Time To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

Oh jeez, what's the noise in my head? Oh, right, it's the construction workers next door. How did they get inside my head? The walls in the apartment complex are as thin as wet tissue paper and those saws are cutting right through my brain.

I don't want to get out of bed, really I don't want to do anything. I don't want to face the day, or deal with life.

Dealing with life means dealing with death. The two go hand in hand, whether you're rich or poor, young or old, healthy or sick. I'm just too tired and too scared to think about that.

I've been scared ever since the words "You have carcinoid cancer" emerged from my doctor's lips. I wouldn't be human if I wasn't scared. I've never really been scared of my own death, but rather of the hurt that it might cause others. I don't want to leave Tracy, my fiancee, not for a week, not for a lifetime, not ever. And I certainly don't plan to.

It's tough to admit you're scared. First, I have to admit it to myself, then I have to admit it to Tracy. I know she gets scared and I sometimes feel like I should be brave for her. Then again, Tracy has this incredible strength that I'm not sure even she realizes she possesses. It's taking all our strength to stay in this fight, not so much against cancer, but against depression and fatigue.

Three trips to Stanford Medical Center within two weeks were certainly tiring, but even more tiring than the miles under my seat is the energy spent fighting something I can't see or understand.

The last CT scan couldn't find the carcinoid implants Stanford doctor Jeffrey Norton and Cedars-Sinai doctor Edward Norton both expected to see along the exterior of my colon. It did show a "suspicious" area in my left hip sparking concern the cancer might have moved into the bone.

Carcinoid cancer isn't supposed to behave like that. Doctors were more concerned about it spreading to the liver. No one said anything about the bone. I thought I was playing by all the rules, but it felt like someone suddenly changed the game. There's nothing fair about cancer, but this was a cruel blow. 

Depression is the real killer in cancer cases and I'm trying not to let it get to me. There's too much work to do, but not enough time or energy. I don't feel sorry for myself, just tired … so tired.

Talking with my friends, I know I'm not alone in this. Several of my friends and formers coworkers at the Vacaville Reporter are in a similar predicament with other forms of cancer. My good friend Brian Hamlin died recently of cancer. A few years ago, one of the greatest women in the history of Solano County, MaryLou Wilson, was lost to cancer after a long life dedicated to making life better for others.

John, one of my dearest friends and a man I've always respected, is fighting his own battle with stomach cancer. His aggressive treatment is going well, he says, and it was great to see him back at work. He's still got the same enthusiasm for the job and the people he works with, but maybe not the same energy. I can understand that.

We talked a little about how we're dealing with cancer. We both agreed it was important to stay positive and that just doing things we enjoy was a key to that.

Exhaustion, lack of appetite, confusion and irritability are some of the signs of depression, as hard as it can be to diagnose. Physically, it feels like I'm sick (although that might just be allergies) and my body feels like it's ready to shut down.

The books suggest tips to fight fatigue: regular exercise, planning naps, getting organized and eating whole foods, like fruits, vegetables and grains. Another suggested tip is to accept help from others. It's not the easiest thing to do, but we all need help from time to time.

I got a big boost from Doctor Norton during my last visit to Stanford. He now suspects a false positive might be responsible for the suspicious bone scan  result. That was the best news I could have gotten.

The workload seems more manageable now and life is looking up. Now I can focus again on our wedding plans. Anyone who wants to buy a ticket to the NHRA Fram Autolite Nationals at Infineon Raceway on July 31 is a welcome guest.

I still have to prepare for surgery, but even that is something I can look forward to with some excitement. It might finally bring a happy ending to this whole Grimm Fairy Tale.

Reading Material:

The Cancer Lifeline Cookbook  by Kimberly Mathai, MS, RD, with Ginny Smith

Anticancer by David Servan-Schreiber, MD, PhD