According to the National Cancer Institute, about 40% of men and women in the U.S. will be diagnosed with cancer during their lifetimes. Nearly everyone will eventually have a close connection to someone who has cancer and/or become a person with cancer.
Now that I have some experience on both sides of being a person with cancer and having friends with cancer, I’m sharing a few suggestions hoping to help you deepen your connection with your friend or friends with cancer.
Examples below all start with a comment to avoid, then explain the problem, then suggest another approach.
“Cancer is so frightening, but I know what you are going through, and I’m here for you.” — You can’t know what your friend is going through, physically and emotionally, because every type of cancer has different signs, symptoms, treatments, prognoses, and outcomes. Each individual is different and two people with a similar diagnosis will have different experiences. Try saying, “I would like to know what you are experiencing, what are you going through now?”Continue reading What to Say or Not
Marty fitted with metal frame for stereotactic radio surgery.
After a melanoma tumor was found in my brain on March 9, 2017, and removed by a neurosurgeon, I met with my oncologist to plan for post-operation treatment. I was expecting a recommendation of recently developed immunotherapy treatments.
Instead my oncologist said, “I’ve taken the liberty to consult with a radiation oncologist. We reviewed your pre- and post-surgery MRIs and he says that he can treat the tissue around the tumor with radiation to lessen the risk that a tumor will regrow at that site … Would you like to go ahead and make an appointment to talk to him?”
I scrawled “Stroke?” because I could not speak during a seizure at FedEx.
While I knew that brain metastasis is a common feature of advanced melanoma, I did not know that a seizure is the most frequent first symptom of melanoma brain metastasis, more frequent than headache.
This was the first seizure of my life. None of those present could tell whether my first seizure was a stroke, so 911 was called, an ambulance arrived, and it delivered me to the nearest emergency room. A CT scan soon revealed a mass in my right frontal cortex, the probable cause of the seizure.
Bill and Marty at the Amtrak Station in Warrensburg, Missouri
Keeping On
Dear Doctor Bill,
I am thinking about you this morning while drinking my first cup of coffee. I awakened with a start in my recliner, and rushed to the bathroom, almost tripping over my wool blanket and quilt in the process. My bladder and my headache were about equally motivating and providence smiled as I did not fall, did not crack open my wounded noggin, did not have a bathroom accident. Eddy heard me lurching about and said, “How are you doing?”
This week has been that way, weird, the combination of brain surgery and compounds to promote healing and dissuade pain produces an altered lifestyle — interesting, but more challenging than normal. Last night I had some side effects of the mental kind, when I had the bathroom urge, but not the capacity to awaken clearly. In my fog, I fixated on the idea that I was trapped in a giant conspiracy to control and exploit old people, rendering us cold and powerless. I was trying to work out the details of this “system” of exploitation in my mind before it was too late, knowing that I could not resist this network of terror much longer. This was not going well, but safe on the toilet, I began sighing and ohming with each breath, quietly then louder. Gradually I remembered reading that suicidal ideation and suicide attempts are a one percent side-effect of the gabapentin that I’m taking. Fixating on a potentially destructive thought was frightening, and I wondered about how long it will take to let it go.
That memory question led to a good idea: “I should ask Eddy for a nice 2-a.m. walk — since I promised not to roam without her.” She was amenable, and round-and-round the kitchen, hallway, living room, dining room, office circuit we went, padding along in our stocking feet murmuring to each other about this and that, quietly to avoid waking our beloved downstairs neighbors.
Early-hour sanity walks on the floor were a prominent feature of our week-long stay at Oregon Health and Sciences and it’s nurturing to be able to continue them in a drastically shortnened form here at home.
As I think of you living at home alone, with the challenges of old age this morning, I remain in awe of your remarkable ability to succeed in self-care and community service in your present position of citizen of the show-me state.
I arrived to the care of anesthiology after four days of waiting, imaging and fact-finding. Another hour of waiting and the tempo suddenly shifted. A gurney ride ended in a cluttered room with four attendants and machines all around. All four people went to work on different areas of my body, inserting catheters and attaching electrodes. A soothing woman gave me an oxygen mask, with cool odorless air. She rubbed my chest and shoulders while speaking in a hypnotic voice, “Breathe deeply, Breathe.” I felt no trace of fear as another said, “I am giving you anesthetic now,” and the effect was immediate.
Magnetic Resonance Image looking downward on Marty’s brain with tumor at left
Progression
On Saturday, March 4, Eddy and I visited our local FedEx store to work on printing marketing materials for the American Association of Pastoral Counselors. Seated at a computer station, I noticed a sudden sensation of losing eye focus, my head began moving side to side, my breathing changed to a rapid snort, the left side of my face began to sag and my mouth began to drool. I thought, “If I don’t get control of myself, people will soon notice me losing it here.”
About that time, Eddy said, “Are you all right? Do you need to lie down? What can I do to help you? What do you need?”
I thought to myself, “this is either a stroke or the effect of a brain tumor. I surely do hope this isn’t fatal. I must tell others to call for help and get me to an emergency room as quickly as possible.” I was having a practical clear thought, complete with appropriate words, but no ability to speak. I was able to reach out my right hand, grasp a pen and scrawl “S T R O K E?” on a sheet of paper.
