Monday, March 18, 2013

Surviving Stage 4 Colon Cancer

On April 7th 2007 one month shy of my 32nd birthday I was told I had stage 4 colon cancer. Multiple big, fat tumors in my liver. That was almost 6 years ago. 

I have spent the better part of that 6 years with my mind on an automatic shutdown when I thought about even a month into my future. Couldn't see it, wouldn't see it, didn't want to see it-otherwise an all encompassing, consuming fear and terror would in-case me body, mind, spirit and soul. There I would freeze. My kids will grow up without me as their mother. They will experience heartache and anguish that will never fully heal.  I remember crying into the phone to my best friend Nicole, as I read the scan report in my car-all I could see were the words "multiple malignancies" all over the pages, and I said to her through snot-covered, blubbering sobs "Ethan will never know me." I thought of Sydney as a teenager-when a girl would need her mother the most and my soul would shatter. 

My diagnosis came and all of a sudden I noticed every funeral home, every cancer center, every commercial for cancer. Fran and I had these weirdo "we're kidding but we're not" conversations about should I be cremated and where will I be buried and you better make sure I look awesome in that casket. His burden as a father and husband only he can speak to during these difficult times, but I knew his burden was great. 

No one could say to me that I was going to get better and that it would be okay. They would want to, as I would if the situation was reversed, but the fact was that I was not okay and I probably wasn't going to get to "okay."

I remember many difficult conversations Dr. Moriarty had to have with us about me and the let's say "difficult" situation I was in. I would get bratty and try and make him say that I would make it to 50-60-90 years old. Forcing him into a corner to say "no Karen from my experience, probably not." 

I remember him telling me -as was his job and duty-just about 3 years ago or so "you might want to start thinking of having a different conversation with your kids." Me: (pretty deadpan and jaded at this point) about dying and stuff? Him: yeah

Now here we are my dear, loving supportive friends and family. Almost 6 years later. Thank you God I am still here. Thriving, joyful, and happy.

About 2 weeks ago I had my scans. Fran and I got the official lowdown at Dr. Moriarty's last week. 

Did you know there is beauty in the word unremarkable? Spleen-unremarkable, ovaries-unremarkable, kidneys-unremarkable, liver...unremarkable. I also find the words, boring, normal and ordinary very beautiful. For me they mean not only life, but a quiet, calm life.

My scan showed that again there is no visible sign of disease. It was very unexciting and very boring (a thing of beauty). I heard it from my doctors, I read it on the report, okay-breathing, breathing, breathing. 

There is a nodule on my lung that is very small (3mm). It hasn't shown up on the reports since 2009. But it was picked up during this scan. Did I freak-you better believe it. But Dr. Moriarty reassured us that it isn't new, it hasn't changed in 3 years and it is nothing to be concerned about. 

I am still considered to be in remission. I almost want to whisper that word, to write it very, very tiny. I feel like if I say it in a normal voice or write it loud and proud the cancer cells that still skulk  within me will hear and try to "get the gang" back together. 

But yet I am grateful. Grateful to the depths of my core. When Ethan calls out for me in the night it is never lost on me how lucky I am that I can run into his room, hold his hand and reassure him everything is okay. Ethan says "can you stay with me mommy?" "Yes, yes, yes-my dear sweet boy."It brings tears to my eyes almost every time. 

Or when Sydney is just so tired and had a long day and just wants to sit and hug and have a little cry, and I get to do that. I get to be her mommy and hug her and say "just need a bit of lovin and a bit of a cry Syd?" I will take that over any material thing in life. I just want, like all of us, life and to live. To raise my children and love them like a crazy person. 

I am here today. I have been shown great immeasurable mercy. As I say in almost every blog-I don't know how or why I am still here  but I am. I am learning to get rid of the survivors guilt. I am learning feeling guilty about living is an insult to our dear friends who are not here and produces and accomplishes nothing. 


I am forever indebted to all of you and your prayers, love, friendship and support. Let us all keep praying for each other because we all need it. I continue to pray for all of you, those who I know and those who I don't. May God's mercy continue, and be with all those still suffering and fighting to be well.

Much Love,
Karen

6 comments:

Melanie said...

So so beautiful Karen! All my love!

K.M. Camiolo said...

Unremarkable is the most beautiful word a radiologist can use.

Just so happy and grateful for you, moved to tears by your words...this journey is brutal, and you have walked it with such resolve.

I am just so glad for you. Yours is a story of hope. Thank you for sharing it...

Unknown said...

You have a gift of simplifying word to the ones that are most important. I am so happy and moved to read your post. Love to all ;)

Jo said...

It is such a joy to read your story. I thank God for this good news and also thank Him for giving us all such a wonderful person in you Karen. I know Francis Sydney and Ethan are always secure when you are around. Dr. Moriarty must feel rewarded after his hard work and then trying to be sensitive and realistic when you wanted firm answers to your queries. Lovingly Jo(Nenagh)

Donna R. said...

Though you don't know me, I am incredibly elated for you. I began following your (Fran's) posts in 2007, the year I lost my beloved sister to stage IV colon cancer. That loss scorched my spirituality, which I am trying to get back. Reading your post helps, because I allow myself to believe, once again, in God. Easter is a time of rebirth. Maybe the Holy Spirit is speaking through you, to me. I don't know. What I do know is that your story restores my sense of hope.
Bless all of you. Happy Easter.
Donna

Anonymous said...

Thank you so much for sharing this story. My 58 year old mother-in-law was just diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer last week. Has already spread to the liver, small piece on lung, and her ovaries.

Chemo is starting tomorrow. Thank you for this blog, as it provides hope for our family.