Two Years!

This month marks a big milestone in this cancer journey.  As of July, it's now been two years since chemo with no relapse.  With follicular lymphoma, that's big news! Apparently up to two years brings the highest incidence of relapse.

So what this means is that instead of going every 3 months for a check-up and lots of bloodwork, and a CT or PET scan every 6 months -- I can now go an entire year until the next scan and exams/bloodwork are now 6 months apart. Cause for celebration.

But what really matters almost more to me is how good I feel this year.  Better than in years!  Since before I turned 50 actually (I'm 62 now).  I'm still running and weightlifting, and those two things I attribute to a resurgence of energy and vitality that's really kind of fun. 

Of course I still have another big issue to deal with -- trigeminal neuralgia (facial nerve pain) for the past 13 years -- that rears up some days worse than others.  But that's the thing about getting cancer.  Everything else pretty much pales in comparison.  All the other "issues" can be taken with a grain of salt with an overriding feeling of gratitude for the big picture.



In May at the Bay Area Senior Games
track & field meet.  I won a silver,
bronze, and a gold in the 200 meters
(which was odd since I'm not a
sprinter -- but fun!)

But what's really making life more fun, exciting, and more passionate is a return to running.  Competitive running.  After fantasizing about the Senior Games for 16 years (since I reached 50, the year one can enter), is....I finally did it!  In May I competed in the Bay Area Senior Games - track & field -  and it was such great fun.  Everything I hoped for.  I ran the 800m (which I ran in college), 400m and 200m. Lots of amazing athletes from age 50 to 100, all friendly and supportive of each other.  I plan to compete in the senior games every year from now on. 

Not only that, I've continued running and keep improving in ways that I've dreamed could be possible (at my age, hehe).  So in preparation for next spring's track season, I'm going to run cross-country this fall.  Yeah, pretty crazy. 

Turns out there's a whole network of races through the USA Track & Field Association (USATF) for open, masters, and seniors in this region.  And anyone over 60 gets the fine distinction of being a "super senior".  I love it!  Although I still have a ways to go to feel comfortable racing a 5k (about 3 miles), I'm getting there.  There are even cash prizes!  Something unheard of in my previous running ventures.

Running now is different in other ways too than being 25 and competing.  There's more recovery time, and more attention to eating not just good food, but great food -- which has been part of my healing process anyway.  At 25, I could eat whatever whenever.  Not any more. 

And just to help inspire me and revel in the past (which is kinda meaningful from time to time), my cross-country (and track) coach from Glendale College, Diane Spangler, is getting inducted to the college Hall of Fame this year.
 


Our undefeated cross-country team
from 1977 at Glendale College. I'm third
from the right, and sister Marcie second from right.

Which is fitting, because our cross-country team from 1977 was also inducted (in 2003), for being undefeated and winning the state meet that year with no other team since then duplicating that.  It was a special time, for sure.

So my sister Marcie and I, who raced together cross-country and track (in different events), are going to her celebration in October in Glendale.  Just one more thing to celebrate these days!

Sometimes I celebrate quietly, and don't make a big deal (except in this blog). The difference now is I do it all the time for even the little things.  Every day.     

-Adele Sonora
www.thepathofcancer.blogspot.com

 

The Immensities

Two weeks ago on Tuesday, I woke up and knew it was time.  This was the day I'd call the vet and take my 16-year old cat "Birdie" in for a hospice consult.  In reality, it was a euthanasia consult.  But I didn't want to call it that because then I might not be able to go through with it.  And I had to. 

Listening for birds...
 

Birdie had a very fast-growing tumor in his throat and neck that in only 3 weeks went from the size of a large grape to a solid collar around his neck.  I watched him carefully everyday for signs of struggle (like choking) and kept him as comfortable as possible.  Amazingly, he kept up all his normal routines (which were many), even eating the best he could during the several weeks the tumor grew daily.  At least I didn't have to take him in until 4:30 that day.  So there were a few more hours to say goodbye, as I had been doing for 3 weeks.  And appreciate his steadfast presence over the years.

