Cancer Update/ I'm Still Here

   I thought  I was going to wait until next week, after I see my doctor, to give you an update on my cancer, but there's something I want to say today. I'm still here.
   
   If you have read my post Cancer I Know, then you know that I was diagnosed with stage 3 ovarian cancer in November of 2013, and then moved onto stage 4 ovarian cancer in 2014, when the sneaky cells metastasized to my liver.

    My initial prognosis in 2013 was that I would live for 1 to 5 years. Even after all the surgery and chemotherapy that I endured, that was all I could expect - 1 to 5 years. After it metastasized to my liver, my life expectancy was reduced to 1 year or less. That was just about a year ago today. When I found out this past November, just 5 months after completing chemotherapy for a second time, that the cancer was back again, my doctor took my hands in hers, and with a grave look on her face, said- this is going to shorten your life. Now I really like my doctor, so I held my sarcastic tongue, and just said - I know. But what I was thinking was -  what do you mean by that....don't you think that's a funny thing to say to someone who should be dead by now? 

   When I see my doctor next week, if the lab results show that the cancer is still growing, I will again be told I am dying. Frankly, I'm getting pretty tired of people telling me I'm dying. 
I have cancer. The cancer may kill me. But I am not dying! I am living!    I'm still here.

   Considering 1 in 3 Americans will at some point in their life (those are the current statistics) have some form of cancer, isn't it time we started talking about living with cancer? Isn't it time we erased the assumption that cancer = death, so that we can talk about it like any other life struggle? 

   Cancer sucks, but I'm not sure it's the worst thing that can ever happen to a person. The fact that we have made it so, has not only scared a lot of people with cancer into living like they are dying, but it has also isolated a lot of people. 
   
   The fear surrounding cancer has made it difficult to talk about.  When I was first diagnosed, I told very few people. I didn't want to make them uncomfortable. I knew my cancer diagnosis would change the way they looked at me. I was now someone who might die soon. I was now someone who made them think about scary things - like dying.  That's changed. I no longer feel I need to take responsibility for how others may react to hearing that I have cancer. I now tell anyone and everyone. 

   I don't mean that I run around telling people I have cancer for no reason, but I don't hide it either.  And when I do tell people, I find because so many of us have cancer, or know someone who has cancer, that it gives us both the opportunity to show compassion, and to share our story, or the story of a loved one. It creates a connection. It takes away a little bit of the fear. It let's us be human. Not a statistic. Not a media headline. Just human.  

   So, I just want to say. 

I'm still here.

So is my cancer.

I am alive.

I am not afraid.

I am living!

   




   

Ovarian Cancer Update/Inspiration

   Well, here I go again. My ovarian cancer is active, and my doctors want me to do more chemo to try to stop it. I found out a few weeks ago when I went in for blood work earlier than I was scheduled to because of some suspicious pains I was having. Nothing major, but I knew something wasn't right. I knew it was the cancer.

   This seems to be my routine. For the past three years, just as the holiday season approaches, just days before Thanksgiving, I am told "you have cancer or, the cancer is back". Gee thanks. Well I guess I should be thankful that it let's me enjoy my summers before it sets me back on the road to chemotherapy. Of course my doctors want me to start chemotherapy right away, but I'm not ready. I'm close to ready, but not yet willing to subject my body to more poison, at least not until I feel I have no other option, so I am putting myself through beat cancer boot camp. This means more juicing, more supplements, more research, an even more restricted diet, and finding a way to take pleasure in it all. If I can't stop the cancer on my own, at least I will know that I did everything I could to strengthen my defenses against the poisons the doctors have to offer.

   I read the following quotes a while ago, and filed them away for times like these, when I feel myself being tempted to accept that this might be the end in a way that feels too close to giving up the fight, because some days I am so exhausted that I think resignation would be a relief.  But I know I don't have it in me to give up. I believe in the power of hope. It's all I've got. It's all I need.

   Words like these help.

" I can't believe I've come this far 

to only come this far"

"Keep the faith. The most amazing things happen

when you are about to give up."

      I also find that testimonials from people who have beat cancer  are helpful and inspiring, so I have included a couple of links for those of you who are interested. For an online testimonial from a man who treated his cancer with supplements  click here.  For a compilation of testimonials in book format, there is the  book "Radical Remission, Surviving Cancer Against All Odds" by Dr. Kelly Turner Phd., which is enjoyable and inspiring to read

available here.

Cancer I know (my story)

"You never realize how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have"

