"This is Doctor..., I'll call back around five when I'm done for the day." Chronic Lymphocytic Luekemia, stage zero. That's what it turned out to be. "At least you have the good kind of cancer". Whatttttt? Okay. Let it go, be thankful it's not eating you alive. So, after about four months of scouring the internet, wondering, obsessing, I was officially diagnosed.
Although it's "the good kind of cancer", it turns out it's nothing but a languid, teasing, laughing at you, type of creeping mind game that will be with you until you die. "You'll probably die with it, rather than of it." I'm thinking that was probably meant to be some sort of consolation the medical specialists use to console you. And if I'm being honest, it did "console" me for a minute.
So I swept those dirty little lymphocytes under my proverbial rug and got on with my life. I mean, there were so many other people way worse than my "good" cancer. Just be grateful, keep on doing what I'm doing and let it go, I told myself.
Well, letting it go would be all fine and dandy, but IT won't let me go. And there's this tiny problem called fatigue. Even before the diagnosis, I told Phil that something wasn't right in my body. That I was tired too much, and for too long. I blamed it on age. Later I blamed it on depression. After all, I lost three dogs in a year, and in that same year, the country that I thought I knew so well turned out to be an entirely different place. Not a great year at all!
We're about five weeks into the new year. I have an amazing new dog, who I believe was sent by Milo, and another adorable big boy dog who is nothing but a misunderstood cuddlebug. But I also, just lately, have another bug. It's been hanging on to my sweet little self for over two weeks now. Sore throat, dull earache, a little achey, and of course my partner, fatigue.
We went for a drink the other night with a couple who works with Phil. A wonderful, fun couple. As the conversation went, and our first round of alcoholic beverages warmly settled in, I brought up the CLL. "It's really not as bad as it sounds, stage zero, I'll most likely die with it rather than of it", I confidently said in a reassuring tone. (The reassuring tone part was, truthfully, only for me.) Mo, the delightful lady from half of the couple, told me it's a good thing I take care of myself. But at this point, she didn't know that for most of 2024 all I did was eat too much food and drink too much wine. It was one of the shittiest years of my life, and I caved; winding up in the dingy, dark corridor of negativity.
She then told me her father died from CLL. As nonchalantly as I could, hoping not to seem concerned by her comment, I asked her, with what I believe, was a lighthearted tone, "What part of CLL caused his death?" "Sepsis" she replied. "He had a bug and it turned into Sepsis".
If you have those nasty, damn little lymphocytes, it means it takes longer to recover from "bugs". But clearly, her father didn't take care of himself. Right???
My mind didn't really race, because at this point in my life, nothing in me races. But it did cause that subtle, small voice in my head, whose job it is to question everything I hear, read or think about, come forward to get my attention. And after that depressing 2024, the voice whose job it is to question, basically had me submit to all things negative, "Hmmmm, do you really take care of yourself???" (Dark emphasis on the word really.) "What does that actually mean...take care of yourself?" (Think of a 1920’s, stereo typical villain. Skinny, white, pasty skin, black haired man , squinty eyes, with an El Bandito style mustache. As he's talking, he's continually curling his thin, black mustache with his fingers.)
Then, what pursued was a serious conversation in the coffee shop area of my mind. Subjects were brought up as banter ensued. Especially the idea about pulling up positivity! Certainly that right there is where all good feelings, outlooks on life, and peace begins.
The part of my mind whose job it is to question murmured hastily, almost in a deep whisper, "Is it though?" ( Again envision the 1920’s villian.)
And so it went.
I shouldn't be surprised at this point in my life with CLL. The mind game part is always wondering, always present. So far, for over a year, CLL shows itself in the form of a looming, somber, dark cloud; a rainy day.
Let me say right now though, I'm certainly not minimizing the fact that there are ever so many who are much worse off than me, whose lives have been forever changed and even destroyed by cancer. Indeed, I'm grateful that I have "the good kind of cancer". Even more so, for now, I'm thankful that I'm in stage 0, which only means blood tests twice a year.
The other day my wonderful son sent me a text asking, "How has your health been lately?" I flippantly told him I've had a bug, but that I was good. Getting straight to the point as only he can do, he texted back, "No, I mean the cancer stuff."
See? That's the thing! I really don't like talking about it because I'm afraid of saying how I really feel. People already have so much on their plate they don't need to hear about my cancer stuff. They don't need to hear that I'm angry as hell that I even have that word attached to my life. They don't need to hear that if I sneeze more than once paranoia charges in and suddenly I'm thinking about Sepsis or dying.
I guess the good news is, there's a little anger coming into play now, not just saddness, or worse yet, self pity, but my good ole friend, anger. I'm 73, 74 this year. If I live a few more years that's great; I've already outlived my parents. But...I truly want to do something about that damn cloud overhead. Thank God I live in sunny Arizona.
Take care of yourselves. Whatever that REALLY means. In any case, I'm sending you love. Love for reading this far. Xoxo
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