Marla
I had never met her and now I never will.
I go to a cancer support group and also joined an online support group for women with metastatic breast cancer. It took me a long time to do either. The first one, I was seeking companionship on the loneliest walk I'd ever trod. The second one? The online one? I didn't really plan to make friends. I was more in search of others to talk meds with, compare treatments, maybe see if there were new ideas.
But, of course, I made friends. It is hard not to, especially when you are in a club like ours. A group of women who refer to themselves as sisters because no one else truly realizes how terrifying it is to wake up sleeping next to the grim reaper every morning.
The online group was quite different than my in person group. We were thousands of women from all parts of the world and all in the same handbasket to hell. Some were nauseatingly cheery or, in my opinion, ridiculously religious.
I wake up every day praising the lord and hoping to make someone else's life happier.
I am only here because God knows that I am spreading His word of joy and redemption. I shall not slip.
These women barely interested me. I wasn't judging, but spare me. Please. If you truly think that God has cured you from cancer because of prayer or praise of him, you insult every other devout woman who has died before you.
Some make it. Some don't. No one knows why. Why one woman with stage 4 cancer in almost every organ in her body will live for a decade and another with stage 4 cancer in a tiny part of her lung only will live for 2 weeks? Who knows? I tell you, it has nothing to do with prayer. Prayers for strength, yes. Prayers to be cured? No. It doesn't work that way. Get over yourself.
I timidly joined a few months ago and quickly ferreted out my people. I liked the open minded, good hearted ones who had a live and let live spirit.
I especially liked Marla. She was from Arkansas. Married with two older sons, both married and both living several states away. Her story was startlingly like mine. She'd found out that she had breast cancer about 5 years ago when her husband noticed a lump in her breast as he playfully helped her dry off after a shower.
I found my lump by myself in the shower.
Marla came from a family that was rife with breast cancer. Me, too.
Marla went through a double mastectomy, chemo, and radiation and was considered cured. Me, too.
She lustily rang that I AM CURED bell on her last day of treatment.
I rang that bell, too. Shyly, though.
One difference....I found out that I had leukemia two years later. She did not. I beat the leukemia in a fight of my life where I truly wished to die more than once.
We both found out that our breast cancer had returned last year. Mine in my sternum, hers in her shoulder bone. We both went on Ibrance and were hopeful that this miracle drug could buy us some crucial time. Some women were known to be on it for nearly a decade.
Neither Marla or I made the cut. Ibrance stopped working for her in three months. I lasted for five. Her scans showed that the cancer had moved to her liver. We sent emails back and forth every few days. She went on a different drug than I did this time. She seemed to be doing well on it. When Ibrance stopped working for me, I had scans done. My cancer had moved to my liver as well. We both remarked how closely our cancers were mimicking each other.
"We are kind of like the unlucky twins," she wrote to me.
The last I heard from her was the 4th of July. She sent me an e-mail with a sparkling emoji saying that she hoped that I would do well on Afinitor, the drug that I was going to start after my vacation. She said that she was hanging in there with Taxotere, but that some side effects had emerged that were pretty awful. She was often sick, threw up frequently and was going to mention to her oncologist that she felt a little "breathy."
I went on vacation and came back and started the Afinitor and aromasin. The side effects were much harsher than the Ibrance. I sent Marla an email about it on July 15.
No reply. Oh, well. I knew that she and her husband had wanted to travel to see her new grandson in Illinois. She was probably traveling, I surmised.
Today, I went to my online group page and there was a notice from Marla's husband. She had died on July 17th after being in the hospital for ten days with trouble breathing. Her lungs collapsed in the hospital. They were able to get them going again, but she got pneumonia. The chemo medications that we take make our white blood cells go so low that fending off infections is nearly impossible. Her white blood cell count had never recovered well.
She couldn't fight the pneumonia. Her husband, in his bereaved state, wanted everyone who took Taxotere to be warned. He felt that if she hadn't been on a drug that weakened her body so badly, she would have survived.
We won't ever know.
I have tried to write a note to Marla's husband over ten times. I don't know what to say. I didn't really know him any more than Marla knew my wife. They were our closest allies in this disease, but we didn't share the real darkness that we were going through with them. We shared that with each other.
It is hard to explain. When you are a cancer patient, everyone comments on how brave you are, what a strong person you are. But, we know differently.
We are terrified. Every last one of us. Even the religious zealots, I believe. Or....I dunno. Maybe not. But, maybe so. Probably so. Fear is universal. And those around us want to help us and it is easier for them if they see us as STRONG and FIGHTERS. Do they really want to know about the nights when we lay in bed, internally screaming NO!!!!!!!!!???????
I cared about Marla and I am Marla in many ways. We held hands across several states.
I miss her already. I am scared. But, as always....chin up. Carry on.
And I will find a way to get that letter written. Tonight.
