Not loving the statistics....

What to write about today? How much I love my hot pink hat from Anita? Or, what has been weighing on my mind this week?

Back when this all began, I struggled a great deal with the idea of doing chemotherapy. In fact, I was convinced I would not do it. Until I was convinced that I should. Now, I'm circling back to my initial feelings that chemo isn't the answer for me.

Is that because of my bald head? the non-stop runny, bloody nose? the afternoon fatigue? the daily battle with not allowing myself to sink into depression? the frustration with feeling like my life is on hold until this treatment ends? that I'm missing out on opportunities left and right?

Initially, both oncologists that I consulted recommended six rouds of chemotherapy, with four being the minimum if I wasn't tolerating it well. Because I caught the cancer early and only had one positive lymph node, I really hoped for four rounds. I am now obsessed with stopping after four. Basically, my oncologist told me that if I can physically tolerate six sessions, I need to do it. Period. That I should fight as hard as possible now.

But, I still just don't buy that chemotherapy is the cure-all. Again, I am feeling like this may be doing more harm than good. That the long term effects on my immune system may not be worth it all. There are NO guarantees that it will work. I guess I believed that after all this, they would give me some tests and scans and pronounce me clear of cancer. A clean bill of health perhaps?

Apparently, I was mistaken. No. My oncologist said that they just assume you are clear based on the statistics. What?

Then, I attempted one of my fruitless bargaining sessions with my oncologist. Good thing I don't practice law anymore because she wins every time.

I just read a new statistic: that the survival rates from cancer have only improved 5% since 1950. Yes, only a 5% improvement in the last 60 years. Contrast that with the cure/survival rates for heart disease improving 68% over the same time frame. And, recall, this treatment protocol I am on will cost $250,000 when all is said and done.

Basically, all the money, all the publicity and research have not improved chances of beating cancer in 60 years. How is that possible? I don't like those odds at all. Chemotherapy is a barbaric, poisonous shot in the dark. I will not receive a clean bill of health after two surgeries, months of chemotherapy and radiation. Just an assumption that it worked based on statistics.

And, I wonder why I feel like I'm going completely insane?

This week is just rough. The sadness I feel about Oreo is weighing heavily on me. I'm trying really hard to focus on enjoying the present moment. The time with him. The positive parts of my day: the love, the friendships, the beautiful, enjoyable moments. We have eaten really well all week, thanks to Randi, Lori, and Christina's generous dinner deliveries. My energy level is just low, however, and it is a challenge. I am trying.

I bought a new book. Time to dive into some fiction and escape for a little while. Usually does the trick. Perhaps my sense of humor will return in the morning. Let's hope so!