Introduction
If you’re reading this book, chances are you or a loved one have just heard one of the most feared sentences in our culture today, “You have cancer.” Let me start by telling you that you are not alone in what you’re going through. Many, many others have walked this path before you, and it appears that many others will be joining you in fighting cancer until we figure out all the ways we can beat this disease.
Some of you, like me, might have even heard some terrifying statistics. I was told early on that I had “a year, maybe 18 months” by a well-meaning, beloved doctor. She was responding to my husband’s direct question and she was quoting statistics about the median life span of a person diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer as I had been. Unfortunately, I heard it as a death sentence rather than what such numbers really are: a statistic about a group of people whose situations were both similar to and vastly different from my own.
Which brings me to the first useful lesson I learned in fighting cancer. I am a statistic of one. (Go ahead, repeat it for yourself because it’s equally true of you.) I am a statistic of one.
I know with certainty that I will die one day, just like every other person who has trod the Earth before me and just like every other person who has yet to be born. What I don’t know, and what I quickly refused to accept, is that I will necessarily die of colon cancer. Or that I will die before my loved ones. My goal became to get myself out on that far-right edge of the statistical curve and keep myself there as long as possible using every tool at my disposal.
This book is about the lessons I’ve learned in pursuing that goal. It discusses what your doctors will tell you and what they won’t or often don’t. It’s fascinating to realize that when I began the planning process for Golf on Monday, Chemo on Tuesday, I brainstormed a list of those lessons. Under the category of “What the Doctors Say” were six items. Under the category of “Things I Learned on My Own” were 48 items.
This is not to say that your doctors are bad people, ill-informed or don’t have your best interests at heart. My oncologist, Dr. Howard Cheng, is one of the kindest, most patient, dedicated physicians I’ve ever met. He also has literally hundreds of patients that he sees in a month’s time. He speaks daily with other doctors and with medical support teams. He speaks daily with patients and their families. He keeps up on the latest research. And he is part of the American model of medicine where we provide payments for treating the illness and yet often we forget to treat the whole patient.
I believe that we are on the cusp of changing that medical model. I can foresee oncology practices where a social worker coordinates each patients “360 degree approach” to health, wellness, fitness and fighting cancer. But the unfortunate truth is that, with the exception of cancer centers which are often too far away from one’s home or life, most cancer patients find themselves in charge of their own approach to their disease.
And since we fear cancer so much, since we carry outdated ideas about what having cancer means (death), what chemo and/or radiation are (the tortures of hell), and how powerless we are over this “dread disease,” there are many, many people who are dying of the fear of cancer rather than choosing to live with cancer.
I hope this book will help people leapfrog ahead of where I started with my diagnosis by applying my own research, philosophy, experience and moments of grace that have been part of my daily life with cancer. I can’t say the journey’s been all fun and games. But I can say that I’ve grown more, learned more, loved more and lived more in the months since my diagnosis than I had in years.
If I can do it, you can, too. Turn the page. Let’s talk about cancer.
Some of you, like me, might have even heard some terrifying statistics. I was told early on that I had “a year, maybe 18 months” by a well-meaning, beloved doctor. She was responding to my husband’s direct question and she was quoting statistics about the median life span of a person diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer as I had been. Unfortunately, I heard it as a death sentence rather than what such numbers really are: a statistic about a group of people whose situations were both similar to and vastly different from my own.
Which brings me to the first useful lesson I learned in fighting cancer. I am a statistic of one. (Go ahead, repeat it for yourself because it’s equally true of you.) I am a statistic of one.
I know with certainty that I will die one day, just like every other person who has trod the Earth before me and just like every other person who has yet to be born. What I don’t know, and what I quickly refused to accept, is that I will necessarily die of colon cancer. Or that I will die before my loved ones. My goal became to get myself out on that far-right edge of the statistical curve and keep myself there as long as possible using every tool at my disposal.
This book is about the lessons I’ve learned in pursuing that goal. It discusses what your doctors will tell you and what they won’t or often don’t. It’s fascinating to realize that when I began the planning process for Golf on Monday, Chemo on Tuesday, I brainstormed a list of those lessons. Under the category of “What the Doctors Say” were six items. Under the category of “Things I Learned on My Own” were 48 items.
This is not to say that your doctors are bad people, ill-informed or don’t have your best interests at heart. My oncologist, Dr. Howard Cheng, is one of the kindest, most patient, dedicated physicians I’ve ever met. He also has literally hundreds of patients that he sees in a month’s time. He speaks daily with other doctors and with medical support teams. He speaks daily with patients and their families. He keeps up on the latest research. And he is part of the American model of medicine where we provide payments for treating the illness and yet often we forget to treat the whole patient.
I believe that we are on the cusp of changing that medical model. I can foresee oncology practices where a social worker coordinates each patients “360 degree approach” to health, wellness, fitness and fighting cancer. But the unfortunate truth is that, with the exception of cancer centers which are often too far away from one’s home or life, most cancer patients find themselves in charge of their own approach to their disease.
And since we fear cancer so much, since we carry outdated ideas about what having cancer means (death), what chemo and/or radiation are (the tortures of hell), and how powerless we are over this “dread disease,” there are many, many people who are dying of the fear of cancer rather than choosing to live with cancer.
I hope this book will help people leapfrog ahead of where I started with my diagnosis by applying my own research, philosophy, experience and moments of grace that have been part of my daily life with cancer. I can’t say the journey’s been all fun and games. But I can say that I’ve grown more, learned more, loved more and lived more in the months since my diagnosis than I had in years.
If I can do it, you can, too. Turn the page. Let’s talk about cancer.