“Have you been feeling sick recently? Had a sore throat, anything like that?” my doctor asks me, snapping me out of my daze. I’m sitting in a doctor’s office at the UC Davis Medical Center Cancer Center, a place I’m all too familiar with. I’m at a routine check-up appointment – or what was supposed to be routine, anyway. My doctor just pulled up images from the PET scan I had the week before. His eyes are darting back and forth between me and his computer. Uh oh.
“Um, I felt a little sick about a month ago…my throat felt a little weird…” I stammer. I examine my doctor’s face, for a sign, for a spark of emotion, for any hint of information.
“Here’s the thing,” he starts. “Your throat and the area around it are white on the scan. There’s no telling which it is just by looking at the scan, but, you either have an infection there or cancer.” I shudder as his words reach my ears. I feel a strong sense of déjà vu.
I’ve been in remission from cancer for 2 years and 5 months now. October 27, 2006, a little over a month after turning 18, I was diagnosed with Stage 2 Nodular Sclerosing Hodgkin’s lymphoma. A few days later on the 31st, I had surgery. In November, I underwent countless more procedures, including a CT scan, PET scan, brain MRI, bone marrow biopsy, and several blood tests. The first week of December, I started chemo. I had chemo for 6 months and after I finished, started radiation, which I had everyday for a month.
It was, hands down, the most difficult year of my life. From hearing the first time that I had cancer, to losing all my hair, to vomiting after chemo, to giving myself painful shots in my thigh every other week, to monthly doctor appointments and PET scans every 3 months, that year was a whirlwind. Then, that spring, there was calm in the storm.
April 8, 2007, my pet scan was completely clean. I was announced in remission. Yes, I still had a month of chemo left to go, but I was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
2 years and 5 months later and here I am, still alive and thankful everyday for the new lease on life I was given. I have 2 and ½ more years to go before I am considered to be completely cured (5 years of remission altogether). To this day, every doctor’s appointment, every PET scan, and every blood draw is a nail-biting experience, as I never know what to expect. My most recent PET scan is proof that I might still have something to fear.
This Friday, Sept. 25th, I’m having surgery to get my tonsils, adenoids, and some surrounding lymphatic tissue removed. My abnormally large tonsils (along with everything else removed) will then be biopsied.
If I’ve learned anything these past 3 years, it’s that cancer is an on-going battle that you have to keep fighting everyday of your life. Ever since I was diagnosed, cancer has been a dark cloud that has stayed in the back of my mind. The further along in remission I get, the smaller the cloud gets, but it never strays too far from my mind. Despite this dark cloud, I have learned to stay optimistic and to have faith, to wear a smile even when it’s hard. And when people tell me what a strong person I am, I tell them, well, it’s because I don’t have any other choice.
Yow! What a column! What a story! Hokey Smokes Bullwinkle! (That reference might be a little old.)
ReplyDeleteThis column comes right out of the box with a doctor's scene, leading the reader to think - "Oh God, another column about the Health Center, or catching a cold, or..."
But it's about a very young adult dealing with cancer.
The piece is nicely organized and only in a few spots gets a little wordy.
Here's the pivotal line: "I shudder as his words reach my ears. I feel a strong sense of déjà vu."
Then the writer launches into the history of her cancer, treatment, and where she is today.
It was a very well-executed transition.
A few AP style/grammar issues need to be addresses (never state a sentence with a number, for example).
But good job... Nicely done.