I always thought when you were terminal, the doctor came into the room with the serious, stern face, sat you down and said something like, "I'm sorry Mrs. Ruffin, we've exhausted all of our resources. You should start making your final arrangements." **cue the dramatic crying and sappy shit**
In reality, it wasn't like that at all.
The doctor DID come into the room with the serious face, but he said that wanted to discuss treatment options. And my options were thus:
Since I'd already had a round of radiation, I could not longer receive any benefit from radiation.
Since I'd already had two major surgeries, any surgeries that I had had a great chance of doing more harm than good, so they were shying away from those.
This left chemotherapy. I found out that every round of chemotherapy that I took not only took out of my future options the drug used (drug A), but also like 3 or 4 other drugs that could have been used (drugs B, C, D and E). This is not really cause for concern, because there are zillions (it seems) of chemo drugs out there, and my doctor had no problem trying every one of them at his disposal, if that was my wish.
BUT (You knew it was coming)
Any drugs that I took from this point on have a 10-15% chance of actually doing something against the cancer.
I thought about that for a bit. 10-15% chance of working versus 100% chance of side effects. I've had my share of chemo side effects (my hair fell out, my nerves on the undersides of my feet felt like they were on fire, tiredness and of course everyone's favorite, nausea.) and really don't want to see what's out there on a 10-15% chance.
Plus, what about Le Beastie? Do I want her to see me that miserable in my last days? We were luck and got a hospice that is willing to take me on as a client even though I can't pay them, so I shouldn't be in TOO much pain at the end.
I've come to the conclusion that those that fight this, even with the odds stacked so high against them, are either gamblers who do good at the casinos pretty often, or people afraid of death.
Me, I'm afraid of pain. No shame in my game.
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I don't blame you for not wanting to go through chemo again. That must have been a hard decision even though it was basically number crunching.
ReplyDeleteI have been thinking of things you can do with Beastie to make memories with her. Bake some cookies, go to the zoo, make a scrapbook of pictures of the 2 of you if you have pictures of the 2 of you, go to the botanical gardens, take pictures of the 2 of you and yourself so she can treasure them doing these activities. She knows she's going to loose you so she's going to remember these activities.
You have to make the right choice for you and your family. I am also afraid of pain, so I understand your point of view.
ReplyDeleteMy sister did everything she could -- even though each of those options only gave her the small percentage. We all wished that she wouldn't have because it affected her overall health and her mental state. In the end, it was terminal. She had lung cancer. That was about five years ago.
Sometimes life just sucks. I'm thinking about you and your daughter. I don't say I'm praying for you because...well I don't pray. ;) But, good vibes count, right?
I sent you a message on fb, I don't know how often you check it these days. I want to send you a care package of my favorite Hawaiian snacks, Kona coffee, and some Kukui lotion. It should take me a couple weeks to get it together. I'd just need an address to send it to.
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