Living with Lung Cancer

Thank You, Everyone!

I can't count the number of times I've logged on here to create an entry and not been able to.
Here I am, with so much to say, and no matter how hard I try, the words just won't come. I was really surprised to see how many of you have read this; it took me for a loop. What a gift you gave given me! To know that someone is interested enough to read what goes on in my mind and to leave such kind words just blows me away.
Much has happened since May of this year. More is on the way. I thought I could write today but it's just not happening. Maybe later.

Deja Vu!

Well, this is what happens when you go digging around, looking for info on stuff. You sometimes find what you weren't looking for but it finds you.
The cancer's back.
I've known for a couple of months now, but this is the first attempt I've made to write about it. Putting it down in black and white makes it seem more real and that's probably why I've been avoiding a post for the last while.
Would you believe I'm shaking while typing this?
I think I'll go to bed now and come back later sometime this week. This is what I've been avoiding; the attempt at getting started again.
It is, after all, 1:15 a.m. and rest is what I need. It was a long day. Mark & I helped celebrate his parent's 50th. Wedding Anniversary this afternoon. Of course, this got me thinking about how we'll never get that close. It's 5 years next month for us; I'll be happy if I'm still here 5 years from now. Yes, I would very much like to make it to 10 years! (or 15, or 20, or 25) Yeah!! A Silver Wedding Anniversary, that would be nice. Something to shoot for.

New Year...new challenges!

Well! I think I've finally caught my breath (figuratively speaking) enough to share the most recent developments in the continuing saga of "Living With Lung Cancer".
You remember back in April 2006 when I introduced that cute little couple, Noma & Gord? Well, the couple has become a trio. Mycobacterium Avium (intraoculare) Complex (or "Mac", for short) has joined the other two in the residence they've set up in my upper right lobe. Got the pantry stocked and everything! Nothing can be done for it for the time being...just keep an eye on things.
Just to be sure of not being left out, my urinary system has decided to get in on the act as well. Bladder lets me know when it wants to empty, but takes its sweet time doing so. Takes forever to begin (though the "urge" feels "urgent") and then slowwwwwly trickles out. I do end up emptying a "normal" amount the "normal" number of times per day. Of course, I asked the G.P. to send me to a urologist to see what could be causing the problem.
Enter "Dr. I Know Everything & How Dare You Ask Questions" who begins by telling me it's probably my hormones (or lack thereof) that's causing the trouble. Happens to women of a "certain age" don't you know. Tubes start collapsing...but he can "fix it". First he sends me for a urodynamics test; the test designed to erase any traces of dignity you may have left. Go back to him for a follow-up and now the cause is "bad habits", he says. I say, "What exactly do you mean by bad habits? Do you mean holding your urine in and not using the facilities when you should?" "Yes", says he. Also, he gives me a slightly technical explanation on the results of the test, and when I ask for clarification by saying: "Correct me if I'm wrong, but are you saying my bladder has shut down?" and he says, "Yes", I'm stunned. But not to worry, he can "fix it" he assures me. Now I don't pretend to know anything about how my urinary systems works, but common sense would say that if urine is flowing out of my body when it's supposed to (ie. when I sit down on the toilet, as opposed to involuntarily coming out on its own) then my bladder must be functioning. Slowwwwwly, but none the less working. After this assault on my intelligence, he proceeds to tell me to go home. He'll have a nurse come around to my house and show me how to catheterize myself, which he wants me to do 3 times a day until he sees me again on January 9th. This is on December 6th. " Measure how much you void and keep a log" he tells me. This may even correct the problem and I may "start going right" he explains. But if not, he can "fix it".
All this during the week we're having our basement waterproofed and guys are down there jack-hammering and raising copious amounts of cement dust to the point we have to leave the house and stay at a hotel because I can't be breathing that much into my already poor, damaged little lung and well..........so you see what I'm up against!
The first visit from the nurse took place back in my home, although for awhile I visioned her tracking me down at the Holiday Inn. I explain my predicament to her, she catheterizes me after voiding and I only supply less than 50cc into the "top hat". We have some discusssion about the whole procedure. Next day, same stuff, same result. New nurse, same discussion. Third day, I'm confident enough to do the deed myself and with the same results, we have the same discussion. This is the 3rd. nurse I've dealt with and we're all in agreement. Why the hell am I putting myself at risk of infection to produce no significant amount of urine,(less than 50cc each time) and should I think about getting a second opinion? Of course, the nurses told me "I'm not saying you shouldn't do this" but I decided that this was ridiculous and I just wasn't going to do it anymore!
Back to the G.P.'s office. She's on holidays but her replacement tells me he's in agreement with my estimation that the urologist is an idiot with no bedside manner who belongs in the research lab and not on the front lines dealing with patients. So now I have an appointment set up for later this month with a female gynocoligist/urologist to see about a second opinion.
To be continued!

