Cancer Thoughts: Phase Three

Finding meaning and clarity in my cancer reality

My cancer is a short but significant chapter in a very long book.

It’s been four days since I learned I have cancer, I wrote in my journal on April 6th. Since I learned about my nodule, my daily journal has been littered with talk of cancer.

There have been other musings and rants, but cancer has been the main focus.

And rightly so.

I am a very strategic person who loves to problem-solve. A couple of years ago, I completed the Clifton Strengths Test and learned that my top five strengths are:

• Strategic

• Competition

• Achiever

• Ideation

• Input

If you ever have the chance to take this test, do it! It will be life-changing.

My top strength is my ability to “find alternative ways to proceed, and faced with any given scenario, I can quickly spot the relevant patterns and issues.”

That is what I am doing with my cancer journey. I am problem-solving and searching for the best path. This process is good for my thinking brain, and also good for my feeling brain. It keeps me focused and calm. It gives me solace and peace. And, it allows me to keep myself out of the cancer rabbit hole, which is so much deeper than any other rabbit hole I have encountered.

Nearly a week after I learned that my tumor was cancerous, I had a follow-up with a pulmonologist to review my lung biopsy results. I already knew the results, cancer, so I was not sure what more they were going to tell me. I went with an open mind, though.

My doctor was very nice and I felt heard and seen, which is wonderful. He said that my cancer appeared to be Stage One with no involvement of the nearby lymph nodes. That made me happy, but I knew I would not know for sure if the cancer had spread until I had the brain MRI and PET scan that were scheduled in the next few days. And, since I now had an oncologist on the team, I knew she would be the last word on the issue. I did, however, allow myself to let out a quick sigh of relief. I felt like I earned that at this point.

You may be wondering, “Why would she be having a brain MRI when the cancer is in her lungs?” I would be, too. It was news to me, interesting news, that when lung cancer spreads, it typically spreads to the brain first. This fact may help you someday in a trivia contest or a Jeopardy appearance. If it is the latter, the answer would be, of course, in the form of a question, “What is lung cancer?”

The day after my brain MRI, I wrote in my journal…

It was nearly an hour into my morning that I remembered that I have cancer. I like that it took me that long to have the thought, which means I am either in or getting close to an acceptance stage. Well, at least for today. At least for this moment.

I had my brain MRI yesterday. It was an interesting experience. I am not claustrophobic, but I feel anxious when I have to sit still and focus only on my breathing. I could feel my heart rate increasing as they slid me into the cramped tube. I willed myself into a calmer state with deep breathing and calming thoughts. It worked, and after that, I really enjoyed the MRI process.

The sounds were incredible. I felt like I was in an 1980s video game (such as Asteroids), with high-pitched digital sounds darting around me for a while. Later, the sounds drew me into a what felt like a seventies science-fiction art film, reminiscent of 2001: A Space Odyssey. I was sure I would be hearing Hal’s voice at any moment. And there were times I was feeling a very strong Tron vibe.

When they slid me out of the machine, I was relaxed and chilled, and I walked away with a very positive view of the MRI experience.

Tomorrow is my PET scan. I will be injected with radioactive glucose tracer and slid into a scanner. My time in the machine (20 to 40) minutes will create detailed 3D images of my body and highlight areas that show increased tracer uptake, which indicate cancer.

I will find out the results on Thursday when I meet with my oncologist for the first time. I feel that after that meeting, the fact that I have cancer will be at the forefront of my mind again. But, until then, I will enjoy the temporary acceptance stage and the stress reduction that it brings me.

Oh, the blissfulness of ignorance! I must admit I don’t feel it that often, given how hell-bent I am about knowing EVERYTHING and constantly asking why. But, with this cancer thing, I am happy to let it play out in its own time. I don’t know why I am experiencing this so differently than everything else in my life, but I am sure someday soon, I will figure it out.

Journal writing from the next morning…

Today is PET scan day!

I am five days away from knowing the extent of the cancer and what my treatment path will most likely be. I am surprisingly calm about it and proud of myself for that.

