find impossible to define, but I am still determined to make the most of this Christmas period with my incredible family and my dear, dear friends. Time enough, when I return to hospital on the 6th Jan 2014, to ‘face the music’ then.
I have to admit it’s hard though, when everyone around me is making their plans for 2014 and further ahead. I am fully aware that those plans may never materialise, but living for our hopes and dreams is how we find the will and motivation to go on. Never mind people talking about their travel plans for the forthcoming year, I have even found it hard when sports commentators talk about the next Olympics or the next World Cup. I just quietly disengage both mentally and emotionally, because I’m pretty sure these things simply don’t bear direct relevance to me. I never intended to live my life as if I’d already died, so I will never totally disengage from the hopes and dreams that the lives of others are built upon, but it still remains a challenge… particularly as the sand slips ever more quickly through my timer. It simply feels too soon, and I guess it always will.
Is it a mistake to see yourself in contrast to others? During the course of any illness it may well be your friends who travel ahead; it’s just that they do not know what awaits, and don’t make their own decisions. The first lesson of life should be that we are all mortal, and our time within this identity is strictly limited. I sense that you are right to focus on what you enjoy; to soak up these times, however long they may last. Dancing with you at the Christmas ball was so special for me. That memory will last my lifetime, however long or short that may be. http://www.upworthy.com/find-out-what-a-bunch-of-happy-smiling-fulfilled-people-are-calling-their-best-free-therapy?g=2&c=ufb1
Yes Stephen, I believe it is a mistake to compare ourselves with others because we’re all on the same journey, after all. In one sense I was quite uncomfortable sharing such thoughts, but they are part of my own truth in having the knowledge that my body is in the process of packing up. I really don’t want to sound sorry for myself though. P.S. I loved the dances too… Thank you!
Let me reassure you, Sara – you don’t sound sorry for yourself. You sound sensible and realistic, and I am so grateful for the fact that you are able to share your journey.
We, thank heavens, are all different, individual and unique.
Sara remains special.
Sara, you’re the best. Always have been, always will be. I continue to be inspired by you and have a special place in my heart that’s Sara-shaped. One day at a time, eh? Have a peaceful Christmas. Love, Anne.
Thank you as always Anne for all your kind words and your ongoing support. It means a lot to me that you care so much. Love, Sara.
I too am on a similar journey to you, Sara, and I am trying to live a “do it now” life. I thank you sincerely for sharing your thoughts as they are inspiring. How lovely that you are able to enjoy your dancing. Wishing you a peaceful Christmas. Jana
Dear Sara, what can I say ….. My thoughts are with you as they often are as we go through the process of this terrible disease. You never cease to amaze me how you cope with what is thrown at you xxxx
Sara, I am treasuring every minute of this holiday season with my family. At the start of 2013 I didn’t think I would live to see Christmas. I’m so thankful I did! I hate that you are faced with these decisions now. Every month I worry about what’s going to happen with my blood work. It’s not easy! I hope you have the most special holiday ever! Your in my heart
and my prayers!
Thank you so much for your thoughts and prayers from across the oceans, Tammy. We all care so much about one another in these circumstances, don’t we? That care and love feels so special and so healing. I’ve been really happy to read about the way your body has responded positively to treatment. It has given me strength and optimism about my own situation. Long may your good health continue.xx
My brother in law died of lung cancer at the end of October. He had nine weeks from being told that the cancer had spread to his death. At the end of football season he cried because he knew he would not be hear to watch the next season. He wasn’t a huge football fan, but it was the knowing that the future was so limited that was painful.
I hope for you a happy and loving Christmas… and the best of possible new year’s.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts. Every blessing to you and your family.