Been Away For Awhile...But I'm Back!

It's been four months since I've made an entry, mostly because I just couldn't be bothered. This is one of the problems I deal with on top of being a cancer survivor; recurring depression. It's chronic and I've been this way since I was a teenager. Only in the last four or five years was it recognized for what it was and consequently I now take medication to help aleviate the symptoms. Throw in hypothyroidism and fibromyalgia and I've got a pretty thick stew cooking in this five foot frame of mine.
Thankfully, some friends of mine taught me about 15 years ago that no matter what the problem is, if you try to handle things one day at a time, you'll be o.k.
And I'm o.k. And you're o.k. and everyone is o.k., o.k., o.k.,(well not really everyone) It's 11:30 p.m. and I'm tired and silly so it's time to log off. After all this time, not making an entry, this is good for now.

On My Back Again! (not what you might think!!)

Friday was my first day at "Bronco Busters". It's an exercise and support program for people with COPD, chronic bronchitis and emphysema. My respirologist recommended the program to me, believing I will benefit from the exercises that strengthen my muscles and help me learn to get the most out of life every day. My problem is slightly different than most of the people there due to the fact that I have radiation fibrosis, but the symptoms are the same. Shortness of breath is a fact of life for me now and this program will teach me how to manage this and other symptoms of reduced lung capacity. The exercises seemed innocent enough and I breezed right through them. When I woke up Saturday morning, it felt like I'd been hit by a truck! Every muscle I had (and a few I didn't know existed!!) was screaming in agony from lack of use. I also had a sore throat; the kind that feels like it's been sliced by a knife. Not nice and very uncomfortable. As the day wore on, I had moments when I felt chilled, and then I'd be fine. A cough developed, different from my "usual" one and I began feeling tired enough to lay down. I managed to continue to do odd jobs around the house and outside in the garden. Sunday was a repeat of Saturday, except I went to bed early because I felt so rough. By Monday, I had to call and cancel the appointment with the gasto-entologist because I was too sick to get out of bed. My body felt worse than ever, pain wise, and this is coming through although I'm on mega-pain meds. A low grade fever developed (101.5 F.) which hung on all day until late afternoon. Although Tuesday I managed to get out of bed a few times for short periods, I still spent the majority of the day on my back! Sinus congestion has been a part of this scenario and the cough has left me with additional pain in my chest. Sounds like a cold, yes? Such a simple thing could be life-threatening to me if it were to develop into pneumonia, so I need to be extra cautious. Staying away from crowds and hospitals is one way to avoid picking up "bugs", but this new exercise program is with a group of sickly, older individuals and is located in a long-term care hospital facility. Hmmm...what to do? what to do? Today is much better, and aside from the cough and congestion I don't feel too bad. Not sure if I'll make it to class on Friday or not, depends on how I feel. This could be a problem for me but I hope not. I sure would like to benefit from the expertise of the professionals there and it would be great to pick up some pointers on making life easier.

Losing One's Right to Complain

The other day I came across an article written by an oncology nurse, who also happens to have cancer. The piece she wrote described exactly how I feel sometimes. I thought it would be good to share it here and let others know that it's o.k. to feel this way now and then because I certainly do. This woman was able to articulate the emotions that many patients have but are reluctant to express. She is an American with ovarian cancer, but the feelings she has are universal and apply to anyone who has cancer in any form.

Losing One's Right to Complain - by Cary Vera-Garcia

As Americans, we have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I would like to add that, despite being diagnosed with advanced ovarian cancer, I also have my sacred right to complain.

A cancer survivor is expected to always be positive, cheerful and optimistic. If you verbalize any physical complaint whatsoever or fail to have a sunny outlook, you are usually scolded severely by family and friends. Apparently, once you have cancer, you must be so ecstatic about simply being alive that you no longer have the right to say anything negative.