I found myself having the thought that if the cancer is treatable with surgery, I cannot really write or paint about it since it’s not that bad, or as bad as some others. This is stupid, I know, but that is my brain.

Well, maybe the MRI, while scanning my brain, could tell me why in the world I had that last thought. WTF? Not bad enough?

The truth can suck sometimes, but mostly it leads me to more truth as I learn new layers of myself, like peeling an onion. Geez, don’t you just hate that metaphor? I do, so I had to head straight to thesaurus.com to find alternatives to the word peel.

barking, husking, scaling, stripping, exposing, shelling, shucking, skinning, baring, hulling

Well, I now know why “peeling like an onion” is overused; better alternatives are slim pickings.

• Peeling my skin? Not a good visual.

• Barking? This makes no sense in this matter.

• Husking a cob of corn. This could work, but do we really need another food-related metaphor?

• Stripping away the old paint. No food-related and not too cringy. This could work.

• Shelling the peanut. No, no more food!

• Shucking the oyster. I said no more food!

• Skinning the… I just can’t.

I pledge to do the research and think really hard about a better analogy for revealing the truth, piece by piece. I will report back when I have it.

Now, where was I before I took the train to tangent town? Oh, yeah, not thinking my cancer was bad enough to write about. Well, obviously I don’t believe that because, well, you are reading a post about my cancer.

I had to wait five days until my oncologist appointment to learn if my cancer has spread and what my treatment plan options are. I spent those days working, paying taxes, walking my puppy, enjoying time with Rich and Dawson, and, occasionally, thinking about my cancer. What I did not do was write much about my cancer.

But I did log into my patient portal and see if the scan results were up, which I said I would not do. I felt a strong urge to do so, so I did. No judgment here.

The MRI results were available, but not the PET scan. Thank goodness there was no spread to the brain. Now, I await the PET scan results, which I will get in a few days.

The day after my oncologist visit, I wrote…

Stage 1, very early, small tumor. And, there are minimally invasive procedures to remove the cancer that I may be a candidate for. I really hope so.

I am not sad.
I am not happy.
I am grateful.
I am not worried.
I am ready to plan for the surgery.
I am ready to heal.

And I am ready to live through this experience, learn what I can, and become a better person.

I had the thought that my cancer is not bad enough for people to take care of me and feel concerned for me. Yes, crazy thoughts, but they indicate something I need to know, and change:

It isn’t others than need to fulfil this desire, but rather, it is me. I need to take care of myself and have more empathy, caring, and grace for myself.

My body, my emotions, and my mind are telling me this. I must listen. But I am not sure what I need to do differently. What changes will I make to support this need?

I am still working on that last question, and I am making a bit of progress.

After I started to wrap my head around the fact that I was going to have lung surgery, I began to feel the strong urge to care for myself without explaining or justifying why I needed or deserved to. For the first time in a very long time, I am putting my needs first.

Wow, that is a powerful thing for me to write.

Yes, this journey has its ebbs and flows…

I feel a bit numb about this whole cancer thing. It’s strange.

I have lung cancer.
I will have said lung cancer excised from my body.
I will not have lung cancer any longer.

It just seems too, dare I say, easy? Too quick? To painless?

Okay, so why does everything need to be painful? Now, there is a question to ponder and explore.

I sometimes hate that one of my top five strengths is being an Achiever. Geez, can’t I just be without needing to achieve?

Okay, so back to this cancer thing.

I am sure, once I awaken from my surgery and feel the pain, shortness of breath, and other bodily issues, I will not think this whole cancer thing is a cake walk.

Maybe being numb and not worried now is my way of dealing with it, my method for preparing my body and my mind for what could be seen as impending doom.

Who the fuck knows?

I wonder, not worry, how I will handle being unable to work for two weeks. Well, I hope it’s only two weeks and not longer. I hope my clients will understand, and if they don’t, well, there is nothing I can do to change that.

My goal is to get as caught up and ahead on my work as possible before the surgery. This means I will be working weekends, which is okay. I won’t work all weekend.

