Cancer delivers the will to live
Wednesday, August 11, 2004 7:49 AM PDT
By Grace Reade
Printable version
E-mail this articleThe other day, I became a member of a most exclusive club.
It happened July 19 when I was in Seattle, undergoing surgery for removal of part of my pancreas and the whole of my spleen and gall bladder.
When I came around from the operation, my surgeon stood there and told me the news. What they had believed was either a lesion or, more likely, a benign tumor, had turned out to be something rather more serious.
The news from Dr. Traverso was that I had pancreatic cancer, which had started to metastasize into my liver. He hadn't been able to do anything except excise the tiny tumors he found in my liver and then sew me back up again.
This was, as you can imagine, somewhat of a shock. But I was still cushioned by the medications, so I went back to sleep. Later on, when I saw my husband, I really began to take in the news.
A few days later, an oncologist came to see me and told me that the darned thing was incurable. Instead of "incurable," I heard "death sentence," especially when he said that without treatment, I had at best a few months to live.
Since then I've had to tell my children, all three going into varying states of panic and grief; my friends, who have been extremely supportive and upbeat; and various acquaintances who knew about the impending surgery and wanted to know how I was feeling.
That's been hard, seeing and hearing their reactions and knowing that they just did not know what to say.
"Get well soon" was not an appropriate response, as that is not really going to happen.
I can and will get much better ... but I am not going to get completely well.
I am not classifying myself as a victim of cancer. Nor am I going to give up and just take it.
I have months of chemotherapy and possibly radiation ahead of me, and if the good God wills, surgical intervention. It is all going to make life very interesting.
Awhile back, I mentioned in my regular column the old Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times."
It looks as though I have been cursed in a big way. But no, I have not been cursed. That again smacks of the victim mentality, and I am no victim.
I will not lie down, roll over and present my decidedly flabby underbelly to the fates. I am in charge of my life, and I will be in charge of the end of that life, whenever it comes.
The curse, I now feel, is a blessing.
Life will be interesting --- maybe painful, maybe holding days when I shake my fists at the heavens, but more intense, more challenging, more full.
What's helped me in these very early days is the incredible support from my husband, Bill, a true rock among men.
He has just retired from Solvay Chemicals, and we were looking forward to silly stuff such as taking road trips, doing more to the house and maybe even moving back to the UK at some stage.
Now the poor man is saddled with spending his days running up to Seattle's Virginia Mason clinic with me, instead of romping with the dogs and hunting moles in the front yard.
Already I think he deserves a medal for outstanding bravery and sheer goodfella-ness.
My children in the United Kingdom, Stu and Helen, felt helpless, powerless, and just so alone at first. Now they are making all kinds of plans to come over, and for my trip to the UK at Christmas.
They have realized that Mum isn't giving in and isn't about to shuffle off this mortal coil just yet.
My daughter Sue, who lives in Vancouver, has been marvelous. She, too, was terrified at first, with visions of Mother not even making it back from Seattle, and running round in ever decreasing panicky circles, trying to bite her own tail.
She has become calmer, more focused, and being as much of a rock as is Bill. I tend to worry that she'll try to wrap me in cotton wool to keep me from more harm. Like Bill, she's a natural caregiver.
Another person who has already been of immense help is Bill White of Kalama.
I received a phone call from him the night before an article about his own battle with melanoma appeared in The Daily News. After a good, long, laughter-filled conversation, I came away feeling no longer alone.
He shared his experiences, attitudes and advice with me. He helped me realize that this nasty beast can be beaten at its own game, and I have a feeling that he and his family are going to become close to me and mine, as I hope to be with other members of the "club."
Why am I sharing this all with you?
Not for sympathy! Anyone who comes into my house with a long face and muted voice will find himself or herself out in the cold street.
I have cancer. It will NOT rub off, it is NOT catching. Yes, it is sad, but it is not the end of the world, unless you allow it to be.
As I've learned from Bill White, a positive attitude is essential. There will be down days, and I will allow myself the luxury of the odd few minutes of sadness, but I will not stay "down." Too much to live for, too much to experience, and way too much to laugh at to become a victim.
So here I am, a bona fide, paid-up member of the Crab Club.
That's what cancer is, Latin for crab, and to be honest, the best place for crabs is on my plate, in the form of crab cakes, surrounded by red pepper aioli, and not inside my body.
Be gone, foul crab, I shall have no more of thee!
When Dr. Traverso told me the news, I had this sudden vision of the poor man opening me up and looking into the unblinking eye of the crab, which beckoned him closer, daring him to do his worst.
We -- all members of the club -- take on that challenge. We will do our best. And we will beat you.
For information for families dealing with pancreatic cancer, Grace recommends this Web site: www.pancan.org
Grace Reade, a Liverpool transplant by way of Houston, has been a food columnist for The Daily News for five years. She plans to continue writing "Grace at the Table" as she is able while she undergoes cancer treatment. Readers may send mail to her in care of The Daily News, P.O. Box 189, Longview, WA 98632, or by e-mail at scouse22@msn.com.
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