Dancing Through the Rain with Cancer

Life isn’t about waiting for the storms to pass; it is learning to dance in the rain.
-Unknown

Words painted on the wall of my first infusion center. I never imagined how much power and importance these words would have in my life that first day I sat in an infusion chair for my eight-hour long infusion of alpha interferon, intron A. Such an obscure name; one that caused my body to change forever.

No one wants to be a twenty-one-year-old woman going to get a chemotherapy cocktail instead of going to the clubs like the rest of my peers. When others my age were really just starting their adult lives… mine was placed on hold. Would I ever know “normal” and “healthy” again?

A biopsy of the mole on my bicep; the same one my dear mother had mentioned me having checked for about six months prior to my having it looked at. Lidocaine to numb the area followed by the use of a skin punch tool and that was that right? I wish I could say it was. I remember that beautiful fall day as I pulled into the parking lot to purchase myself some gear to support my favorite college football team who would be playing that night. My phone began to ring in my hand as I was about to exit my truck and blow some cash.

Well, why is my primary care doctor calling me? Hmm, must have got the results in. Curious as to what the reason was for this after-hours call; I took a deep breath and answered the call.
“Hello, Ms. Wilson? Yes, we got your results from the mole biopsy. It came back as positive for melanoma. I don’t have particulars, but you need to follow up with a dermatologist and need a referral to an oncologist. That was all I called to tell you. I hope you have a good weekend.”

My mind raced as I thought about the nuclear bomb that was just dropped into my lap. I must have been in shock as I finished my shopping, climbed back into my truck, and frantically tried to call my mother. For some reason no one I called would answer at that moment, so I began my drive home. As I walked in the door I collapsed into my mom’s arms and the tears began to flow. Thus began my cancer journey.

Two major surgeries to remove all traces of cancer in my bicep and the lymph nodes in my right armpit. Stage 3A melanoma skin cancer. I required a month of physical therapy to learn how to use my dominant arm again. Twelve consecutive months of near daily chemotherapy treatments, and a light at the end of the tunnel to recovery.

That was all there was to it… right?

I found the recovery to feel never ending as my body struggled to gain some thread of normalcy. Normal… what a strange and heavy word when you have battled the formidable foe that is cancer. As we move beyond our fight, we face the constant looming fear each scan we are scheduled to undergo. Each blood draw comes with sweaty palms, increased heart rate, a heavy pit in your stomach as it ties itself in knots. Will my life ever be normal after cancer?

Some of us gain a “super-power” after one battle with cancer. Intuitively we can tell when cancer has stricken our exhausted bodies again. For myself, the pains in my spine that caused debilitating pain HAD to have a root cause. I went to the ER many times in tears and unable to function. Yes, I was ten years with a cancer free status but… in my gut I knew that I was gearing up for a new battle. I had more moles removed and tested, genetic testing to see my risk for reoccurrence, and each test, scan, blood draw… it all came back normal. So, I persevered on; convinced that I had driven myself crazy imagining my foe looming over me in the shadows, taunting my need to stand on my own two feet and prove that I wasn’t weak. I pushed my body, worked it to the bone… then one day my world went black.

I had been struggling with headaches and what I thought was sinus pressure for days. I had a two-and-a-half-hour bloody nose that scared my loved ones. Then the following day my headache was monumentally worse and yes… my vision was black. Reluctantly, I called out of work and immediately went to the eye doctor where we found a bleed behind both of my retinas. Frantically and diligently the doctor tried to reach out to my primary care doctor who proved to be non-caring about my condition. On the advice of this eye doctor my mother rushed me to the local emergency department who had been notified of my condition. Bloodwork commenced and we found that I was dangerously anemic. Deep breath… buckle up because this is going to be a ride, kid.

Were it not for that particular doctor doing rotations that day… I would not be here to tell you my story today. I would have faded away into the realm of forgotten memories, black as the lack of vision in my eyes. I spent a month in the ICU of a trauma one center three hours away from where I call home. The never-ending flow of medical personnel was my constant companion. The lull of heart monitors, oxygen, IV machines and plasma pheresis monsters became my soundtrack. I never knew I would become the main character in my real-life episode of HOUSE as teams of doctors and medical students observed every angle of what has made me so incredibly sick and chilling on Death’s doorstep… stooping as if to greet an old friend. Finally, a diagnosis following my first bone marrow biopsy. Multiple Myeloma is a once rare cancer that is found primarily in men over 60. A cancer of the blood and bone marrow that eats away at your marrow from the inside. Like little mice eating my inner swiss cheese, weakening my bones from the inside out. Naughty little hemoglobin. Thus begins my lifelong battle with a new type of cancer. One currently lacking a cure.

May 8th of 2022 is when I received the diagnosis of multiple myeloma. Since then, I have had three failed lines of chemotherapy, a stem cell transplant, and another few rounds of chemotherapy and finally Car-T cell therapy. I am now six months out from Car-T and have finally reached a remission status for now. With this cancer that means that the cancer cells are not currently in control of my body. They still lurk in the darkest corners of my inner framework but for the time being… they are behaving and enjoying their hibernation.

I guess a part of me had come to terms with the fact that cancer would forever be a companion of mine on this journey of life. I mentioned previously the gut feeling I had; an intuition if you will, that my real battle was just about to begin. I not only feel like cancer will be a part of who and what I am but, in my case… It will in fact continue to be my constant. I say my companion versus enemy because; if you have followed me this far you can see that it has had a massive impact on my life for all of my adulthood so far. Why it has been so, I don’t possess the knowledge to express. However, cancer has taught me to seek the beauty in every moment, every beautiful sunrise or sunset, the laughter of a loved one, the importance of each conversation, the pure illumination of a loved one’s smile… it has taught me how to truly live. Yes, it is terrifying to live as though you have a blank toe tag waiting to be filled… but having the chance to live no matter what time you have left is a beautiful gift.

I could sit back and wait for my storm to pass… or I can step out into the rain and dance in the beauty of the cleansing waters. The choice is my own and today… I choose to dance with my cancer; my old friend who has truly taught me the beauty of life.