Endings and Beginnings

I like pat endings.  I like it when all the couples end up together, or together again.  I like it when the bad guy dies and the good guy lives and says something snarky.  And gets the girl.  Or the guy.  I am for equal opportunity fairy tales.

I am a willful enabler of terrible screenwriting.  I gleefully suspend any disbelief.  So what if he made her crazy when she worked for him?  Their relationship will totally work out.

Most of the time, it doesn’t even matter to me that the characters involved completely changed their core personality traits at the last minute in order for the conclusion to be satisfying.  (Most of the time.  He’s Just Not That Into You can suck it.)

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately.  Chemo was completed two months ago.  My double mastectomy was almost five weeks ago.  The pathology report shows no cancer in the areas they worry about and the tumor showed an excellent response to chemo.  So, once they removed it, as far as anyone can see, I don’t have cancer anymore.

This ending isn’t neat.  I have a series of appointments to fill up the new boobs (that’s another blog post) and at least two outpatient procedures remaining.  I’m still recovering from surgery; I keep forgetting that my arms don’t work the way they’re supposed to yet.  And I still have nine months of treatment.  There was a protein helping my tumor grow, and I receive infusions of a drug which helps my body kill the protein, lest any of them are lurking around trying to greenlight “Lumpy 2: Spring Break.”

I approached it like a broken arm – do what the doctors tell you, take the drugs, go under the knife, and when its all over, you’ll move on with your life.

But its really not like that.  There is no “all over”.  There is only, “we’re pretty sure this boogeyman isn’t going to come back.”  All the doctors can do is estimate risk and thankfully, mine is low.  We have had a huge weight lifted off our shoulders and we get to think about the next stage of our lives.  The one where I have hair and am not up to date on the vacation plans of my oncology nurses.

There is no neat ending.  If my battle with cancer had ended neatly I’d be dead.  That’s the only outcome with no uncertainty.  So, this is better. And I am grateful.

I think a lot about the advantages I had in fighting this disease.  We caught it early.  I live within five minutes of an excellent treatment center.  I have good health insurance, an understanding employer and an excellent support system.  One of the doctors told me recently that they can effectively treat 80-90% of the breast cancers they find in time.  I hope the next stage of my life includes pitching in and helping those who don’t have those advantages and are still fighting.

This weekend, I had the opportunity to participate in Pelotonia, a bike tour which raises funds for cancer research at the James Cancer Hospital and Solove Research Center at the Ohio State University.  Almost eight thousand people committed to ride bikes and raise funds, to the tune of thousands of dollars each.  This year’s ride has already raised $13 million, and donations will continue to be accepted until October.

I participated with a small peloton from work.  Since I just got cleared to ride a bike last week, I participated as a virtual rider and focused on fundraising.  Our executive director rode for me and our colleagues all pitched in to help. (Click here to see more pictures from our weekend.)

As a patient at the James, I have already seen the benefits of this funding.  But, more than that direct benefit, working on Pelotonia made me feel less helpless in the face of cancer.  Our small peloton raised $5300, and every dollar raised buoyed my spirits.  Because of this money, others will be able to fight their own Lumpy and win.

The pre-party on Friday night floored me.  The kindness of the vendors and volunteers taking pictures.  The boards at the James booth lined with the names of people who inspired riders.  The sheer number of people coming together in our fair city to fight cancer.

When I wrote my profile on my fundraising page, I originally wrote that I hoped to be cancer-free by race weekend, cheering on my colleagues and friends.  However, I changed it during treatment, because I realized I’m not sure I’ll ever feel free of cancer.  I may always be “on my way to being cancer free.”

I ran into a neighbor at the starting line.  Turns out he’s a few years out from a battle with colon cancer.  As we spoke, we starting talking about how we both feel: yay, the cancer is gone…as far as we know.

At my first oncology appointment, they said that your life as a cancer survivor starts as soon as you are diagnosed.  At the time, I didn’t think much about it.  It felt a little like a motivational cliche that usually shows up at the end of movies with pat endings.  “Pain heals, chicks dig scars, glory lasts forever.”

It makes more sense to me now.  The truth is that every day you stay alive after that first one, you are a survivor.

That’s true for everyone, Lumpy or not.  Our days are not guaranteed.  And cliche though it may be, it turns out that it is motivating.

When I was diagnosed a friend of ours sent me Christopher McDougall’s Born to Run, which is the narrative of a regular guy seeking the secrets of the best natural runners on earth.  In it, he describes witnessing a running game played by the Tarahumara people and recounts how it was described to him: “We say the rarájipari is the game of life.  You never know how hard it will be.  You never know when it will end.  You can’t control it.  You can only adjust.”

We are all survivors.

#tovictory