Warning: Long, quite emo post ahead…
When it comes to cancer, if you’ve gone for five years with no evidence of the disease (NED), you’re considered cured. Sure there are some that have a chance of recurring several years – even decades – down the line, but reaching that five year mark is a huge milestone.
This afternoon I had my five-year anniversary checkup following the melanoma I had removed in December 2004 (yes I know it’s a few weeks early – my checkup schedule worked out that way and my surgeon says that a couple of weeks don’t matter!). I had to go for a chest x-ray first and then on to the melanoma clinic where my surgeon and oncologist gave me a thorough going-over, checking my skin, lymph nodes and abdomen (checking my liver). Everything was absolutely normal and I have now reached five years – yippee!
Because this is such a significant checkup, I have been a bit of a wreck the last couple of weeks, in anticipation. Having got so far, to find out that some ‘mischief’ (as my surgeon calls it) had cropped up would have been devastating. My Mum likened it to climbing a flight of stairs, only to twist your ankle on the second-from-top step and fall all the way back to the bottom. Luckily for me I am very blessed and I’ve made it to the top with no problems. 🙂
So how did I feel when I got the good news today? I didn’t burst into happy tears, which I thought I might. I didn’t leap around dancing. I felt relief – and then it felt surreal. The day I’d been looking forward to for so long is here… wow. Wow. It’s taking some time to get my head around that. So what did I do? I took the rest of the day off and celebrated life by buying a gorgeous pair of red platform sandals 🙂 Retail therapy is, for me, quite life-affirming!
I’ve had many, many checkups over the last five years. Initially I had to go every two months, alternating between the clinic and my dermatologist. After two years, that changed to every three months – and from now, it will be every six – with an annual chest x-ray before my clinic visit. I am so thankful for the private healthcare that I have access to, which is excellent. With melanoma, there is a slight chance it could recur down the line, so an annual check-up is recommended. Because I have very fair skin, I’m high risk for any skin cancer, so I’ll see my dermatologist regularly too. It’s going to be strange having much longer gaps between checkups and I hope it won’t freak me out too much – much as I’ve dreaded them, they’ve been very reassuring as I know I’m being carefully monitored.
I do weird things in the run-up to my checkups. Firstly, I start getting overly sensitive to every little ache, pain, mark and feeling… I scrutinise my scar for any changes, start wondering if moles that have probably been on my body forever are in fact new or have changed and when I get really nerve-wracked, I start tensing up, which causes headaches (brain tumour!), a stiff neck (lymph nodes!), etc. etc. I know it’s totally psychosomatic but can’t seem to help it!
On the day of my checkups I get a little OCD in my house… I have to tidy it completely before I go – make sure all the washing up is done, put all my clothes away, vaccuum, etc. etc. It’s kind of like ‘At least if there’s something wrong, I will come back to a nice clean house’. Or ‘If there is anything wrong, I don’t want it to have been caused by my not doing the dishes’ – OK, yes, that does sound ridiculous, I know! But maybe it makes a little sense. One thing this experience has taught me is that there are things I can’t control – so I hang on to the little things that I can control. I also always read my Bible – getting closer to God has been one of the very good things to come out of this experience. Psalm 16 is my special psalm – go and read it if you need some reassurance; it is hugely comforting. When I had the diagnosis in 2004, my Dad made me a ‘promises jar’ – a jar filled with little paper scrolls, each containing one of God’s promises from the Bible. I dip into the jar, picking one at random, whenever I need a little extra reassurance that God is indeed never far away. I keep one or two in my wallet and on my phone too.
Last night I got quite emotional, thinking of everything that has happened in the last five years and how I’ve dealt with this whole experience. As I mentioned before, I was very lucky to have my melanoma caught early – all I had to have was surgery, no nasty treatments. Many other cancer survivors have to endure the ravages of chemo and radiation therapies and I am so grateful that I didn’t have to. But I still had that moment when I was told that the biopsy showed a malignant tumour. A moment that changes your life. Where you go cold and wonder if you are going to throw up. When you wonder how much time you have left. Days, weeks and even months afterwards where your stomach is in knots with anxiety and you lose weight because your nerves give you diarrhoea. Panicky and stressful hours leading up to checkups. Realising you have forgotten to breathe during a medical examination. Praying that your x-rays will be clear. Your stomach lurching when you read the words ‘cancer’, ‘tumour’ and ‘malignant’ on the line items on your medical bills. Kindly medical technicians asking ‘so where was the cancer?’ and feeling like they must be talking about someone else. And the amazing feeling of relief when you’re given the all-clear. The deep love and empathy you feel and the tears that fall when you read stories of hope and bravery of other cancer survivors, or the sad stories of those who don’t make it – even total strangers.
I’ve had people be quite dismissive of my experience – maybe because my treatment was so minor. Maybe because I didn’t lose my hair or look (or feel) sick. Maybe because I hide my scar from them and they’ve never seen it. Maybe because they have loved ones whose cancer experience was much more traumatic. I’ve lost two good friends this year because of this – they just could not understand why I avoid the sun so diligently. Two dermatologists, a surgeon and an oncologist have all said that I can’t take enough precautions to avoid the sun – so I will continue to choose their advice over the peer pressure of friends. I hope that one day, the friends I have lost will come to understand me and we’ll be reunited.
I have also had amazing support. My parents, who are my rocks and without whom I’d have fallen to pieces long ago. My good friend B, a doctor, who has patiently and gently listened to all my symptoms – real and imagined (including a panicky 6am call in my first year about stomach pains which turned out to be indigestion!). My other friends who understand, respect, encourage and support me with great kindness and love. The therapist I saw throughout my first year. My skilled, kind and patient doctors, through whom I know God channels His healing power. Sheila, my guardian angel. And my God, whose constant and unfailing love amazes me.
I am so thankful and grateful that I have reached this milestone. I am one of the lucky ones. My heart and love goes out to all who are dealing with some form of cancer – may you also reach your five year NED mark and may God bless you and fill you with His healing love. And please, avoid the sun or cover up if you must go in it – wear long sleeves/trousers, sunscreen and a hat. A tan is just not worth it.
Love and light (the non UV type!) to you all.
A xx
This post is dedicated to a friend of mine, JC, who lost her father this week.
I just had the most wonderful weekend. Saturday was spent with three of my single girl friends and as usual, we laughed, analysed the world, pranced about, acted like idiots and generally had a fantastic time.
single and thirty-something 