Once you have cancer, bad days must become a thing of the past. Receive a cancer diagnosis and you may never scowl again. If you have hair that is thinning because of chemo, you are told that your hair is beautiful as it is. If you are plumped up with steroids, you are told that you look great with those nice, pink cheeks. You are constantly reminded that you look good, so it must mean that the cancer is gone.

You are told that if you remain positive, you will be cured. It doesn't matter what the doctors tell you. If you have faith, you will be cured. The people that tell you how you should act and feel are the same people that complain about headaches, toothaches, body aches and bad hair days. They have the right to complain because they don't have a life-threatening illness. They have the luxury of worrying about the little things. I have news for non-cancer survivors - there are a lot of positive cancer patients residing six feet under.

Despite having cancer, I have not suddenlly become superhuman. Many of the treatments for cancer feel worse than the disease. I have the right to say that the treatments are difficult to handle. Cancer treatments are expensive and it is normal for me to complain about my finances. I am entitled to feel upset just like anyone else. I am not obligated to act more positive or happier than I actually feel just because I have cancer.

My complaints do not mean that I have given up. They do not mean I will not continue taking treatments. Complaining allows me to vent and work through my feelings. If my family and friends feel uncomfortable being around a person who is honest about her feelings, then I suggest they don't hang around a cancer survivor. Cancer is difficult enough and I don't have the time or inclination to put on an act.

Cancer is a lonely disease. If someone wants to help a cancer survivor, they should just listen. While many people are quick to tell me everything will be fine, few people are willing to let me talk about death, fear about treatment and how cancer has changed my life.

If you have rolled your eyes as you listened to your friends admonish you on your less-than-stellar cancer survivor behavior, tell them to be real friends. Tell them to be quiet and listen. Tell them to withhold their judgment on how you should act until they have been diagnosed with a llife-threatening disease. Or hand them this essay and walk away. My life is no less precious or lived less well just because I complain.

-30-

I would like to add a few remarks to this person's essay.

Along with constantly being told how "good you look", and the silent but acknowledged inference that if you look so good, then why aren't you working, it's good to remember that old adage, "Never judge a book by its cover."
Canadians are covered provincially for their health care and many employees have additional benefits as part of their compensation package at their workplace. Getting by on long term disability benefits is no picnic, however, because the numbers just don't add up to the same amount as your regular salary or wage. On the job you have the option of being paid over-time, or receive bonuses, higher commissions, etc. if you work harder. No insurance company I know of will pay you extra because you were sicker this week than last, or had to endure more procedures or testing.
Comparisons to other people who've had a bout of cancer (e.g. "My sister had breast cancer and she's just fine!")
are not welcome to the cancer survivor who's still fighting the disease. No two people's diagnosis is the same, nor are the circumstances surrounding each patient's individual situation. To compare one cancer survivor to another is just plain ignorant and hurtful.
Finally, not everyone's friends and family draw closer to the patient once they've been diagnosed with cancer. Sometimes adult children, parents, wives, husbands, etc. distance themselves from the cancer survivor at a time when she needs them the most. The reminder of their own mortality is more than they can handle, so they choose not to handle it at all. Nothing is sadder than a mother who's children have abandoned her in her time of need.

Yes, I believe all cancer survivors would agree that your life as you once knew it is changed forever with the diagnosis. As much as you try to remain positive and take one day at a time, there is always the possibility of a recurrence hanging over your head like a black cloud. It's very hard going through life knowing that you could wake up one day and be right back at square one. So you try not to think about that; but sometimes being able to talk to someone about your fears is a welcome respite from constantly holding it in and trying to "put on a happy face".

Location, Location, Location!

