Carol Derewitz

It is a challenging thing to have a cancer diagnosis. First it's a blur when given the diagnosis, agreeing to treatment, and making it through those treatments. There is no time to process feelings. It is time only to fight for life. It is mostly a time to focus on getting through each day. At least it was for me.

The tumor in my breast was aggressive, so therefore so was my treatment. Very much so. Many days during that year I wondered if I would survive to see if the treatment was successful. But day by day, surrounded by love and support, I completed my treatment. Well, let's say that I completed that part of my treatment. Then enters the intensive time of surveillance.

Soon after my diagnosis, a friend whose wife is a fighting survivor told me that a cancer diagnosis is a life sentence. I did not find that encouraging. All I could think about then was how to make it through each day, certainly not a lifetime! Sadly, I now know he was right. My task in these early years of remission is to remain vigilant, no denial allowed, if I want my treatment plan to be successful.

I began this journey with diagnosis in late April 2015, surgery in early May 2015, chemotherapy June 2015-June 2016, radiation December-January 2016. I also had surgery for a small bowel obstruction February 10, 2016. I had my port removed in June 2016. As I began to recover some strength, I developed a herniated disk and had surgery for nerve decompression September 2016, followed by a spinal fusion in January 2017. Well, then!!! I remained very iron deficient until I had 2 iron infusions in February 2017. Finally by August 2017 my hemoglobin rebounded. Until this time my energy level was very low. My endurance was shot. It was then that my new work could begin, to face and process the myriad of emotions from this very, very long time.

My precious therapist had retired before we could begin to process and integrate all that had happened. Gratefully, she returned to her practice one day a week! She had travelled with me through the two years of hellish demands. We have begun this new work, to grieve losses and fears, and how to now traverse life of cancer surveillance. I have neuropathy in both legs from my knees down. Both feet are affected. Adding this to loss of proprioception in both knees from joint replacements and loss of physical strength put me at risk for falls. In November 2017 I had a very bad fall just walking to a restaurant with my dear friend of 50 years. We were merely walking and talking when I unexplainably crashed face down onto the pavement. I did not know I fell until sharp pain hit my cheekbone! This was my literal moment of hitting rock bottom. I had lost all stamina and could not even trust that I could safely walk! I was angry and sad.

But I used this moment to say enough is enough! I. Want. My. Life. Back. Because of the nature of the fall, my spinal surgeon ordered 3 MRI's to make sure I had no spinal metastasis. And here I was. The reality of cancer surveillance became crystal clear! I cried through the rest of my appointment and all through scheduling the tests I hated and had so many of already! These tests were clear of cancer. So my physical rehab could begin. Taking this action was therapeutic. This was finally something I could do to influence my physical recovery! My balance and strength were shot. And so I have begun. And I am seeing results, which is empowering. I have been improving food choices, cutting out processed foods, white flour (most of the time), and restricting sugar intake. These are concrete actions I can from take. That is important to me. I see my oncologist every 6 months and my breast specialist every 6 months. Logistically this means I see someone every 3 months. This intense schedule is a combination of reassurance and anxiety. I am in the high risk period of remission because of the aggressive tumor marker.

Last Monday at my oncology appointment I told Dr. T that it is my intention for 2018 to take my life back. Moments later he discovered a new lymph node above my clavicle, above where lymph node #3 was found on a PET scan before starting chemo. That finding had changed my cancer stage 2C to 3C. Let's just say that the tenor of the visit rapidly changed. I asked if this was a recurrence, what would the treatment be. Much to my horror, Dr. T said it would be the same as the course I had finished....surgery, chemo the same for a year and radiation. Dan and I faced the next 3 days trying not to jump ahead, yet sick at the threat. They were not 3 good days! My report was online Thursday morning. Before I could open the report, I felt like throwing up. The grateful relief was that the node did not light up on the scan AND there was no suspicious activity from my brain to my knees! I saw Dr. T a few hours later. He was visibly relieved and a bit apologetic when on exam he discovered that the lymph node was GONE! He said that had my initial appointment been on Thursday instead of Monday, we would not have had to go through the torture. But at least (and not really the least at all!), we could all know that all systems are clear! Dan and I obviously are beyond thankful and relieved.

I had to wear such armor during the chemo and radiation time. Over the ensuing time since then, more pieces of armor have been shed. But the experience last week caused shed armor to rattle and return. Thus I see that that process will happen anytime a threat of cancer recurrence lifts its ugly head. There is a saying that Time Takes Time. It is my hope and prayer that as time passes, the stress of surveillance diminishes as I move farther out from the horrible memories. When I came into Recovery from my addiction in 1985, my life was turned upside down. Everything was changed. I could not go back to who and how I was before that treatment. The first year was absolutely awful! But it got better and better over time.