I go to a cancer support group and also joined an online support group for women with metastatic breast cancer. It took me a long time to do either. The first one, I was seeking companionship on the loneliest walk I'd ever trod. The second one? The online one? I didn't really plan to make friends. I was more in search of others to talk meds with, compare treatments, maybe see if there were new ideas.
But, of course, I made friends. It is hard not to, especially when you are in a club like ours. A group of women who refer to themselves as sisters because no one else truly realizes how terrifying it is to wake up sleeping next to the grim reaper every morning.
The online group was quite different than my in person group. We were thousands of women from all parts of the world and all in the same handbasket to hell. Some were nauseatingly cheery or, in my opinion, ridiculously religious.
I wake up every day praising the lord and hoping to make someone else's life happier.
I am only here because God knows that I am spreading His word of joy and redemption. I shall not slip.
These women barely interested me. I wasn't judging, but spare me. Please. If you truly think that God has cured you from cancer because of prayer or praise of him, you insult every other devout woman who has died before you.
Some make it. Some don't. No one knows why. Why one woman with stage 4 cancer in almost every organ in her body will live for a decade and another with stage 4 cancer in a tiny part of her lung only will live for 2 weeks? Who knows? I tell you, it has nothing to do with prayer. Prayers for strength, yes. Prayers to be cured? No. It doesn't work that way. Get over yourself.
I timidly joined a few months ago and quickly ferreted out my people. I liked the open minded, good hearted ones who had a live and let live spirit.
I especially liked Marla. She was from Arkansas. Married with two older sons, both married and both living several states away. Her story was startlingly like mine. She'd found out that she had breast cancer about 5 years ago when her husband noticed a lump in her breast as he playfully helped her dry off after a shower.
I found my lump by myself in the shower.
Marla came from a family that was rife with breast cancer. Me, too.
Marla went through a double mastectomy, chemo, and radiation and was considered cured. Me, too.
She lustily rang that I AM CURED bell on her last day of treatment.
I rang that bell, too. Shyly, though.
One difference....I found out that I had leukemia two years later. She did not. I beat the leukemia in a fight of my life where I truly wished to die more than once.
We both found out that our breast cancer had returned last year. Mine in my sternum, hers in her shoulder bone. We both went on Ibrance and were hopeful that this miracle drug could buy us some crucial time. Some women were known to be on it for nearly a decade.
Neither Marla or I made the cut. Ibrance stopped working for her in three months. I lasted for five. Her scans showed that the cancer had moved to her liver. We sent emails back and forth every few days. She went on a different drug than I did this time. She seemed to be doing well on it. When Ibrance stopped working for me, I had scans done. My cancer had moved to my liver as well. We both remarked how closely our cancers were mimicking each other.
"We are kind of like the unlucky twins," she wrote to me.
The last I heard from her was the 4th of July. She sent me an e-mail with a sparkling emoji saying that she hoped that I would do well on Afinitor, the drug that I was going to start after my vacation. She said that she was hanging in there with Taxotere, but that some side effects had emerged that were pretty awful. She was often sick, threw up frequently and was going to mention to her oncologist that she felt a little "breathy."
I went on vacation and came back and started the Afinitor and aromasin. The side effects were much harsher than the Ibrance. I sent Marla an email about it on July 15.
No reply. Oh, well. I knew that she and her husband had wanted to travel to see her new grandson in Illinois. She was probably traveling, I surmised.
Today, I went to my online group page and there was a notice from Marla's husband. She had died on July 17th after being in the hospital for ten days with trouble breathing. Her lungs collapsed in the hospital. They were able to get them going again, but she got pneumonia. The chemo medications that we take make our white blood cells go so low that fending off infections is nearly impossible. Her white blood cell count had never recovered well.
She couldn't fight the pneumonia. Her husband, in his bereaved state, wanted everyone who took Taxotere to be warned. He felt that if she hadn't been on a drug that weakened her body so badly, she would have survived.
We won't ever know.
I have tried to write a note to Marla's husband over ten times. I don't know what to say. I didn't really know him any more than Marla knew my wife. They were our closest allies in this disease, but we didn't share the real darkness that we were going through with them. We shared that with each other.
It is hard to explain. When you are a cancer patient, everyone comments on how brave you are, what a strong person you are. But, we know differently.
We are terrified. Every last one of us. Even the religious zealots, I believe. Or....I dunno. Maybe not. But, maybe so. Probably so. Fear is universal. And those around us want to help us and it is easier for them if they see us as STRONG and FIGHTERS. Do they really want to know about the nights when we lay in bed, internally screaming NO!!!!!!!!!???????
I cared about Marla and I am Marla in many ways. We held hands across several states.
I miss her already. I am scared. But, as always....chin up. Carry on.
And I will find a way to get that letter written. Tonight.
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