As my first post-treatment homework assignment from my counselor at the Cancer Center, I was asked to make a chronological list of the events of my cancer journey. To do so, I had to go back through Providence's MyChart to see where it actually all began, which as it turns out, was nearly two years ago in August, 2019. It was a routine colonoscopy where the gastroenterologist mentioned he had seen an anal lesion, and then added, "I'll see you in 10 years."
Fortunately, this last time the news was good. After a physical exam viewing my anal canal in four different directions (I know, TMI), the colorectal doctor declared me free of visible lesions or tumors and gave me a positive prognosis. YAY!
And yet, this wasn't my first declaration of NED (no evidence of disease). I had had two CT scans at three weeks (12/20) and six months (4/21) post-treatment that were both clean. And a physical exam in April by my radiation oncologist rendered the same conclusion. But I still had a niggling feeling in the back of my head along with lingering depression both of which haunted my waking hours.
At my six-month exam, my oncologist recognized my emotional state as the veil of sadness and grief suffered by many cancer survivors. And by naming it, I immediately felt validated. Physically, I felt good, almost normal. I was still swimming laps and even started taking Qigong and TRX classes at the YMCA. Then in April I began teaching my own water aerobics classes five mornings a week. But behind my aura of good health and positivity, I felt fear, sadness, and anger. A lot of anger.
My oncologist recommended talk therapy and referred me to the social worker at the Cancer Center. I had already visited with Alex last September, shortly after my diagnosis and right before I met my two oncologists for the first time. At that time, it was a proactive step on my part to meet all the people who would be on my cancer team.
Today, Alex is my lifeline to understand this existential threat (my cancer diagnosis) and learn how to become a cancer survivor. The chronological list of events made clear the initial missed opportunity for a timely referral or diagnosis; an unnecessary hemorrhoidectomy; and lack of urgency to meet with the colorectal specialist.
This retrospective examination of events also changed my emotional reaction to them: from my initial relief that there were no red flags or sense of concern to outright anger that those who I trusted to have known what an anal lesion meant, didn't know zip. Instead, I was passed from one doctor to the next, completely oblivious that I had anal cancer living inside of me.
Add to that was my eleventh-hour disqualification to a post-treatment clinical trial which left me feeling betrayed, disappointed and fearful. Looking back allowed me the perspective to view my overall cancer journey as beginning and ending with two negative events. Little wonder I was angry and depressed.
