And, with that, my cancer treatment is done
As I mentioned last week, my treatment for advanced prostate cancer ended on Sunday (yesterday as I write this).
To celebrate, my wife and daughter made me this:
I cried (it’s been a hard couple of years). Then I ate a whole bunch of it.
I think one of the things I learned during this time is how every cancer is different, and how lucky I was that my cancer was found when it was, and that I had access to such great treatment, including experimental therapy. Many people with chronic diseases aren’t as lucky as I have been. They find out about their disease too late to be treated, or the treatment is far more difficult than mine.
This isn’t the end of anything, really. I’m no longer taking some pills. It’s mostly a symbolic moment.
There’s a good chance that my cancer will go into remission, never to raise its ugly little head again. There’s also a good chance it’ll come back, spread to my bones, causing me to live with pain for years until it spreads further, eventually killing me. I’ve got years, though, and, almost certainly, I have at least this next year symptom free and treatment free.
My context for people saying things like that is movies and TV shows. Inevitably the person completely changes their life, suddenly doing a whole bunch of things he or she has always wanted to do but for some reason never has done.
That’s not my situation. These last couple of years have taught me something else — I love my life, just as it is; I don’t need to take a round the world cruise, or quit my job and become a life coach/painter/writer, there isn’t some true love out there waiting for me. Nope. My life is full of love, and I love my job, and I love my home. If things continue just like this until I die, I think I’ll die happy (and even if it’s when I’m 92 it’ll still be soon).
I’m lucky.
Now I need to simply keep it up. Keep practicing, remembering to live in the moment, and if the side effects of my treatment and cancer go away, relishing that change, without attachment. I am getting older, and even if I recover from this, other ailments will happen. Even if my testosterone comes back to normal, it will, someday, start to go away naturally. It will, naturally, get harder to hike up and down the beautiful hills around my house. My hearing will, naturally, get worse. My skin will lose more elasticity and I will get more wrinkles. My hair will continue to get greyer, and it may even start to fall out. Each day will bring what it brings, and one day, it will end.
I tracked every day of my treatment. Yesterday was 730 days. I’m not going to track my post-treatment days. I’m alive, today, and each day is day one.