As anyone who has ever bought or sold a house knows, it's all about location! Apparently I own a very popular piece of real estate in the shape of my upper right lobe of my lung. A couple of critters have set up housekeeping there and have claimed the place as their own. They go by the name of pseudonoma and mycobacteria gordonae, respectively.
Back in January, I had another bronchoscopy and the doc took a sampling of the gunk coating my throat and upper lung. They found "noma" right away. It's an interesting little bacteria; one that doesn't scare easily. Apparently, no antibiotics are effective against it except one. Once given, the bacteria instantly morphs and becomes resistant to the only antibiotic available that works...so the patient gets one shot at getting rid of it. The respirologist told me that because I wasn't "really sick" (translation: on my death bed) he's going to hold off giving me the antibiotic until the day arrives that I "really need it". Hopefully, that day will never come.
The second critter to pop up didn't show it's face until 2 months after the scope. That's how long the culture takes to grow. "Gord", as I affectionately like to call it, requires a cocktail of three different antibiotics taken together over the course of a year or two to kill it off. We're in the process of growing another set of cultures right now to double-check the diagnosis, but it looks like the doc's on the track of what's probably keeping me feeling "under the weather" for the last little while.
"Noma", my first new neighbour, is the same bacteria found in the lungs of cystic fibrosis patients. The bacteria forms a mucous coating to protect itself from any attempts to kill it. This is why patients with CF drown in their own mucous. Mark gives me a treatment called chest therapy that is used to dislodge mucous from the walls of the lungs; it requires him to beat me with a "cupping" motion of his hands, combined with vibrating and pressing on my back in the area of my lung, which is then followed by a lot of coughing and spitting up. Pleasant...yes?
This explains why I've been getting low grade fevers out of nowhere for no particular reason.
So here I sit, two years after my diagnosis, still alive but wondering what will happen next. It seems like one thing after another and I never know what tomorrow will bring. The beauty of it all is that I learned a long time ago to take each day "one day at a time"; to realize that tomorrow isn't here yet so there's no sense worrying about it. Yesterday is gone and over and done with; nothing can be done to change it. All I have is right now, that's why it's called the present because it's a gift. That's how I live each day, with gratitude for the gift I've been given.

What is the "New Normal"?

Attended a panel discussion on Tuesday night entitled, "Life After Treatment-The New Normal". It was presented by Wellwood, the volunteer-run association that helps cancer patients deal with their diagnosis and teaches them how to live the best they can with their disease.
Most of the people in attendance were fresh out of treatment, some only by days or weeks. A few had finished several months back, but it appeared that I was one of, if not the only person who was a couple of years into post-treatment.
Don't get me wrong...I'm very grateful that I've made it this far (2 years since the diagnosis) and I treat every day as a gift. I've read the stats and a very small percentage (15% to be exact) make it to the 5 year marker. It's just that I'm having a great deal of difficulty trying to adjust to living and managing everyday things as simple as taking a bath or making the bed.
After coming home from the hospital in August of 2004, it's been one thing after another, health-wise. First came the radiation-induced pneumonia, followed by pleuritic pain and difficulty swallowing. The Christmas after treatment was frustrating due to the fact that I couldn't eat the beautifully-browned turkey I had cooked. Next came the oxygen therapy because my levels were down to 85 at rest. Learning to adjust to sleeping with a canula up my nose was anxiety provoking, to say the least, as I can't stand anything over my face when I'm having trouble breathing. Every time I made progress in whatever was ailing me at the moment, I'd try to plan on getting back to work...but to no avail. As one set of side effects would clear, along would come another new issue to deal with.
At one point I was introduced to a woman and her partner who were running a rehab exercise program for cancer patients. It was twice weekly for a period of ten weeks and I actually made some improvement on my muscle strength and breathing capacity. It was a year after treatment ended that I felt (I thought) well enough to plan a return to work. Between my doctors, employer and insurance provider, we worked out a graduated return to work program that would see me phase in over a period of three months, until I reached full-time hours and was back to "normal".
Six weeks into the program, I crashed! Hit with another bout of pneumonia and a delayed depression, I just couldn't keep going any longer. The physical and emotional exhaustion knocked me flat on my rear and there was no getting up again for another four months. This was a very dark time for me and without the help of anti-depressants I believe I wouldn't have seen the sun again, figuratively-speaking.
So now we're closing in on Christmas 2005 and I'm thinking, "Now that I'm feeling better, maybe I can try going back to work!" The goal was to wait until the beginning of the new year and start back again in January. Well, guess what? Here I am having trouble breathing again, chest pains, my fibromyalgia and hiatal hernia and GERD have flared up to the point that it's a daily occurrence and my life is anything but comfortable. I'm on enough pain medication to drop an elephant and that's just to keep me functioning so I can stay on my feet and out of bed.
So I ask myself, what is normal for me now? Is this an example of how my life will be from now on? I'm grateful that I'm a two year survivor, but staying positive 24/7 can be difficult at times. My oncologist told me a couple of weeks ago that "this is as good as it's going to get." So now I have to wrap my head around a whole new way of thinking and approaching daily living. Life sure as hell isn't boring!!!

