It's been a year.
A year ago today we sat in Dr. Ormont's office, with my usual list of a dozen questions, mostly wondering if a few lifestyle changes would take care of the pain and nausea I'd been experiencing since October. Jerry says he knew something was wrong the minute Ormont walked in, because usually he has a smile but now he was pale and grim. He gave us the news and immediately set us up with appointments with an oncologist and a surgeon at Dartmouth-Hitchcock in Lebanon, NH. And the process of dealing with whatever was wrong now became focused onto dealing with pancreatic cancer and moved into high gear.
Over the year, I've had two kinds of chemotherapy, one lasting from March through June, and the other beginning in September and continuing indefinitely. They put in the port in March. I had daily radiation from mid-May through mid-June. I had an ERCP and stent change in February, July, and September. The unsuccessful Whipple procedure was at the beginning of August (six days in the hospital in Lebanon), and the surgery for the perforated ulcer was in December (ten days in the hospital in Keene). It's been quite a year.
So with all of that, what do we have to celebrate?
I've beaten the odds. Supposedly one out of four makes it through the first year, though the more I read the less I trust the statistics. After all, these numbers include a lot of people in their eighties, others who started out in bad health, those who didn't get the good care I have, and maybe some who are just not lucky. (Though I never gamble, because when I've tried I've never won so much as a Bingo game.)
When I look back over the year, though, it isn't the medical procedures that spring to mind. What I think of are the wonderful people: always and forever, my family. The calls from Max and Cinda that keep me anchored. The brothers and sisters and in-laws who keep in touch. The people in the groups I belong to: Westmoreland Town Band, The Writers' Group, The Top of the Hill Friends, my yoga class. Neighbors. The woman whose face I recognized, but who I don't think I've ever spoken with who stopped me at the supermarket to tell me that she was praying for me.
And Jerry, who gave me four chocolate truffles today to celebrate. Without him, no matter how long I lived, there wouldn't be much to celebrate.
In Follies, Sondheim said it best:
I've run the gamut, A to Z.
Three cheers and dammit, C'est la vie.
I got through all of last year --
And I'm here.
5 comments:
You go, girl!
Lucie, when you put it like that---the list of "procedures" and surgeries, in one year? My God Woman--you are a trooper. No wonder you had a bout of feeling like something the cat dragged in. (Well, my cats, anyway.)
You are effen fabulous--
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You've no idea how delighted the rest of us are that you are here! Yes, you are a trooper. You wrote early on about feeling betrayed that you've taken such good care of your body over the years, but you still got cancer--twice. However, I think your good care may be paying off now-if you were in bad shape, all those surgeries, chemos and procedures would have done you in. Or you'd be totally bedridden. You go, girl!
What a year... Lucie, I hope you can take a deep breath and do something nice for yourself to celebrate. We are all so glad you're still here, still writing, still laughing, and still making us think. Here's to a better year...
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