The “C” word – Cancer. I’ve used it many times in the past nine months while researching my own diagnosis, planning and undergoing treatments, interpreting test results, scheduling appointments, sharing my story, notifying clients, explaining to coworkers.

Cancer.

I never did think the word would apply to me – who ever thinks it will? But now, there are other words that apply, words that seemed so far away and so ephemeral just nine months ago.

Words That Now Apply

In the past two weeks I’ve passed some significant milestones on my C-word journey. In early April, I had my first post-surgery scan, the first detailed CT scan following my lobectomy in early September. This was a critical scan, one I’ve been anxious about for weeks. While I’d had multiple x-rays in the hours immediately after the surgery to check the placement of the chest drainage tube (which was removed the next day), to check for pleural effusion (which there was none), and to check for lung collapse (which there also was none). But this recent scan was to check for lung cancer, to see if any had continued to grow after surgery.

The scan itself took just a few minutes, the waiting for the radiologist’s report less than two hours. Then, all in a moment – the lightening of an invisible load I wasn’t even aware I was carrying.

No cancer.

Nothing of concern, no problems at all. The lung’s recovery is good, the titanium staples are secure, I’m good-to-go. I physically felt lighter than I have since this journey began (whatever the scale might say notwithstanding), and flew through the next few days with relief and bliss.

Then, just this week came another milestone, the confirmation from my oncologist. I asked him, straight out, “What am I?”

His answer was immediate and decisive, with three new words I can apply to myself – remission, NED (no evidence of disease), and survivorship. We talked about how instrumental my initial blood biopsy – a month after my initial diagnosis – was in ensuring the correct, speedy treatment, as well as how my own advocacy and following up on appointments helped push through my treatment remarkably fast.

The typical timeline – even for someone willing and eager to pursue treatment – is roughly 4-5 months between initial suspicion and surgery, if they have access to the right medical facilities and no undue insurance or financial snafus. In my case, that time frame was less than two months (and we still had plenty of insurance and financial snafus).

But in all this whirlwind, while I’m so grateful for it, I also haven’t had time to slow down and simply process. Process my diagnosis, how this changes my life forever, how I am no longer physically the same person, how emotionally I am different, how fundamentally the way I look at life is altered. That process may yet take years, and the road will undoubtedly be a twisty and challenging one.

The “C” Word That Isn’t True

One thing I have learned, that I must process and accept because I have no choice, is that there is one highly desired “C” word that will never, can never apply.

Cure.

In technical, medical terms, I’ve learned that lung cancer is never cured, not really. Doctors don’t like to use the word, as it presents some confusion to patients – if I’m cured, why must I undergo bloodwork every three months and scans every six months for years to come? Isn’t the cancer gone? Furthermore, should the cancer return, if doctors have used that supposedly positive “C” word, they may be subject to some liability, or at the very least, undeserved reputation tarnishing from patients who don’t understand that a cure just doesn’t happen.

Ultimately, I will now be a cancer patient for the rest of my life. Even when, years from now, we further reduce the frequency of scans if there has been no change, and if I’m able to stop the medications that now dictate my days, there will always be the lingering shadow of that 4.1 centimeter tumor.

The “C” Word I Can Use Now

This does not mean all days must be spent in despair and fear, however. For there is one “C” word I can now use with joy – celebrate.

No matter what the next weeks and months may bring, I did make it through treatments. I did have cancer, and now I don’t. I have scars, and horrid memories, and fears I never wanted, but I made it. With so much support from so many unexpected quarters, I made it.

So celebrate we shall! There is so much my family needs to make up for, celebrations lost over the past year and things we had to miss because the other “C” word took priority. Many of you are already aware that I take cruises (as Senior News Editor and Writer for CruiseHive.com, it’s not only my pleasure but my work), but you don’t know the travel we had to cancel after my diagnosis (with fees and deposits lost), or the plans we had to delay.

I told my husband in the days immediately following my diagnosis that if I got through this, I wanted to go on another Disney cruise. We had done our first with that line just a year earlier, and it was one of our best sailings ever. He agreed immediately, and we booked the cruise that week for a sailing now just a few weeks away. We had to reschedule an anniversary cruise we had to cancel due to my chemotherapy, and we’ve added more sailings besides. So we’re ready to cruise into the biggest celebration we’ve ever had, for the biggest thing we’ve ever been able to celebrate.

Newlyweds might think their wedding is the biggest celebration they will ever have, but wait until you face “in sickness and in health” head on and stave off “’til death do you part” and see how much bigger your celebration will be. And we never had either a wedding or a honeymoon for comparison.

There are other ways we plan to celebrate as well, simpler things – whether a dinner out to a new restaurant, a visit to a theme park (roller coasters are a happiness for me), or just cuddling on the couch to watch a favorite movie. Birding will be part of that celebration as well, along with some key lifestyle changes to better seize this one and only life we’re given.

May you find your own things to celebrate along your own journey, whatever skies you fly or whatever seas you sail.

Want to help Be Your Own Birder celebrate? The Lung Cancer Distractions gift registry
is now a Cancer Treatment Recovery registry, with some small items to help our celebrations!