Later that morning at 9:00 a.m., I heard the joyous news that my niece Marina had given birth to her first daughter in North Carolina!  News made all the sweeter because of Marina's previous difficulties in pregnancy.  "Willow Quinn Nicholson" is my sister's first granddaughter, my first grandniece, and everyone was ecstatic.  A new baby in the family is always such lovely news and so welcome. 



My grandniece....Willow Quinn Nicholson.... born to my niece
Marina and her husband Josh in North Carolina.

Birdie was just a baby when I rescued him at only 3 weeks old.  The scrawny parasite-ridden thing had been abandoned in a school parking lot.  I had to feed him from a bottle at first and it took the vets at Acorn several tries to get him to survive.  But live he did.  As one of the special orange tabbies, he had attitude to spare and was a fighter. 

As am I, it turns out.  About 11:30 a.m. on that same morning, I was at my 3-month follow-up with my oncologist.  The previous week was a PET scan -- the glucose uptake scan that detects any cancer activity in the body.  Dr. Kiwan announced that it was completely normal, which is always great news!  And not only that, in 6 more months after another CT scan, which would detect any size changes in lymph nodes, I won't need any more scans.  The riskiest time for relapse will be over -- the first two years after treatment.  So I'm doing really really well. 

And I actually feel really good now!  Once it got figured out that I had a drug allergy causing much difficulty over the fall and part of the winter, I feel better than I have in years.  I've been weight-lifting and even started running again.  I haven't run for years even though I tried many times unsuccessfully.  Having run track in college (800 meters), I loved running!  And over the years have fantasized about running again.  So I'm ecstatic about how well things are going, in so many ways. 

As I continued to reflect during that day, Birdie's life had gone very well.  He'd lived a long 16 years, and had been with me through many significant phases of my life.  From working as a public outreach specialist (a writing job I loved), becoming an artist, still working as a massage therapist, then retiring from corporate life, a nerve pain condition and health difficulties, going back to my first passion of nutrition and helping others with their health (as well as myself), then the past few years a lymphoma diagnosis and chemo treatments.  And now being well again. 



Birdie with his favorite
blankets.

Birdie was there through it all -- his routines embedded in mine because he wanted to be where I was.  He greeted me at the door every time I came home, was on my lap for every meditation and channeling session, and would only eat if I was present. He was also sensitive and wouldn't be groomed, wouldn't meow (except to make chirping noises when he heard birds outside), didn't like to be petted, and generally took life on his own terms.  He did what made him happy -- no more and no less.  He loved peanut butter, microfleece blankets, and his good friend Kingsee -- also rescued from being abandoned by a neighbor.  

Birdie and Kingsee were best
napping buddies.



At the end of that long day, I took Birdie back to Acorn Clinic -- where he first began his life in a sense.  The vet confirmed that it was indeed time.  The tumor around his neck, probably a sarcoma (one of the worst kinds), was already affecting his breathing.  I knew that taking him in would be a sad sad business -- euthanizing a beloved pet always is.  It seems near impossible to do! Yet it must be done if it can save the animal from suffering needlessly.  It was time for Birdie to go back "home". 

Because the day ended with my special kitty friend's death, there's no way I could feel joyful, even with all the wonderful news of the day that I was so grateful for.  In the end, it simply reminded me of the old Irish story of a man asking his friends "How are you?"  

"What way are you Paddy?"
In sepulchral tones, "Perpendicular, no more".

"What way are you Jack?"
"Keeping the best side out, like the broken bowl in the dresser."

"Jim, what way are you?"
"If I felt any better I'd see a doctor."

"What way are you Vincent?"
"Stumbling along between the immensities."
"What immensities?"
"The immensities of birth and death."


--by Adele Sonora
www.thepathofcancer.blogspot.com