Cancer - 1

***Warning:  this post was written on a particularly bad day. It is REALLY negative.  I decided to post it anyway because of it's rawness, but please proceed with caution!***

I wrote this post last January documenting my bi-yearly CT scan appointment, and the positive results the scan revealed.  I titled the post, "Joan - 9, Cancer - 0" because at that point, I had undergone nine CT scans over the course of three years, all with positive, "no tumor growth" results.

Yesterday marked my eleventh CT scan, with my third oncologist (moving to a new town also means finding a new specialist).  This time, the results showed marked growth in the majority of my lymph node tumors, one especially in my pelvic region which has prompted a huge red flag.  The "conclusion" line from the radiologist's report was one sentence:  "Increasing thoracic, abdominal and pelvic adenopathy suggesting progression of lymphoma."

Cancer - 1.

So, here we are in Scarytown.  My new oncologist feels it is still necessary to wait before starting chemo, because my particular brand of lymphoma (follicular) can sort of wax and wane.  There is a chance that it will diminish on it's own, without treatment.  My doc feels it is safe to wait six more months, scan me again, and make the decision for action at that point.

Although I recognize this glimmer of hope, and will be clinging to it with both hands for the next six months, I still feel an enormous sense of defeat.  Here's why:

It's time to admit that cancer holds all the cards, my friends.  We can eat right, replace our carbonated sodas with green tea, and exercise daily.  We can juice fresh veggies and fruits and down them after our morning runs, and consume healthy, green salads every day.  We can even invest in a pricey wheat grass juicer because someone said that ingesting a frothy, thick, green swill that tastes like you're drinking your lawn has "been known to cure cancer."  And even though each shot of that stuff makes us want to vomit, we faithfully grow that damn grass and down it every morning because just MAYBE it'll be the healing remedy that will solve everything.  Except that it won't.

I did all these things, my cancer has never gone away.  I raised a triumphant fist in the air after each of those ten CT scans, as if I had something to do with the results.  I didn't.  Cancer was just deciding to stay quiet for awhile.  Now, I must sit and hope it will do the same until November.  I have no control.

So, I'll wear my colored ribbons and donate to my friends' 5Ks and Races for the Cure.  I'll keep a positive attitude (after I'm finished purging myself with this particular dramatic pity-party I'm now composing) and smile at my friends and relatives and tell them I'm doing just fine, that I'll "show cancer who's boss!"  But I know the truth.  There is no score.

Cancer has me, literally, by the throat.