On the unexpectedness of setbacks

The past week or so, maybe a bit longer, I've been feeling awesome.

Yes, my energy is down, my weight is not gaining, I'm not eating enough--but I feel pretty terrific. I sleep well, I don't wake up feeling like a sick person, I have a sense of humor--just things that I think make life better and more interesting, and less like a continual dirge.

I've been trying to eat more, but frankly, what I eat is bringing me down. You know that already, and all I can try to do to combat this reality is invoke a bit more variety by buying strawberry and chocolate Ensure and Boost, and working those into the waterfall of vanilla Nutren with which I am perpetually bathed. The dietician has approved me to add my beloved chococlate spirutein shakes--but I suspect they'd let me add a gnu if I proved I could grind it finely enough that it wouldn't block the tube.

But there have been other concerns that have popped up, things that Scott and I decided to keep to ourselves until we knew more of them. At my meeting with Dr. Wang, the incredibly late surgeon, I found that a recent MRI had shown new areas of cancer growth in my neck--unexpected nodules of recolonization that appeared where they shouldn't, when they shouldn't, denoting how unusually aggressive this particular cancer of mine truly has been.

This caught my breath, and the fact that I didn't look panicked is only because there was nothing definitive--this was one image from an MRI. No biopsy had confirmed that the nodules were cancernous--for all I know they are cysts, reactions to the rigors of radiation, bumps developing from chemo, markers of bad luck.

Dr. Yom, sad, and hugging me, though, didn't make that assessment any easy to have.

But I decided that I would keep my mouth shut and my head up, and simply continue doing the best I could do with what I have--a sterling attitude, a powerful mind, an ability to see dross for what it is--far more prevalent than gold. The surgeons in Indiana were clear with me that even a radical surgery such as mine provided no more than a 50/50 guarantee of eradication; UCSF has been clear that the amount of surgery I have had limits my options for dealing with reoccurrence significantly. So what I have is me, my determination to survive, my desire to fight, and the help of incredible radiation oncologists and chemo oncologists to get me through it. I frankly like my odds,

So this week, the word is in that our first step will be an extra week of radiation and a shake up of the drugs in my chemo cocktail. Considering that I had virtually no nausea this week, I'm thinking I can deal with the latter, and my new radiation attitude has allowed me to welcome the former with no small bit of ok. My techs and I on Core C get along well--we all know what to expect from one another, and they take care of me when going into my radiative state better than anyone should expect. One more week with them is not a punishment.

So as I am meditating during the radiation, I'm visualizing these 2 centimeter growths getting the bejesus zapped out of their aggressive asses. I'm seeing that if it hurts my skin to take the radiation, it's got to be killing theirs--that if I'm sore, they are dead. The redness of my face is a testament to the burns they are feeling, the fact that my commodious body is not putting up with their bully bullshit much longer.

So now, it's time to seriously try to gain weight--which means I have to stop whining about how horrible Nutren is and just drink it. I have to stop dreaming of cheeseburgers and figure a way for Ensure to taste like one, if only in my mind. I have to be harder, and stronger, as I've suggested I will be, only ramped up higher, more purposed and more focused than before.

I'm shocked at what it takes to win this game--truly, I'm humbled by the tough I need to have and the tough I thought I had and the enormous gulf between those two poles. But I am becoming my sister, and I am becoming my mother, and I'm determined to out do them. They wouldn't mind; they would want it that way.