Friday, October 10, 2008

An Unwanted Journey: Day 1052 - "It's No Fair!"

Sometimes TV is too close.


Yesterday I visited with colleagues at work and another friend for coffee. In both cases, I was asked what I'm doing to fill my days. One of the answers, of course, is that I'm watching more television. As I heal from surgery, that's natural enough, and as I begin chemotherapy, television will remain one of the few things I can do to pass time.


Sure, I'm reading and writing and visiting, but television has become an important part of how I pass time.

It's odd, though. Admitting that to colleagues and friends sometimes seems like a confession rather than a simple answer to a simple question. Maybe it's because the conventional wisdom is that watching television is a waste of time, something analogous to drinking whisky alone from a flask hidden inside your jacket. It doesn't matter that most people do the same. What matters is that you pretend to do something more "useful" or "productive" with your time.

But whatever the merits or demerits of watching television to pass time, I'm doing it, especially now that we have high definition channels and a big screen TV (a concession from my wife that there won't be many other things that I can do in the months ahead).

Yesterday night, we watched the season premieres for CSI and Grey's Anatomy. In case you haven't watched these episodes, I won't spoil the entire plot for you, except to say that both involved death and dying. But one thread of Grey's Anatomy was entirely too close to reality for me.

A young woman with a cheery disposition comes into the hospital for a liver resection for cancer metastases. She is confident that surgery will be curative. Instead, as it was for me, surgery reveals that the CT scan didn't discover the full extent of the metastases. The surgeons have to close her up and tell her, in effect, that she is dying.

When Meredith sits by her bedside, the woman tries to remain cheerful, but breaks down sobbing "It's no fair!" repeatedly.

I've admitted to a few people recently that there are moments when I feel the injustice of things deeply. There are moments when I want to grab one of my oncologists and demand an answer to the question, "Why the hell couldn't you find the metastases earlier than you did? I mean, I did everything you told me to do. I had all the lab tests done exactly on time. I never missed an appointment. I told you about all the symptoms I experienced regularly. Why is this happening to me? It's not fair!"

In the CSI episode, Grissom says that the team is trained to comfort the relatives of murder victims with the phrase, "I'm so sorry for your loss...until now we didn't realize how inadequate that phrase truly is."

Others have said similar things to me. I've had to say similar things to myself - "sorry for your loss" - because no matter how unfair, no matter how deeply felt the injustice, the loss remains. Being sorry, and saying so - however inadequate the words may be - is still better than nothing at all.

Maybe it's time to watch some comedy on the big screen boob tube...

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

As a colorectal cancer patient in remission, I'd be very interested to know what symptoms you did experience regularly before the metastases was found.

Don Spencer said...

The irony was that physically I felt about as good as ever when the recurrence was discovered. The metastases have still not progressed to the point where they are responsible for symptoms in addition to those I've experienced arising from previous surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy.

I suppose the most telling indicator of possible recurrence, however, was the CEA levels. My levels didn't change a lot during initial treatment, starting at 2.6 in January of 2006. Then throughout treatment in 2006, they hovered around 1.1 to 1.4. By late May 2007, it was 2.0 again, then 2.4 in Sept 2007, then 3.6 in January of 2008. Still nobody on my medical team seemed concerned. Even by early June 2008 when the level had risen higher than ever before to 7.8 - and I was getting extremely nervous - my medical oncologist reassured me that the level was still quite low compared to many other patients.

Maybe so, but in retrospect, I had a better grasp of the trend line of the CEA levels than did my doctors. By July, the level was 9.8. Next week, I should get the results of the most recent CEA test.

I guess what I'm saying here is that my CEA levels told the story, even though comparatively they probably weren't that alarming. When my surgeon told me that the liver lesions discovered on the CT scan in June were already just visible from the prior scan in November 2007 (in hindsight and from a trained liver specialist), well...it's enough to make me angry.

Best of luck with your journey...

Don

Don Spencer said...

The irony was that physically I felt about as good as ever when the recurrence was discovered. The metastases have still not progressed to the point where they are responsible for symptoms in addition to those I've experienced arising from previous surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy.

I suppose the most telling indicator of possible recurrence, however, was the CEA levels. My levels didn't change a lot during initial treatment, starting at 2.6 in January of 2006. Then throughout treatment in 2006, they hovered around 1.1 to 1.4. By late May 2007, it was 2.0 again, then 2.4 in Sept 2007, then 3.6 in January of 2008. Still nobody on my medical team seemed concerned. Even by early June 2008 when the level had risen higher than ever before to 7.8 - and I was getting extremely nervous - my medical oncologist reassured me that the level was still quite low compared to many other patients.

Maybe so, but in retrospect, I had a better grasp of the trend line of the CEA levels than did my doctors. By July, the level was 9.8. Next week, I should get the results of the most recent CEA test.

I guess what I'm saying here is that my CEA levels told the story, even though comparatively they probably weren't that alarming. When my surgeon told me that the liver lesions discovered on the CT scan in June were already just visible from the prior scan in November 2007 (in hindsight and from a trained liver specialist), well...it's enough to make me angry.

Best of luck with your journey...

Don

Anonymous said...

Im watchign that right now and i didnt get it.