No End To The Testing

Mark and I caught the flu together right after my last post. With a compromised lung, a cold or flu can be serious enough to hospitalize me if I can't shake it. Thankfully, I came through and am feeling so much better now. We both had a cough (the tickling, choking kind), and body aches all over with headache. In addition, I had a low grade fever every evening for eight nights in a row. Around 10 p.m. just like clock-work, the chills would start and my temp would go to 101.7 degrees F.

Turns out Mark has a double lung infection and is on his second round of antibiotics. It took eleven days altogether for me to start feeling human again and a few more days after that before I was completely back to normal. We both had our flu shots plus I had a pnuemonia shot last fall as well. Good thing ... can't imagine how sick we may have become without them.

Had to cancel an ultrasound and a mammogram that was scheduled for March 20th and re-book for this Monday (April 3rd.) This time two years ago, I was being put through every test imaginable to see if the cancer had metastasized to another part of my body. The tumour on the lymph node was secondary and the doctors were unable to find my primary. They had to go on the assumption that it was lurking somewhere in the upper lobe of my right lung. Apparently this can happen and the cells can hide undetected in the bronchi of the lung. This is why they call it an occult primary. In addition to chest x-rays I already had, there were mammograms, bone scans, CT scans, MRIs and a PET scan I had to travel to Buffalo for (the waiting list was too long in Ontario). My CEA was elevated to 859 which is usually indicative of pancreatic or stomach involvement, so an endoscopy and colonoscopy were performed as well. Results of that were negative, so they believe my high count is due to the fact that I was a smoker. Yes, I was a nicotine addict of 40 years. Of course, I quit cold turkey back in January 2004 when they first suspected something was wrong with me but I didn't yet have a diagnosis of lung cancer. It was like I knew I had tempted fate far too long already to continue poisoning my body.

Even though the oncologists wanted to start treatment as soon as possible, it took until the first week in July before all the tests could be completed and they could "map" me for my radiation. During this time I continued to work full-time at my job ... it was helping to keep me sane! My treatment program consisted of combined chemo and radiation for six weeks solid. The drugs and the rays were given very aggressively, to the point that I had my limit of radiation and should they not get it all or I should have a recurrence, it would have to be chemo only. My doctors were amazed that I continued to work all through my treatment but that's just the way I am ... stubborn. I figured if I could carry on as normal as possible, it would help get me through the hardest part of what lay ahead. Three days after my treatment stopped, I had to ask Mark to call in to work and tell them I wouldn't be in. I was hospitalized with a high fever and because my white blood cell count was so low, I was unable to fight off a throat infection that developed. A blood transfusion helped to bring my white count up and after 10 days in hospital, I was allowed to go home. Now I thought everything would get back to "normal" and it was just a matter of letting my body heal. Little did I realize that this was just the beginning of a journey that would leave me permanently disabled and continually fighting the long-term side effects of lung cancer treatment.

Thanks for the Memories!

What a glorious day it is here in Hamilton! The sun is shining, the birds are singing their heads off, the temperature is bearable....a perfect spring day! I look out the window at my flower beds and see the tips of all the tulips, daffodils and hyacinths poking through the soft soil and it makes me feel so grateful just to be alive.
These feelings are so far removed from where I was two years ago; my emotions were totally at the opposite end of the scale.
This very week in 2004, my husband and I were anxiously awaiting the results of the mediastinoscopy and bronchoscopy that the surgeon had performed on the 10th of March. As you know from my very first post, the outcome was devastating. Stage 3B Non-Small Cell Lung Cancer (sub-type: Adenocarcinoma). The tumor was situated outside my right lung on a lymph node, pushed snuggly up against my esophagus. Explains why I had difficulty swallowing. Of course, they were still referring to the tumor as a large, hard mass. (sheesh...just call a spade a spade, why don't ya?) Sometimes the language of medicine is so polite, as though by NOT using more descriptive words, the psyche will not be offended.
So where was I...oh yes, Mark and I had just been given my diagnosis. We left the surgeon's office in a daze and made our way to the parking lot. Walking through the hallways of the hospital, I clutched Mark's arm and tried very hard to hold back the tears. Once we got outside, I let go completely. We stood and held each other while I sobbed uncontrollaby and Mark did his best to stay strong and positive about the whole situation. His words of comfort hardly registered as my mind raced at 100 miles an hour. It's not stage 4, so that's good, right? Stage 4 is terminal and the doctor said 3B, right? How much of a chance do I have? What do they mean, "we haven't been able to locate your primary site"? Lymph node involvement means it has started to spread...would they be able to treat me in time to keep the disease from spreading any further? All these questions and more competed for room in my mind as we drove silently for awhile.
Dr. Bennett told me that his secretary would book an appointment for me with the cancer clinic and I would be assigned to an oncologist who would begin treatment. "The sooner, the better." he had said. Would it be soon enough?

