I am still over the moon since I received the news that I am in complete remission from my CML. No active cancer cells. It's been 2 days. I spent most of Wednesday in a sort of haze of unbelief. I was happy but spent much of the time teary eyed. And I kept looking at the report the Dr. gave me showing on a graft how my numbers were so high, and now, there are no detectable bad cells. We were planning to go out for a nice dinner tonight to celebrate. I am not sure we will do that tonight, as I've been having some stomach issues(side effects of the Gleevec). But I have spent to day in reflection.
3 Years ago, on June 6th, I was issued the devastating news that I had cancer, Leukemia. I remember the very moment. The world shifted, literally. I felt it move. And I remember being told that they had caught it early enough that once I started taking the Chemo med Gleevec I should go into remission pretty quickly. Of course that didn't happen. And there was a chance that it never would. I might be one of the unlucky ones.
3 years later, I have finally reached that milestone. I have been thinking of the heartache I have had. I cannot say it has miraculously disappeared. I feel much more calm. I am happy. But I don't so much feel like jumping up and down and yelling hooray. I feel more reflective. I find my mind wandering around the last 3 years. The wonderful support I've received, and the quiet acceptance I've learned to live with. My mom and dad are wonderful people. Our family has never been one that shows much emotion, but I know what this means for them. With my sisters, they really have never said too much. I don't think they knew what to say. Sometimes I've been hurt by that, thinking that they don't care. But I think I am coming to realize that it must be hard to talk about such a thing as cancer. They all readily volunteered to be tested for bone marrow if it became evident that I might need a bone marrow transplant. They just haven't said too much. When I was first diagnosed, I don't think anyone knew what to say, so they said nothing. I don't think I would have liked to hear, "Oh I am so sorry."
My internal struggles have mostly been my own. Dan and I don't talk very much about it either. It's always been like the elephant in the room. I would say I wanted to make sure our will was up to date, and he would change the subject. Because I was the music director at my church for so long, I would tell him that I put my funeral plans in our strong box. Again he would change the subject, or would say something like, "You don't need to jump the gun." And I never really argued that I needed to talk about things like this. I was facing my mortality, but no one else was willing to do that.
In hindsight, I could say well, I've dodged that bullet. But I don't feel like that. I think I may be harboring some sadness that I've really kept it all to myself. I suppose it is a private struggle. But there have been so many times I've wanted to talk about it. To cry about it. Even my kids would always say, "Oh, you are not going to die." How sure they all sounded. I am not sure if they said it out of fear, or if they really felt that way. I certainly haven't. I think I still need to have a discussion about it.
I am cancer free. Yes. And it is a wonderful thing God has done for me. I am not really sure why I have been thinking of so many of these things now. I wonder if this is normal? I suppose that because I never had to have infusion of chemotherapy, or radiation, so much associated with cancer, maybe it didn't seem so life threatening to my family.. But every day I know that I must take this large brown pill keep to me alive. Literally. Dr. Sood says I may be able to go off of it in 4 or 5 years. But until then, I will rely on it to keep me cancer free.
I guess I am reflecting on feelings that have been near the surface of my mind now because I am not sure that my brain has really realized that I am cancer free. Tomorrow I will walk with many other survivors, in the survivors lap of Relay for Life. And then Dan will join me in the caregivers lap. I am thankful. I am still overcome with emotion. Perhaps I will cry. Perhaps I will feel like jumping up and down. Perhaps I will just walk and reflect on this miracle God has given me this week. Peace.
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