The More Things Stay the Same, the More They Change (Update #31)
In the early months and years after my diagnosis, I wanted everyone to know about it. I was in such shock about this revelation that anyone – including me?! – could get lung cancer. I think I needed others to share my shock and join me on my traumatic and steep learning curve.
Everywhere I went, I overshared. No one was safe from hearing about my diagnosis and lung cancer in general. If I assaulted you with all of this, I’m sorry. Also, does anyone know where I pick up my trophy for instigating the most socially awkward moments by a single person ever?
I’m reflecting on this now, because I’ve done an almost complete 180. Not only don’t I have a visceral need to share with the supermarket checker and anyone else in my path, but I’ll go out of my way to conceal it. (I’m happy to share with others who seek me out for support, but otherwise, I’m so done with being a live action lung cancer PSA.)
In December, a slightly dodgy scan report put my new ethos to the test. Over the last few years I’ve had such a remarkable run of good reports that I’ve stopped writing about them. But the last scan report noted a new spot. It was small and ambiguous, and I expected my oncologist to downplay it and say “NBD, we’ll just watch and wait.” Instead, even though he said it could be nothing, he started discussing possible treatment alternatives and suggested rescanning in 8 weeks rather than the usual 12+.
Oh, so, not so much with the downplaying then?
My stomach fell through the floor, and a feeling I recognized but hadn’t felt in several years surged through my body: mortal – feral – fear. “Shit,” I thought to myself, “I’m out of practice — how do I cope with this again?”
In earlier years with this diagnosis, whenever I hit a bump like this, I shouted from the rooftops; raising the visibility of my struggle helped rally the support I needed. This time I took more than 24 hours before conjuring the wherewithal to even share with my husband.
Over the past 8 weeks I continued to keep my cards very close to my chest, sharing only with a handful of people, and I am only sharing here now after I’ve had several days to digest the results (Update #31: the new spot has cleared up and my oncologist is reverting to the quarterly scan schedule). I can’t pinpoint exactly what changed or when, or even why. I can only say that living with this diagnosis is a constantly evolving process. There’s no such thing as “figuring it out.” As much as I want to move on, I don’t get to – the diagnosis is the constant, and I keep changing around it. I’m still a Stage IV lung cancer patient, but Stage IV Lisa in year one is so different from Stage IV Lisa in year twelve. It’s like nobody ever said: The more things stay the same, the more they change.
