Awareness: cost of being human in a world of cancer
My normal post rate is three times a week. That schedule has not happened for more than a year. When one of your best friends is dying, that happens. When you are recovering from surgery, that happens. When both happen at the same time, everything goes sideways. Awareness takes a back seat to those other needs.
If there are specific things you’d like to know about…
As I wrote in my last post, that’s pretty much the story off my life for the last 18 months. One of my closest friends learned in April of 2016 he had glioblastoma. He died July 1 of this year. In June, I learned I needed Mohs surgery for skin cancer on my face. I had that surgery in early August and it proved more extensive than any of us expected.
Recovery from loss, recovery from surgery
I am still recovering from that surgery, still recovering from the loss of my friend, still trying to make sense out of too many things, and still trying to aid the fight against NET cancer wherever and whenever I can. I’ve done craft fairs every weekend for the last month, helped organize a presentation the first night of Dana-Farber’s Visiting Committee meetings, and worked on a dinner that raised over $5000 for NET cancer research.
…everything goes sideways.
But neither my mind nor my body has fully recovered from the blows of the last several months. Losing my friend John brought back memories of Jane’s last days so starkly and brutally I’ve had to seek professional help. Recovering from the surgery requires nine–and sometimes 10–hours of sleep every night–sleep haunted by dreams of things that might have been.
The cruelest months
November and December are the two most difficult months of my year. Last night, Halloween, was one of our two favorite holidays. November 17 is Jane’s birthday. November 15 was the date of her heart surgery, November 13 the night we last shared a bed. November 14 I had to help her off the toilet for the first time. The night of November 17 Jane had her first carcinoid crisis–the day she was supposed to go to the step-down unit. She had two more of those–both of which put her in a coma–before the end of the month.
I am still recovering…
December started with bright hopes that disintegrated the morning of December 9. The next night, at 7:59, Jane died. Her wake was December 16, her funeral two days later. Truth be told, I haven’t been right since–I just cope with the tears better–put on a better face to the world. I’ve done grief groups and had some one-on-one therapy, to little real effect.
Awareness: This is Hell
People ask why, seven years later, I am still active in the fight against NET cancer, why I still visit with patients, follow the research, chair committees, raise money and bike and run and walk and do all the things I can think of to support research and raise awareness. The answer is simple: I know what loss feels like. It is a thing I would not wish on the darkest of the dark. It is Hell–and I am never out of it.
…I haven’t been right since…
Officially, NET Cancer Awareness Day is November 10. For me–and for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, thanks to the efforts of a now deceased NET cancer friend–the entire month of November is NET Cancer Awareness Month. There is too much to say in a single post–too much people need to know about this disease, to know about the strides being made, to know about the resources that are out there, to know about what may lie ahead.
Awareness: A month of daily posts
So from now to the end of November, my plan is to create a new post every day. Tomorrow, we’ll start with a little history of the last seven years and how much has changed in that time. In the days ahead, we’ll look at resources for patients, caregivers, and for those in grief; we’ll look at what the latest research says about treatments in the pipeline, trials that are going on now–and trials coming in the future.
It is Hell–and I am never out of it.
If there are specific things you’d like to know about, you can respond here or drop me a line at walkingwithjane@gmail.com. I’ll try to honor any requests that come in as quickly as I can. But remember, I’m not a doctor and can’t give anything that looks like medical advice. For that, you need to talk to your doctor–a person who needs to be a NET specialist if you are going to get the best advice you can get. We’ll talk about that in the coming days as well.
Thank you for this candid & honest post. I send you thoughts and strength to get through these next couple months and beyond. I know Jane is proud for all you do. 🖤
Thank you. I hope she is.
Sorry to hear about your friend Harry. Glad to see you back though and hope your face is healing OK?
It’s getting there. They said 3-6 months almost three months ago and it is largely healed. If you don’t know to look for it, it’s largely invisible.
I knew I had missed your posts!!! Good Lord, You have been through the ringer (as they say). So very sorry about your best friend. Your melanoma surgery was extensive ( to say the least). Hope you can get through November and December and then we can say “Welcome 2018” Take care.
Thank you. It’s been a wild 18 months.
My husband had Mohs surgery several places on his face. I believe your stitches will fade quickly as his did. Hang in there! We are thankful we sought treatment and had the cancer removed! You will feel better, soon, I promise! Best wishes and prayers!
I’ve largely recovered in terms of the way things look at this point. The recovery now has more to do with rebuilding energy than appearance.
I realized a few days ago that I had not seen posts from you in a while. I am sorry to learn you have been through so much medically and emotionally. I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers.
Thank you. I hope to get back in rhythm the next few weeks.