I'm still standing!

Sometimes I'm sitting and sometimes I'm laying down but most of all, I'm still breathing. It's been almost 2 years since I logged on here but it's taken that long to be able to write about this without crying.
Now don't get me wrong, crying can be a great emotional release (Lord knows I've done my share) but I was doing so much of it I was in a deep, dark pit most of the time. Writing about how it feels to have lung cancer was not helping me feel stronger. If anything, it felt worse seeing it in black and white print.
This is where I share some spectacular news; my oncologist says "it appears as though I may be in remission". I like the way the doc words that...he'd make a good politician! Doesn't matter though! I like the "R" word.
I just finished reading some disturbing news regarding lung cancer...it is the most common cancer worldwide and 1.2 million people on this globe will be diagnosed with lung cancer this year alone. Most upsetting of all...someone, somewhere dies of lung cancer every 30 seconds! Taking that into consideration, I realize more than ever how fortunate I am to still be alive after 2 years.
Well, this is a start at making a comeback with entries. Enough for tonight. It's 2:30 a.m. and I'm finally tired. Goodnight!

Still Riding the Roller Coaster

My very first post and I had to stop writing after proof-reading what I'd done to that point. All the emotion of that day came rushing back and I sat at the keyboard balling my eyes out. I thought I had a pretty good handle on my feelings, and that I was in a pretty good place, mentally speaking. Guess not! Just when you think you've got it all together, turns out you don't!
Tried filling out forms today for LTD for my workplace insurance company, and the same thing happened....Niagara Falls all down my face!
Before I try going on with the story of my journey thus far, I may need to take a break and maybe just use this venue as a sounding board to get some of this crap out!
Enough for today.

Life Forever Changed

Sitting here at the keyboard, wondering where to begin my "story", I realize that the beginning would probably be the best.
I've never been much of a journal-keeper. Oh, I've made the odd attempt over the years, but never was able to maintain an on-going record of the daily things that make up one's life. Besides, what's the purpose? Who exactly are you supposed to be writing it all down for anyway? I've been told that one can look at it as a form of therapy, a way of purging oneself of all the garbage that we tend to keep pushed down inside ourselves. And I suppose one could record some good stuff too, to keep a nice balance. After a while though, I tend to get bored with the writing and all my good intentions go out the window.
So here I am, taking another stab at it (although in a different format than what I've used in the past) and maybe this time.....well, we'll see!

It was Thursday, March 25th. to be exact that my life as I knew it was forever changed. The weather that day seemed to match my mood. It was a cold and snowy late March day, with the kind of cold that cuts right through you. Dull skies hung heavy overhead, with clouds that felt like they were pressing down on you. It was hard to breathe, but not because of any physical problem; my mind was all over the place and I couldn't concentrate on any one thing because of the fear. You see, I pretty much already knew what the surgeon was going to tell me, but I was hoping against hope that maybe I was wrong; maybe the tumour would be benign.
Two months earlier, at my husband's insistence, I went to see my G.P. about a cold I'd had for just a little over 3 weeks. There had been an occasion in the past where I had developed pneumonia that started out as a cold, and Mark wanted to be sure that something similar wasn't happening again. After the usual examination and questions, my doctor suggested that perhaps we should get a chest x-ray done. Within hours of having the x-ray, my doctor's office was on the phone, saying the doc wanted to speak with me. There appeared to be a "soft, tissue mass" outside my right lung that wasn't there on an x-ray done in August 2003.
The doc said that she could shedule a CT scan but it would take weeks (2 months actually) before we would know anything. The only other way to be sure of what we were dealing with would be to have a biopsy done, which could be arranged in less than 2 weeks. Having been a smoker for over 40 years, I figured I had already tempted fate long enough so I may as well go for the gusto and get the biopsy done.
So here were Mark & I on this dreary March day, sitting in the surgeon's examination room waiting for him to deliver the news. When he said the words "non-small cell lung cancer" and "adenocarcinoma" I felt a cold rush go through my entire body. "This must be a dream and any minute now, I'm going to wake up!" was all I could think. This couldn't be happening to me, not now, not when my life with Mark was going so well!