Where Am I, and What Am I Doing Here?

So, just to catch everyone up a bit on things…

During the last week in March, I suffered from an intestinal blockage which resulted in trips to the hospital, emergency procedures, and a bit of ingenuity to resolve. During that process, the doctors discovered that part of my blockage was being caused by tumors. Yikes.

During April and May, I went through a continued battery of tests—scans, biopsies, etc. Eventually, I got that dreaded news: the tumors, they are cancerous.

My doctor explained the good news and bad news of it all like this:

“The good news is we found it so soon. Your prognosis is good. The bad news is that almost any treatment for this is going to be aggressive.”

Aggressive? I soon learned that my options were like this:

1. Do nothing. The tumors grow, spread, mutate, and ultimately kill me prematurely, while creating some less-than-socially-acceptable side effects from now ‘til the day of doom.

2. Have surgery. Remove some of my intestinal tract and at 41 years old, learn to love life while chained to a colostomy bag.

3. Do chemo and radiation. A viable option, but with some concern due to the number of treatments I’ve already had in my past.

4. Try drug therapy. Poison myself for 2-3 months as a means of shrinking tumors, while suffering side effects ranging from nausea, vomiting, fatigue, rashes, fever, dizziness, dream disturbances, insomnia, depression, etc.

Analyst that I am, I mulled things over, built spread sheets (yep, I did!), prayed, sought advice, and ultimately, chose door #4. Why not add poisonous pill popping to my litany of strange-but-true phases of life, no?

My next series of decisions had to do with how best to manage this degree of sickness. Stay in Denver? Who would help me? What about my job? What about my apartment? What about my new life that was so much FUN?

In a strange turn of events, I began considering moving back to northern California. I’ll admit, when the notion first crossed my mind, I resisted. I LOVED my job, I loved my new single life in a new place, and I was, for the first time in a long time, loving myself.

Eventually, I decided to quit my job, raid my savings account, and come back to Redding. During a break in drug trials at the end of June, I packed my stuff, loaded the U-Haul, and drove back to California to start treatment. On the face of it, it was a decision that should have brought me much angst and regret. I was leaving a life and independence and prosperity that I had suffered and sacrificed greatly to achieve. I received some scathing criticism about the choices I was making, and even lost my best friend through the decision.

Oddly enough, I drove back to California, zigzagging through the southwest, with that peace that passes all understanding. I had to laugh, when at one point during the trip, I was updating my Aunt Mari about the status of things, and virtually every question she asked, my answer was, “I don’t know yet.” I realized at that moment how childish, ill-conceived, and a little sophomoric it seemed to keep repeating that same line to such serious questions as, “Where will you stay? How will you live? Do you have a doctor here? Do you have a job? What if you get sicker? What are you going to DOOOO?”

And yet, there has been this perfect equanimity about everything. I have been at a total loss to explain it. I’ve gotten more than one strange look when I’ve patiently explained to someone, “I have faith that I am where I’m supposed to be right now, and that I’m here for a purpose, and that everything is going to work out as it ought.”

This week, I’ve started to see the fruit of that faith in some very tangible ways. My first set of tests came back from the doctor. The tumors are shrinking. The drugs, harsh as they may be, are doing their job.

When I first got diagnosed, it occurred to me that in my lifetime, I’ve given way too much place—both literally and figuratively—to pains in my ass. I’ve decided that this is the dividing line. From here on out, I refuse to give those pains presence or priority on my radar. As such, I’ve been doing my best to do things I want to do—visit friends, go places, do things; and do them without being held back by people, plagues, or pestilences that don’t have my best interests at heart.

I have started doing some consulting work, and it’s been very cathartic. It’s nice to have something to do, and it’s nice to focus on something besides being sick. And it’s nice to laugh, even if it is at the inane absurdities of what some of my work entails (“with fuel loads that high, you’re going to put a drip torch to the forest? In the name of forest health?”).

I am reconnecting with family and friends in ways I’ve never managed when I lived a hurry-up-and-go life. I still don’t fully understand my circumstances—why here, why now, why THIS? But I am enjoying the journey of watching those answers unfold.