unknown

   Cancer, I know it well. I have been living with it for almost two years now. It was two years ago, the week before Thanksgiving, that I was diagnosed with stage 3c ovarian cancer. 
   Cancer, I know it well. I have had tumors surgically removed. They gutted me like a fish. I had a complete hysterectomy and an appendectomy. They removed my omentum. They removed tumors from my colon and my diaphragm.
   I survived against the odds. I was told that I had a 40% chance of surviving. I was told that as soon as I could, I needed to get myself up out of the bed and walk. So I did. I dragged myself and my IV pole, with my bags filled with fluid dripping into my arm, down the hall and around the nurses desk, lap after slow lap, with someone by my side in case I collapsed. 
   I was bloated and heavy from edema from the waist down from lying in bed, while at the same time being nothing but skin and bones up top. My five feet five inch frame had dropped from 115 pounds to ninety five pounds in a matter of days. I was not allowed to eat for the first three days, and my body was quickly burning through it's supplies trying to heal itself.
   Four days after my surgery I was released and sent home with my abdomen stapled shut from the tip of my sternum to my pubic bone. I was sent home with ten days worth of medicine that I had to shoot by needle into the flesh of my slack scrawny thighs to prevent blood clots. I was shown how to care for my wound, and told to watch for signs of infection. I would start chemo as soon as I healed. 
   Cancer, I know it well. I have had chemotherapy twice now. I have lost my hair- all of it. Not even an eyelash was spared. I didn't really care. It was no time to be vain. I looked as bad as I felt. I have lost my ability to taste food. I have had painful neuropathy in my hands that woke me up at night. I have had mouth sores which made it impossible for me to eat, even liquids sipped cautiously through a straw caused terrible pain. Talking was also painful, except when I could get the sound out through my clenched teeth without moving my tongue. Which is nearly impossible. My cognitive functions became impaired, and the steroids I had to take turned me into an emotional maniac, and prevented me from sleeping. 
   I live alone, and it was the dead of winter. I didn't have a car at the time, so I took taxis, or walked when I had the strength. At times I ordered chinese food to be delivered when that's all I could manage.  People helped, and probably would have helped more if I had asked, but I am independent, and I felt I was managing. I find it hard to ask for help, so I actually prefer struggling on my own. I tend to turn people away.  
    Seven months after this all started, when I finished with chemo, I was in remission. My blood work (CA125) was below the normal mark, which is 32. It was at 4000 when I was diagnosed! After a few months of being drug free, I felt better than I had in years, but then that feeling went away. The cancer was back, and it had metastasized to my liver. I was (am) now at stage 4. So, just five months after my first chemotherapy ended, I was again on the fast track to an early death. I was right back on the same road.... In spite of this I decided to delay chemo for a while. I was still feeling relatively well. I was still working and traveling. I had just spent a few weeks in Paris and the French Riviera. I wasn't ready to ruin what quality of life I still had. Every successive blood test showed that the cancer was growing rapidly, and I lived everyday with the decision of- is this the day I should start chemo. Will tomorrow be too late.
   When I started chemo this second time my blood CA125 was at 800.  The chemo brought it down at an astounding rate. After only two rounds of chemotherapy it was down to a jaw dropping 50! Yay! it worked. Two more rounds brought it down to 12, a comfortable spot well within the normal range of 0-32. Okay, another chance to live! I have now enjoyed two months of remission.  I will be tested again at the end of December. If my blood CA125 level has risen, I will again have to decide if I want to do chemo.
   Ovarian cancer is treated as a chronic disease. Even though it has one of the highest fatality rates, and is not curable, there are drugs, chemotherapy drugs available to prolong your life. And as long as they keep working, you keep living, until they destroy your body so much that they kill you, or they just stop working and the cancer kills you. What a choice!
  By now I know cancer very well, I have lived it, I have researched it, and I have talked with so many people who have it, or who know someone who has it. I am so grateful for all the stories I have heard. I have learned so much, and gained so much strength from them. 
   So, that's my story. I hope no one misunderstands my motive, and thinks I would accept their sympathy here. Congratulations would be accepted though. I wrote this simply because I wanted to share it. This is my life. This is what I have to share. And if it makes even one person with cancer feel less alone for having read it, I would be very pleased. 
   
   Cancer is not a death sentence. Cancer is a challenge. I choose to meet the challenge everyday.
   
   If anyone would like to write to me and share their story, or ask me any questions, you could use the comment box on this blog, or email me at figfoodin@gmail.com. 
   Thanks for listening
Diane

Cancer in Remission

   I am in remission. In remission- what does that mean? It's just a new label. My tumors are stable. The cancer is not active. I am no longer a cancer patient in treatment. I have been given a new identity. Hello, I am in remission.  A pleasure to meet you. Is that anything like being in the witness protection plan? You are given a new identity and told to act normal and get on with your life, but contact us if you feel anything is suspicious, or experience any signs that the criminal/cancer has found you and is again threatening your life.
   Your always on alert while in remission. Will this

food give me cancer. Is this just a headache or could it be a brain tumor (because you know it could be). Your always looking over your shoulder waiting for cancer to catch up with you. But don't get stressed out about it. That could give you cancer. 
   This is my second time in remission. My doctor and I expected I would be in remission for a long time after my surgery and first round of chemo. I did so well. Five months later I had 5 new tumors, and it had metastasized to my liver. I had to go through chemo again.
   Recurrences are hard. They are a big let down, to say the least. After surviving everything the first time I felt invincible. Hah! I survived cancer. I survived surgery and chemical poisoning. I am alive and I kicked cancer's ass!
   I no longer feel invincible (but I still kick ass).  I don't know how long it will be before the cancer finds me / comes back, or if it will. I do feel somewhat like I am being chased, so I am running faster. Not out of fear, but out of a sense of urgency. I am not running from death. I am running toward life. If today is all I can be sure of, I want it to be the best day of my life. 
  

  I wish I knew where I read this quote. It rings so true for me.

 "It is only in accepting death that real life is found"

Cancer journey

I have cancer. Cancer is my new normal. I don't let it interfere with my life, but it has become the focus of my life.
This is me with cancer. I know what cancer is, what is happening in my body. I don't know why or what I can do to stop it from happening. No one does. Even science has no answer for me. So, while my doctors try to kill my cancer and save my life with their protocol of cut, burn, and poison, I am trying to heal. 
I try my best everyday to be the best me with cancer that I can. I nourish my body better than I did before cancer. I care for my body and listen to what it has to tell me better than I did before. I have stage 4 ovarian cancer. Stage 4, how did I not suspect anything was wrong? Wasn't I listening? Maybe I did suspect, but was afraid to listen.I try to be a better friend to those I hold dear, and a better daughter to my aging parents who may outlive me. A sorrow I regret I may bestow upon them.
Somedays the trying is effortless. Other days it is just too much. I just want to forget I have cancer. Then I realize with or without cancer I am a better person for the journey it has set me on. With or without cancer, this is the new me. 

I am at peace with what is.