When I was first diagnosed with metastatic (stage IV) pancreatic cancer, I was pretty sick and things looked pretty dire. My tumors were growing aggressively, having increased measurably in just two weeks between CT scans. I had completely lost my appetite and was having difficulty eating or drinking anything; I was losing weight rapidly. Indeed, while I was in the Mayo Hospital, it took me well over an hour just to drink a bottle of water in preparation for that second CT scan that would reveal just how aggressive my tumors were. I needed surgery to install a stent that would enable food to travel more easily through my stomach. There were questions, however, as to how successful that surgery would be, given the obstruction caused by the tumor on my pancreas. It seemed as though the news was bad at every turn. Fortunately, the surgeon called it a “textbook” surgery when he spoke to me after I woke up … finally, a promising sign.
In those early days of this journey, as I started my chemotherapy treatments, I had two imminent (long-term?) goals. The first was to live long enough to attend Dan and Liz’s wedding. The second goal was to make it to Andy and Kate’s wedding. As time progressed, I got stronger. Although I needed a blood transfusion shortly before Dan and Liz’s big day, there was no question that I was going to be there. And the transfusion made the experience all the better … I even made it to the dance floor a few times! Now, on the eve of Andy and Kate’s wedding, I am even stronger than I was a few months ago. Assuming safe travels, there is no question that I will be at the wedding. Check and check. Both goals achieved.
My goals now are more audacious. Today is my 57th birthday. I want to make it to my 58th … 59th … 60th … and beyond. I want to live long enough to spend more time traveling with and, more importantly, just being with Cathy. I certainly want more time with my children, and if there are grandchildren in the future, I desperately want time with them; I want to live long enough for them to remember me when I’m gone. I want more time with the rest of my family and friends.
I also want to give back to the community of cancer patients, a very special community that no one really wants to join. But when you are there, if you are lucky, you realize that you are not alone. Many others are there with you, pulling for you, and giving you the strength to fight on. I want to talk with other cancer patients and, if at all possible, give them hope for the future.
I have hope for my future. It is not false hope. I learned that from reading “The Anatomy of Hope”. I realize that my tumors may become resistant to the chemotherapy and start growing again, perhaps as aggressively as before, or even more so. And that could happen at any time. I live with that threat. But the tumors also could remain stagnant for an extended period of time, sufficient to get me to at least some of my goals, maybe all of them. That is certainly my hope.
I am a year older today. I am extremely happy to say that. As my dad knowingly says “Getting older is better than the alternative.” Amen.