Time Marches on, Yet the BEAST still lingers....

Looking at the calendar for a moment, August 4th marked five months since I underwent surgery for, what at the the, was to be a tumor removal, with the temporary colostomy. The surgery was to be followed by a reversal surgery, placing me back on the road to normalcy, living out the rest of my life, having struggled past yet another bump in life's road.

Bumps in the road, yeah, right.

Given my seemingly total lack of medical luck, instead of the 'old-normal', I am now trying to adapt and discover what the 'new-normal' means. To say that the process has been 'challenging' would be like saying the state of the U.S. economy is 'kind-of-a-mess'! 

I had also hoped that the surgery would be a simple, pluck-the-tumor-plop-it-in-the-bucket, stitch me up and send me home kind of thing... You know, a few stitches, a few days of ouchy-belly and pampered recovery at home and then back to the regular grind; work, family, bills, activities, ad infinitum....

Simple recovery, yeah, right.

One thing this recovery process has allowed me to do is to search out the support of others dealing with similar issues (thank you, Al Gore for inventing 'the Internets'!) and, through reading and discussing, I have discovered that my experiences have been very easy (I knock wood all the time) and uncomplicated than many of my new friends. I also discovered that I was wrong about many things regarding my condition, discovering that it affects people as young as 10 and as old as 90 and that, I am hardly alone in my fight with cancer, or with adapting to having my poop come out my belly!

So, returning to the title of this entry, how does the Beast come into things? It has to do with the comfort factor of the 'new-normal'. While I have only been in this new physical phase for less than six months, I have to consciously remind myself that I am not -in fact- myself, any more. Outsiders to this experience who haven't seen me in a while will only notice what appears to be a slimmer 'me'. I do a pretty good job of internalizing most of my emotions, most of the time, and I am thankful to have a handful of people in my life who I can share everything with - or I would seriously have ended things a long time ago. 

The Beast lives inside, lurking, waiting.

There are many stories, analogies and metaphors for the long-term fight with cancer, but to me the Beast that lingers in the shadows seems to fit best. Defeating the Beast began with identifying its 'tracks' (diagnosis), hunting the Beast (surgery), and finally deterring it's offspring from seeking vengance (treatment). With the help of my medical team, I now live in the world of 'Remission' - no one says 'cure' too often these days, because much like a starfish -which grows anew even when chopped into pieces, cancer can do the same thing. My case is a perfect example. 

I live in fearful reminder that vengance may belong to cancer, and victory not to me.

In my case, the treatment regimen I am undergoing is actually called, 'maintenance-chemotherapy'! Every third Friday - three so far, 9 to go - I undergo a day of IV treatment with a chemical called Oxaliplatin - a platinum based medicine - that kills cancer cells by messing up their messed up DNA replication process. The interesting thing is that, currently, there is not even any evidence that I still HAVE cancer - I mean there are currently (thankfully) no new visible tumors to excise, but I live with the fear (sometimes very scary, sometimes I hardly think about it), that it may, once again latch on SOMEWHERE in my body and begin it's slow growth process again. Waiting, biding it's time for it's next infernal attack.

That is the nature of the Beast, it struggles to survive, the cocktail of chemotherapy struggles to keep it in check.

So, this is how I live my life. Day to day, things seem to be normalizing, yet I constantly - either consciously or unconsciously I am always looking back over my shoulder for the Beast. Every twinge, every, new ache, new pain, new discomfort, unidentified or unexplainable feeling, puts me in the mind set that it is the Beast, taking hold, growing, waiting for its next chance to  attack. I fully know that each struggle will get tougher, each treatment has the potential to make things worse or better.

All I can do is pay attention to signs of the Beast, work with my doctors, listen to my body, enjoy my family and friends and hope that I can keep the Beast at bay for as long as possible...