Cancer Sucks

Some days I really can't believe that I survived the last two months. It is the end of a long, long journey. I've grown and learned a lot, but there is one realization I knew going into this that has only been solidified: Cancer Sucks! And, at times, it does Big Time.

Sure there are plenty of other diseases that can give a person a shorter life expectancy, and sure there are more and more treatments and possibilities for cure than every before, but still there are no other more earth-shaking, life-altering, gut-wrenching three words that I, as your doctor, could say than: "You have cancer." And if it's earth-shaking, life-altering, and gut-wrenching for me, there is no possible way to begin to understand what it is like for you, my patient. The faces of the people with whom I've had that conversation are burned in my brain. Over my short career, it hasn't gotten any easier - actually, maybe it's getting more difficult. The other day, I was surprised, and a little relieved, to hear one of our staff oncologists, who does this everyday, say that it hasn't gotten any easier for her either.

To those parents who are, or have, watched their children (grown or not) battle this disease, I'm sorry. So sorry. There are few things that could be more painful or more unfair. I understand that you're angry. When I was frustrated with you for being frustrated with us for not doing things fast enough or good enough even though we were doing things as fast and as good as possible, I imagined Owen laying in that bed. Wow, does that sting. I snap out of it in less than a second because it hurts too much and come back to the reality that I have a healthy boy running around at home. I can't bring myself to even imagine him crying out in pain, full of fear, and leaving me helpless to change it. Me, running back down the hall after I stepped out of his room just to get a drink when I hear a beep echo and think that it is something terrible coming from his room. Thank God, He has a plan.

It has been one thing to take care of patients with cancer this month, but even when it has been my turn to go home and set the pager aside I haven't been able to escape. A few months ago, our sweet Uncle Loyd was diagnosed with cancer. Metastatic. Painful. Incurable. The stubborn man with the great stories and a huge soft spot for Owen is slipping away. And fast. In November he was working two jobs. December, he made his famous Christmas breakfast. January, on a train to California to see his family. February, fighting. March, losing. April, realizing it. Now in May, he's laying in a hospice bed with no chance of balancing relief from the pain with sedation from the medication. Do you mind if I say it one more time? Cancer sucks.

I think I've cried more these past two months than the ten before. I've said prayers, but not enough. To our family facing the reality of cancer, to my patients' families, and to yours if you find yourself stuck in this too, God does have a plan. A wonderful plan. But if it helps, it's okay to admit, to say, to yell: Cancer Sucks!