On Sunday, we are going to a Tigers game. It will be fun!!

Before meeting with the surgeon, I had to complete a Pulmonary Function Test to determine how well my lungs worked.

I blew into a machine yesterday. I sucked hard, and blew hard. Five tests, three times each. It was interesting and fun on some level. I am not sure why I find all these tests fun, but I will roll with it.

Well, yes, I am sure it’s my way of coping with this situation, and I should be very proud of myself for finding the most positive spin I can. Turning the bad into fun—now that’s a skill!

It is good to have a baseline of lung function before the surgery. I am also curious to see what my pulmonologist thinks about my current lung function and my odds for getting COPD down the road. I really do not want COPD, but I also understand and accept that I smoked for 30 years and vaped for 15.

I met with my surgeon and wrote later that day…

I like my surgeon. He will be removing my tumor on May 6, 2025. I will spend 2-5 days in the hospital, and then about two weeks at home recovering.

I have an 85-90% chance that the adjoining lymph nodes are cancer-free, which is good odds. If they are not, I will need chemotherapy.

The most amazing thing I learned at my visit is that my pulmonary function is over 100%. That means my lungs healed after the years of smoking, and I will not get COPD. Well, I would if I started smoking again, which I will not.

I am not going to die from COPD! Woohoo!

I can stop worrying that I will have a chronic illness that will kill me! WooHoo!

My life can now begin.

The day I learned that my Mom had COPD, I went into fear and loathing mode. I did not stop vaping, of course, because why do something that would help prevent a similar outcome?

I have watched her battle the disease over the years and felt like I was watching a preview of the life ahead of me. I was terrified. And now I am not.

Yes, my smoking caused a cancerous tumor that will soon be excised from my body, but I dodged the COPD bullet. For that, I am so grateful.

I will be losing 25% of my right lung, basically, the upper lobe. After I recover, my surgeon claims, I will not notice the lesser lung capacity unless I plan on challenging someone to a foot race. My 75% status would most likely cause me to lose that race. Well, if the opponent was infirm or just a slow runner, I actually could have a chance of winning. Well, I don’t think that scenario will play itself out any time soon.

I am so fucking proud of my self for quitting cigarettes when I did and getting healthy, which both lead to healing my smoke-damaged lungs. I can’t believe I pulled it off.

I only have 10 days to cherish my newly discovered better-than-average lung capacity before it is reduced to just under normal. I will be grateful for it every day, as I will be grateful to myself for taking good care and making healthy decisions.

So, here I am, waiting for surgery day to arrive. It’s the Saturday before the Tuesday of my surgery. Yesterday I got my haircut, so basically, I am ready to go and have a great blowout to take me through my surgery and hospital stay.

I wrote this morning…

I noticed yesterday that I was becoming a bit sad and quiet. I think the reality of what will happen in four days is beginning to set in.

• I am having major surgery, which means anesthesia and time in the hospital.

• I will sacrifice 25% of my right lung (the entire upper lobe) in my quest for a continuing life free from cancer.

• It will take one to two weeks to recover.

• There is a slight chance that there is a microscopic amount of cancer in the adjacent lymph nodes. I will find out after my surgery.

The list is manageable, and I will get through it. I don’t feel the need to freak out, cry uncontrollably, or do something stupid (I have no idea what that would be anyway).

I do feel this quietness coming on, and I don’t think it is a bad thing at all. I feel it is my body’s process of accepting what we are about to go through. I feel this truth in my bones.

I am centered and grounded.

I am grateful and hopeful.

I am tired and sad.

I am ready.

The above lines were written from my present emotions and thoughts. I almost decided not to write “I am tired and sad,” but felt the pull of honesty as my fingers connected with the keyboard.

It feels good to be able to “write it out.”

I will be working, baking, and cooking for the next three days to prepare for my surgery and recovery. Tonight, Rich and I are going to a jazz club.

It’s Saul Goodman (you’ll get it if you know it).

I will post some notes over the next week or so and hope to post a longer writing once I feel well enough to sit at my computer and write.

Thanks for joining me on this journey.