Not to compare my suffering to that of Jesus, but I've been thinking about how approaching the one-year anniversary of my diagnosis feels like going through the Stations of the Cross during Holy Week. Every day there's another significant or traumatic event to remember, every day another step closer to the inevitable, culminating moment.
today, June 7: The day my general doctor in Hamburg told me that my x-ray indicated I should get a CT scan. All he could say is that the x-ray showed "infiltration." I had no idea what that meant, or could mean.
June 8: I put off getting a CT scan because I had registered for a photography walking tour with American Women's Club of Hamburg and didn't want to miss it. This was an intentional decision; I didn't want to cancel plans out of fear. I didn't think getting a CT scan was urgent. The thought of cancer never crossed my mind.
 |
| On the photography tour, stopping to photograph (and smell) the roses, oblivious to the turn my life was about to take |
 |
| the last photo of me before my cancer diagnosis |
June 9: The day I had my CT scan, was called back to the radiology office minutes after Leland and I had left, and was told I might have TB and ordered to go to the LungenClinic. During the hour-long train ride Leland and I pondered how I could have picked up TB and considered the treatment options. I didn't even bring anything with me other than my backpack and laptop because I didn't think I'd be spending the night. (Meanwhile, Lily made dinner for Leland at our apartment while he returned to Hamburg by train; he had a quick dinner, packed some stuff for me, returned to the LungenClinic, and went right back home again--more than 4 hours of travel.)
June 10: The day Dr. Rabe told me he was sure I didn't have TB and that the other explanations were a bacterial infection, interstitial lung disease, or cancer. I remember him furrowing his brow and saying, "I do not like the look of your lungs," meaning there was something serious going on. When I asked what his professional hunch was, he said interstitial lung disease and that he didn't think cancer was likely "because of my age" and no prior smoking.
June 11 and 12: I got to go home and spend the weekend with Leland and Lily. We hung out on Saturday evening at the Alster (lake near our apartment) with our expat friends. I returned to the hospital Sunday afternoon.
June 13: lung biopsy in the morning and anxious waiting
June 14: THE BOMBSHELL. When I read the doctor's notes weeks later, it said, "Patient is visibly stunned." Leland and I discussed whether to have a more extensive lung biopsy 2 days later and begin treatment in Germany, or return home 6 weeks early. It quickly became apparent that our best option was to stay. I was allowed to go back to Hamburg and we broke the news to Lily when she got home from school, all of us shell-shocked.
There's before and after June 14. BC/AC
Little did I know the hardest was yet to come.
I am feeling a complicated mixture of emotions and memories:
- the trauma of remembering how it all unfolded and the shock and devastation upon learning my diagnosis
- immense gratitude that I made it through the year
- sorrow for all I have lost (particularly my physical fitness and identity as a runner and athlete) and may yet lose
- anger at the two doctors who didn't order chest x-rays earlier that spring, which delayed my diagnosis by months
- regret that I didn't demand an x-ray sooner (how was I supposed to know?)
- gratitude that because they erroneously thought I had TB, I ended up at a hospital that specializes in lungs and as a result, received phenomenal, compassionate care from Drs. Rabe and Groth
- flashbacks from the harrowing flight back home and my subsequent hospitalizations
- gratitude for the friends, family, neighbors, and colleagues who have surrounded us with love and care
- disappointment with people who know my diagnosis and have never bothered to say anything or ask "how are you doing?"
- the slow-dawning realization that I am now a person with a (mostly) invisible disability
- gratitude for the way Leland has supported me
- still, a year later, disbelief that I have extensive lung cancer
- gratitude that Tagrisso is working and for the scientific advances that made targeted therapy possible.
Esther, thank you for your example of digging deeply into life - and into this hard journey - with courage and honesty. I've been a quiet (but praying) reader of your blog this year. You're right - we need better rituals! If your one-year commemoration involves a meal that requires extra vegetables, let us know and we'll send some over the mountain.
ReplyDeleteThank you for being a faithful reader, Bethany. Since Leland is in Ghana this week, we will still have plenty of veggies left over for next week. I appreciate the offer!
DeleteThinking of you and glad for each step of forward progress! -M&M&S&A
ReplyDeleteThank you, Moriah!
DeleteWow! What a rough ride it’s been! Thank you for your regular sharing which greatly helps shape how Angelica & I pray for you… (Andy)
ReplyDeleteGracias, Andres (y Angelica)
DeleteWhat a year, Esther. I'm so happy you're able to tell your history from a position of better health. We are celebrating the victories with you ❤️
ReplyDeleteThank you, Nicky!
DeleteDear Esther--Your post moved me to tears...both out of grief and gratitude! I agree with your friend Bethany above...you are so good at articulating this hard journey with vulnerability and courage. (if I put on my half of a psychologist hat, what you're doing in writing your way through this is so therapeutic!) As a friend, it's a privilege to walk alongside you, to grieve with you & rejoice with you...to hold you up in prayer. And, as you alluded to in the stations of the cross, God often calls His people to *remember* His faithfulness, His mighty acts, in bringing us through our Red Sea moments, in...making a way in the wilderness! Here's to new rituals! Please share what you come up with.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Irene. I appreciate your faithful support.
DeletePS. And I totally thought at first, that the picture of you with the camera..was Lily!!
ReplyDeleteyes, she is my mini-me!
DeleteEsther - thanks so much for sharing your journey so openly. You remain in my thoughts and prayers. Eric
ReplyDeleteThank you, Eric!
DeleteI guess it's good to be modest about comparing ourselves to Jesus Christ; I believe, though, you are Christ, Christ to many, Christ to all.
ReplyDeleteThank you. As we all should be.
DeleteBD and AD. Before and after diagnosis. I was just reading about a rock and roll guy I’d met some years ago who was at a dinner and had a “spinal stroke” (??!??)and immediately became paralyzed from waist down. Maybe he’ll be able to walk again maybe not. We go blithely through life (IMO as we should) figuring out mortality is some other day. In any case Esther, complete respect to you and how you have handled this year with such courage. I know it has not been easy. I’m proud to be your friend.
ReplyDeleteWow, that is tough. I'm grateful for your friendship!
DeleteThank you, Bo.
ReplyDelete