SCANXIETY

Until recently, I had never heard of the term "scanxiety."  The term perfectly describs how I feel about scans.  At one point, my scanxiety got so bad that I briefly contemplated not getting scans.   After a little chat with Dr. Seng, I quickly changed my mind.  He said that even if the cancer does come back there is a lot more he can do for me.  I was under the impression that if the cancer came back I would be a goner.  So.......I continue with the scans.    

One of my children has had a difficult time dealing with my cancer diagnosis.  She and I went to a child therapist together (Dana Tennison).  Dana gave Sophia some good tips for dealing with her anxiety that have also helped me.  Dana describes anxiety as a monster. 

Dana's first tip:  "The monster does not like to be talked about.  So, talk about the monster and the monster will shrink."  It is helpful for me think of anxiety as the monster, and how I need to talk about my fear of a recurrence.  I cannot keep that fear inside. 

A second tip from Dana:  "The monster likes to make predictions.  If you hear the words 'what if,' the monster is likely in the room.  The monster only makes bad predictions.  You don't have to believe his predictions."  This is so true.  When was the last time your anxiety said, "You beat cancer!  Your scan will be great!  Go have a great day!"   

Another one of Dana's tips:  "The monster wants you to believe that whatever happens to you, you will not be able to handle it.  But, that's not true.  Even if your biggest fear happens, you will be able to handle it."  If someone had told me that at the age of 37 I would receive an advanced cancer diagnosis, and go through six months of chemo and four surgeries in 11 months, I would have said, "I won't be able to handle it."  And yet, I did.   

A little over a week ago I received the results from my latest scan.  The cancer has not returned.  It was a hard few weeks leading up to the scan.  At times, I thought I was going to lose my mind over the possibility of the cancer returning.  I made it through it.  My next scan is in January.  I am trying my hardest to enjoy these cancer-free months and not let the scanxiety creep back in. 

My Story

Here is the short version of my cancer story:  In May 2012 I was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer.  Six months of chemo and five surgeries later, I am living cancer free.  I intend to remain cancer free by utilizing the best of both western and holistic medicine.  So far, it's working.

Here is the long version of my cancer story.  During the year before I was diagnosed I just didn't feel "well."  I went to my gynecologist a few times complaining of general malaise, exhaustion, frequent flues and colds, and sleeplessness.  The response that I received was typical:  it was a quick pat on the shoulder and a few words about being a working mom and how tiring that can be.  Oh, yeah, he also gave me a prescription for sleeping pills.

Finally, the exhaustion got so bad that I went to my family doctor.  I had blood work done, which showed that I was severely anemic (8.4, when I should have been an 11 or 12).  My doctor performed a few quick blood pressure tests, and said that I was bleeding internally and the bleed had been occurring for a long time. He surmised that there was an issue in my colon or possibly my kidneys. He ordered a ct scan for that day.  The radiologist found a mass in my colon.   The next day I had a colonoscopy, which showed that the mass was cancer.

We were shocked.  I knew that something was really wrong with me, but I never guessed cancer.  Six days later I had surgery to resect my colon.  At first, it appeared that the cancer had been caught early.  That, however, was not to be the case.  My surgeon told me it was stage IV colon cancer.  It had spread to 5/10 lymph nodes, and three tiny (0.5mm) tumors were found in my abdominal wall.  We were devastated.  I never imaged that the cancer would be so advanced.

Six weeks later I started on my chemo cocktail of FOLFOX.  I was to receive 12 rounds over 24 weeks.  Chemo did not go well.  I got severely nauseated the moment the chemo injection started, and I stayed horribly sick for the next 10 days.  Then, after round three of chemo, I experienced a bowel obstruction caused by the scar tissue from the previous surgery.  I was in surgery for 12 hours, the ICU for 3 days, and in the hospital for another 11 days.  I  also now had an illeostomy.  I started on chemo immediately.  It continued to not go well, and my oncologist insisted that I switch to a different chemo regimen, 5-FU.

After chemo, I was declared cancer-free!  That declaration was, however, short-lived.  My surgeon performed laproscopic surgery and discovered a few small tumors, which were mostly dead, but still slightly viable.  My team of doctors and I decided to move forward with a somewhat controversial surgery called HIPEC.  On April 10, 2013 I had HIPEC, which involved the removal of any tumors (there ended-up being 7 small tumors) and an abdominal bath of heated, highly concentrated chemo.  I also had the illeostomy reversed.  The recovery was brutal, but I am finally starting to feel like myself with the aid of my natural healers.

I have had one ct scan since the surgery, which was all clear.  I will do everything in my power to feel better and stay cancer free, not only for my sake, but for the sake of my husband and two little girls.  I have been through a lot, and I hope that my experiences can help you be healthy and cancer-free, too.

The Waiting Room

Cancer strikes old people.  We all know this because we sit in the waiting room at our oncologist's office, and we are surrounded by old people.  We see old people in orthopedic shoes.  We see old people in sweat pants and diabetic socks.   We hear conversations that go something like this, "I have lived a good, long life, so if cancer gets me in the end, so be it."  

Then there is us.

I am sitting in the waiting room in full make-up.  I am wearing my cancer-kicking cow-girl boots.  I have on skinny-jeans and I am drinking a latte (even though I know that I should not be drinking caffeine or dairy).  I am talking with my husband or my friend about the cute things the kids have done lately.  I look around, and  I have to accept that I am one of those rare statistical anomalies---I got cancer at a young age.  I page through the "Cancer Today" magazine on the coffee table, and realize that there are no articles pertinent to me because I am young.  I look up and realize that people are staring at me, undoubtedly wondering why I am there. 

The thing is, young cancer warriors (like us) are awesome and we have different needs, both large and small.

For example, Minnesota Oncology in Minneapolis (612-884-6300) has some great oncologists, but the waiting room sucks. It fact, the whole facility sucks.   It is dingy and hospital-like.  If  I have to go to chemo, can't it look like a Juut salon?  I want aromatherapy and someone offering me tea.   Where's the Starbucks cart?  The healthy snacks?  The massage chairs?  The People magazines?  The privacy?  I put up with it only because I liked my oncologist so much, but it was depressing nonetheless.  

It is time to start a young cancer warrior revolution.