If this is your first visit to my blog, you might want to start with my first entry, "How I got here - the short version".

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Remission is a funny word

I don't think oncologists like this word.  Oh, sure they like their patients responding to treatment and getting better -- otherwise, why would they do what they do -- but that word carries a heavy load.  There are undefinable expectations that come with it.

I like my new oncologist a lot.  She's this bouncy little thing with jet black straight, thick, bobbed hair that she has the habit of running her fingers through to push it off her face.  She's probably a bit younger than me, but I'm getting to that age where that's no surprise.  While I find her charming, I don't let her girlish behavior disarm me.

Yesterday, during my consultation with her, I outright asked her the question...with two clear PET scans behind me, can I be considered to be in remission?  "Yes, I think you can say that."

Her bet-hedging response didn't bother me.  I feel the same way.  Yes, today, I can say I'm in remission.  And, at least until my next PET scan a little less than six months away, I'll still be considered to be in remission.  And then, I'll either still be in remission, or the cancer will be back.  Simple as that.

Last night as I was lying in bed, I had this thought.  Really, we're all in remission, all of us.  All of humankind.  We're all on a limited budget of time, whether it's six months or sixty years.  Something gets all of us in the end.

Most of us don't have a problem with that.  We just live our lives.  We work.  We vacation.  We have kids.  We care for our aging parents.  We cook.  We clean.  We laugh.  We cry.  We struggle.  We submit or overcome.

I don't know that I'll ever get back to that point of just living my life again.  I'm not feeling very determined today, and I realize that this is a very strange post from a stage IV cancer survivor who's beating the odds.  And I feel guilty that I'm complaining and not rejoicing.

Perhaps this is a normal response.  Right now, it just feels ungratefully weird.

3 comments:

  1. Dear Beth,
    I only just saw this for the first time, missed this post somehow. I think your reaction is normal, some people would feel high as a kite, others feel kind of down as you still can't be sure of the future. I understand just what you mean about all of us being in remission, none of us ever know our future, that is probably a good thing don't you think? Somebody can be ill and yet outlive somebody who has seemed very healthy. It's all the luck of the draw! We just have to go onwards and upwards!!! Make the most of what we have whilst we have it. I often see pictures posted on Facebook with the quote' 'live like there is no tomorrow' So we should try to enjoy each day as far as possible. It can be a lovely day just having peace to read a book, we don't have to be out partying to enjoy a day.
    I'm sure in time you will get back to living your life again, to the full. For the moment you need to relax and have peaceful, contented days. All my best wishes for calm and contented days Beth. Love Angela

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  2. Oh thank you! My mom got the word "remission" on Friday, and although I should be thrilled I'm feeling extremely ambivalent and uneasy about it. So I did a Google search to see if there's another word I could use instead - maybe not medically correct, but at least one that I could feel more comfortable about - and found this. And you expressed exactly what I'm feeling. So thank you. I don't know what the word is, but knowing that I'm not alone makes me feel like I can breathe again.

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    1. Leah, thank you for taking the time to write your kind note. I still feel ambivalent sometimes, but the further out I get, the less the unknown bothers me. Congrats to your mom for fighting the good fight. I hope you and she have many, many more years together.

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