A Cancer Opportunity to Serve …

There are no words to describe how I felt when I first heard the sounds of stage-4 cancer spoken to me; I was so taken aback, I must have paused for at least a full minute (or two).  It is a significant amount of time to be sitting with your oncologist in silence; finally I was able to respond to my diagnosis with more questions.

I was first brought to the Emergency Room on Palm Sunday (April 2023); was seen and ‘worked on’ by many doctors and nurses.  By midnight, I was told that most likely I have cancer and there is a good chance that I’ll be operated on, followed by admission to the ICU.  Luckily, after a few bags of blood ‘my numbers’ were good enough that I didn’t need the operation right away.  Besides, I wasn’t really a viable candidate for surgery given the size of my tumor, more than four and a half inches in diameter.  Plus, the tumor was ‘attached’ to other organs; so cutting it out might have consequential effects on my bladder, abdominal lining and diaphragm.  After about seventeen hours, around three or four in the morning, I was admitted and given more blood—six bags in total.

During my stay, until Easter Monday, I had lots of time to think, to reflect on life—my life—like many patients often do when they face a life-threatening, incurable disease.  Also during this time, on Holy Saturday, a friend of mine (a former professor), someone I had known for nearly twenty years, died from cancer, from glioblastoma.  He was already in hospice care; hence, one of my reasons for not telling him about my own predicament. Even though we had stayed in touch.  He had found lasting peace and was ready—to be homeward bound.  No one, not even his religious community of brothers, could have told him otherwise.  Anyone who tried, I would dare say, did not fully understand his relationship and commitment to God (as a priest and Jesuit), not in a faithful, God-centered way.

Tom’s death gave me an opportunity to think long and hard about my situation and my mortality.  I had never had anything more serious than a cold, ‘a bug’ or perhaps an allergic reaction, nothing that I didn’t recover from.  Therefore, I hadn’t the need to see death as a plausible, near-future event.  But now, in the hospital, I was tremendously sick, and had to start radiation therapy (typically an out-patient procedure) almost immediately to stop the internal bleeding.  One day, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and saw wrinkly skin throughout my body; and when I put my thumbs and middle fingers together, I was able to move my hand-made ring back and forth along the largest part of my upper thighs.  Basically, I looked scary!  I knew that if I didn’t get better, I was going to die.

My ‘medical holy week’—along with the meeting with my oncologist to discuss my cancer stage and prognosis—changed my outlook on life (ie, what to do with however much time is left).  There was no bargaining with God, no this-for-that agreements came to mind.  Yet I had this sense that I was given an opportunity to do something, to help others deal with cancer—perhaps to help ease their cancer-recovery journeys?  Like the one that I was embarking on myself?  I’ll never forget my oncologist looking straight at me, asking:  You are going to try to get better, right?  My answer was ‘yes’ (albeit not very firm at the time) with a nod.  Nonetheless, there’s just no going back on that now!

At first, during my medical holy week, I didn’t know exactly what to name the work that I was supposed to do, aiming to do for my fellow-cancer sojourners.  But since then, after five rounds of radiation therapy, another hospitalization, several biopsies, another visit to the ER, six rounds of chemotherapy, on-going scans (CT, PET and MRI) and now immunotherapy, a few tumor chafing (aka ‘tumor-death’) events, plus, a couple of recent surgeries, I’ve gained quite a bit of experience in cancer recovery.  So, piecemeal over the course of this past year, I’ve been developing CPSP2023 programs, such as a Vendors Program, a Cancer Walkers-Buddies Program and a Healing Methods Program.  To be sure, I’ve got lots of work ahead; but I’m not dead yet (inspired by and borrowed from Monty Python)!  Plus, I’m simply happy and glad to be alive—still!  So I’ve got to do all that I can to help others on their journeys to recovery and survivorship!

Please know that I sincerely welcome your help, suggestions and guidance, too! So, contact me with your comments and suggestions—just drop me a note. On our shared journey to full recovery, may you remain strong and well! With my deepest gratitude to being here still, able to help out—Vivien