At first I didn't know how I could do it. And it got easier and my life grew in ways I could never have imagined. I knew I could never go through another first year like that again. But I also knew that I would never give that experience back again, because my new life was better than I could ever have imagined. And so might it be that as time passes I can see more rewards than pain in this cancer journey. 2015-2017 demanded so much.

But I am still here. I am still alive, about to celebrate another birthday. I want to learn more and more to embrace the exquisiteness of time...time with Dan, time with my beautiful daughters, time with my precious granddaughter, time with my extended family, time with my dearest friends. My dear friend Frannie asked me if maybe HOPE was the outcome of my suffering. I like that! Here is to Hope and the faith to believe!

Articles

Finding My Way

I don't know why fear is bigger right now than the reality that I was a rock-star-warrior during the biggest, deepest, most tortuous experience of my life.

I was going to write "test," but while it did have that tone as it went on and on and on, I do not think it was a test thrown my way to see how I might measure up.. What grade did I merit?

It was instead just a shitty, awful thing that happened. And not just to me. I sat in waiting rooms and the chemo bay with such a varied group of humanity, suffering the same, fighting the same. I feel so good about the way I faced each part of my cancer story: the shock of diagnosis; the tests; the biopsies; the surgery; the third node appearing on the PET scan; my fear of MRI's, CT scans and PET scans; the horrible side effects such as diarrhea like I have never had before; the burning esophagus; my racing heart rate; my plummeting and scary blood pressure; the loss of my hair, nails and eyelashes; the intestinal obstruction and surgery; the isolation; missing Norah's birthday and Christmas; Elisabeth and Jason's divorce; lying on the table for radiation; the loss of stamina; the work at the gym; the ruptured disc surgery that led to a spinal fusion.

So here is what I don't know: How did I face all of these really shitty things to now have fear? Fear of how to do this cancer diagnosis surveillance. Fear of it returning, now knowing how horrible it is.

When I had my second knee replacement, I felt much less scared because I knew what to expect. Somehow that doesn't help much with the feeling for this disease. I think that I am still too close to have the faith to know that I could draw on the facts, not fear, of how brave I was, how loved and supported, how wrapped in faith I felt.

I did walk through the valley of the shadow of death. I did look death in the eye in the hospital mirror — I was so freaking BRAVE! There was no time to fear as I looked the big, bad boogie man of cancer and fought for my life, my future, my desire to see Sarah get married, to be here to be part of Norah's life and to grow old with Dan. There was no time then to be led by fear. I was in a battle for my life.

But there is time now. My head gets it. I know that worry is indeed a bully and takes away from quality of life in the moment. I do know that I was given all that I needed as I learned that I was strong and brave and supported. My faith deepened. Dan and I were a beautiful team.

I learned that I am much more than my hair, my physical changes. I learned that my body has shown a remarkable ability to heal from such a vicious and prolonged attack. I want my heart to catch up and not be afraid. I want gratitude to win. I know I am not unique. No one gets through this life without a story of struggle. I am one of all. This gives me comfort.

When I went to Bolivia with Operation Smile and was in the operating room with the precious Bolivian children, I felt the reality that absolutely everything in my life had prepared me for that experience: my mother heart, my nursing experience, my life, my faith. It felt so good to take that moment and see this truth.

I do know that everything that had happened in my life before cancer had prepared me. I was aware of that. All the work in therapy. All the years in recovery. All my loved ones. The beautiful family we have. These all mattered.

Dan retired during my two years of treatments and surgeries. It wasn't until that time passed that we could even begin to imagine what retirement might look like. The suffering that we both experienced carved out deeper places in our souls. This space was now waiting to see where we might be led — to the places of belonging, giving and receiving.

I do know that my life no longer belongs in York, at least it seems like that right now. I will hold that space and make no decisions in this transition time.

What I do know is that life has meaning to me now in Lemoyne, Camp Hill and Harrisburg. Therapy, recovery, church, and our Syrian family are there. And then there is newness with Sarah in Philadelphia, and our sweet haven in Florida with Elisabeth and Norah. I see what is happening. And it is very good. Time takes time. I know that my alert buttons are pushed when I feel a new, different or strange physical sign.

I am only nine months out from the two-year onslaught and only three months out from the first normal blood count in two years.

Time takes time. It is really hard work to trust. My new faith-building mantra is this: Absolutely everything in my life prepared me for this experience. I know that I have everything I need inside of me to face anything that might happen in the future. And I am completely, perfectly and utterly safe.

I don't know why my fear is bigger right now than the reality that I was a rock-star-warrior during the biggest, deepest, most tortuous experience of my life: cancer.

Carol Derewitz

Finding My Way

What I Don't Know

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