[Cancer]
[cancer] The ties that unbind us
Yesterday afternoon I posted an update on yesterday morning’s oncology consult. [ jlake.com | LiveJournal ] That’s all the facts there are, for now. Oncology is a matter of statistics and post facto analysis. The situation is rarely clear in advance or while in progress.
I’m pretty sure we’re at a turning point here. If things play out as the odds suggest and I expect, my life expectancy has dropped again, to probably a year or two. Not much less, because even if I went terminal right now, it would take me about a year to die. This is also barring something approaching a miracle. Which is, of course, the point of genetic testing I’m seeking. I’m miracle shopping within the realm of allopathic medicine. I don’t plan to bust out the alternative remedies even in desperation, because I can’t shake my conviction that the universe operates on evidence-based principles. Same reason I’m not a political conservative or a religious faith-holder — except for occasional intellectual errors on my own part, dogma of any kind never trumps objective reality for me.
Still, this metastasis is different from the others. Even if Ashcroft is a false alarm, the simple fact that I’ve progressed to multifocal tumors in an already-ravaged organ is bad enough. Monday was the first time my doctor and I had spoken seriously about when to turn to Long Term Disability. i.e., that point where I stop working and expect never to be able to go back.
Horror, I think, is a function of surprise. The human mind can routinize anything. Objectively speaking, my life is a horror every day. If I’d woken up ten years ago to be where I am today with no transition, I’d run screaming into the night. As it is, I wake up every day feeling so out of sorts and ill that ten years ago I’d have presented at the Emergency Room. Nowadays, I’m just profoundly thankful when my GI isn’t out of control.
The ties that make up my life — anyone’s life — keep being loosened by this disease. My family is paying a terrible price for my illness. I am increasingly likely to be paying the ultimate price for it. No discounts here. Trying to maintain some grace and dignity and love along the way is my job now as much as anything. That, and still watching for the possibility of that miracle. Or since I don’t believe in miracles, that statistical outlier.
Unbound, I am nothing but a man whose heart is exposed to the elements. This is what cancer continues to do to me and everyone who loves me. It strips our hearts bare and leaves us with nothing but what we can conjure from our own depths.
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Posted: 6:42 am Tue January 08 2013 |
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You are reading the blog of Jay Lake, speculative fiction writer and author of hundreds of short stories, many novels, and winner of the John W. Campbell Award.
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Comments
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Bad news. There’s not much to say. Keep posting – I’ll read it.
@jay_lake I keep reading closely and hoping for the statistical outlier. It prolly doesn’t make a difference, but hugs and love, man.
Hate to like something of this nature. You know we’re pulling for you and hope that something changes for the better soon. Holler if there’s anything I can do.
As always, thank you for sharing with us throughout. If there’s anything we can do, holler.
Love you.
Hang in there. Hugs.
It’s a lot like the frog in the pot of water, isn’t it? But there is still hope, and family, and friends. I am thinking of you daily.
You are brave and wonderful, and surrounded by brave and wonderful people.
((Hugs))
What you conjure every day from your own depths is moving and meaningful. Thank you, Jay.
You’re always in my family’s thoughts, Jay. We continue to be awed by your honesty, and we hope you land on the good side of the odds.
You’re using your time well, Jay –doing your work and sharing what you have learned.
@jay_lake #fuckcancer
you are living (d) well – the Buddhist perspective is that the buddha is the exemplar to aid those around them in comprehension of self-realization – you are one of my Buddhas in my very real life. Thank you.
Jay, I think of you daily, and I hope and wish the very best for you. Thank you for sharing.
*hugs*
I’m still on board, reading what ever you care to say.
Hugs.
thinking of you xxo
I know the odds are bad — but I still hope for you.
I hope the genetic testing buys you time.
::hugs::