We are battling an invasion of field mice. A neighbor told me that all the rain has driven them indoors.
Several weeks ago I opened the drawer to my desk and at first couldn’t even fathom what I was looking at. Where there had once been tidy stacks of stationary, it now looked as if a tornado had gone through. Papers were strewn about and in the back corner was a soft little nest with five dead baby mice. I then recalled finding a pillow, the cover of which was mysteriously speckled with little rips. Further searching revealed that the fringe had been chewed off two different sections of our oriental carpet. I hated to do it, (kind of a general no kill policy–and mice are really cute) but traps were laid out. We caught just under a dozen mice. For a short while, it seemed we had restored a little of what we consider the natural order in our home (more of us than them).
Until yesterday. I was helping my son clean out his closet and I came upon another soft nest–this one was empty. This particular closet was also a storage space for winter coats, so I began to go through them. Before long, I located the source of the plush threads: a vintage wool coat of mine had an area about a foot in diameter gnawed out of the silk lining. More distressing yet, an antique mouton coat had a whole chewed right through it. This mouse had a taste for fine materials.
Although not pleased with the destruction brought about by the nest building mice, I do not take it personally. They are simply doing what is their instinctive imperative and no offense was meant. However, I am not obligated to allow them entry into my home and unlimited access to and destruction of my possessions. What is good for them is bad for me.
I cannot help but see the parallel to cancer in this scenario. It is hypothesized that we may all have circulating cancer cells at any given time. These are generally kept in check by our immune systems, and have no noticeable effect on our well being. However, an external event, such as exposure to one or more carcinogens, can upset this balance and the cancer cells may proliferate to the point where our health is compromised. This is when we generally become aware of our “host” status to an uninvited lodger and we do our best to evict “it”–(the cancer).
We have had occasional sightings of mice ever since we moved in here, but until this rainy summer (the outside event) we have always had the upper hand. Our modest efforts at keeping down their numbers are suddenly ineffective, and the mice have begun to inflict some costly damage. We can no longer coexist without harm being down to our home.
I am pretty certain we will always have some mice, but if we can find a way to deplete their numbers, we can minimize the damage that they do and carry on living. We may occasionally feel unsettled, as we hear them rustle in the walls, but the situation will not be untenable.
This is such an apt metaphor for my cancer. Cure is almost certainly not possible, but as long as we are able to keep the cancer at a level where it is not severely compromising my health, I am able to go about my life. However, just as I will occasionally be kept awake by the sounds of mice in the rafters, so too will I listen to the beat of my heart and think about the cancer that is yet traveling through my veins. Should I find evidence of proliferation, it will be time to clean house.
Last Thursday morning, my friend Sadie, daughter Jemesii, and I caught the ferry from Portland, Maine to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. We were headed to a little island that is the home of Fairy Fashions, a literal cottage industry that produces medieval-type wedding gowns. Sadie was there to photograph the dresses and Jemesii was one of two models. I came along for the ride, but ended up participating in the photo shoot as grip/wind break/best boy, etc… They both worked really hard: my part was easy.
I believe in luck. Good luck and bad luck, and I have experienced both. A bumper sticker popular several years ago was eloquent in it’s simplicity: “Shit happens”. By definition, luck of either variety is largely out of our control. However, this doesn’t stop me from trying to attract luck of the positive kind. To this end, I have several good luck charms, or talismans, in my possession.
This morning I was doing some research on the internet for an entry about being a lung cancer survivor. I was searching for long-term survival statistics. Initially, I was looking at overall survival and then I began to break it down by stages. The survival statistics associated with a lung cancer diagnosis are definitely not reassuring, and I am well acquainted with them. I am someone who is comfortable with a lot of information. I am also pragmatic and reality-based when it comes to tough issues. This approach does not embrace denial but does require a certain emotional detachment.
I had been receiving scans every three months for three years at the time of the September 2008 scan. They had gone from questionable to progressively worse. “Interval increase in size and number of multiple bilateral pulmonary nodules is consistent with progression of metastatic disease”, read a report from August of 2007.
life and breath: outliving lung cancer 