The Zoo As Life

This past Saturday, my sisters Nina and Diane and I bundled up the twins in their Halloween costumes and played all afternoon at Woodland Park Zoo. It was one of those crisp, lush autumn days that infuse you with life and energy because the sunshine is glorious but you still need a jacket. Spencer wore his monkey suit and Rowan wore his cheetah outfit, which we later learned at the zoo was more of a jaguar instead. I have to say the boys were incredibly adorable in their costumes, and the employees even joked that "some of the animals got loose". For three carefree hours, I walked among the throng of "normal" people and my kids got a day away to be wild and run amok on the zoo grounds. I relished my own freedom to enjoy life again, however briefly, without the cloud of worry and sickness over me as I basked in the sun. The boys are just beginning to understand the importance of being free to run, jump, play and not be confined. I don't know if they understood that concept relative to the animals, but they appreciated it for themselves. We looked in many exhibits, but most of the animals had their backs turned to the crowd as if they were weary of being stared at all day.

Coming out of my illness, I battled with a kind of anxiety every time I walked into a crowd. It's hard to explain the feeling, but it's a lot like feeling exposed and wanting to melt into the scenery in order to avoid any real interaction with strangers. For what seems like a long time, I've been in this cocoon of family, friends, and doctors. Meeting strangers prompted me to two extremes--either appearing aloof and distant as a means of hiding my illness or giving people too much information and not being able to stop myself. On some days, cancer is the big pink elephant in the room and on others it's a thing I hide in my pocket. I'm trying to develop more confidence in public, but it's slow going all the way. Sometimes, I feel like I'm the one behind the glass with people looking in at me. I want to be able to look at out at the world, but sometimes I don't know if that glass wall is protecting me or imprisoning me.

I had my second opinion appointment at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance with Dr. Whiting today. He reviewed my entire medical record and spent almost two hours going over all the details with me, as well as giving me his own recommendation. Evidently, he is in consensus with Dr. Crossland's findings and feels that I should get the adjuvant chemotherapy because the standards of cancer care dictate that a full six months of chemo is the most effective at ensuring that all of the cancer is fully eradicated. Since I had to have neojuvant chemoradiation in order to make the surgical procedure more manageable, it was impossible to accurately stage me prior to surgery.

There's no way of knowing for sure, and therein lies the dilemma regarding this decision. Only 9 lymph nodes were found, but doctors usually like to see 12 to 14 nodes to be more certain that no metastasis has occurred. So, Dr. Whiting said that if I opted for the adjuvant chemo then I would have to endure 4 more months of discomfort in order to be certain that we got it all but I could live a normal span of life without recurrence of the cancer. That's entirely the goal behind the adjuvant chemo.

As much as I wanted to be done, I have to face the reality of my situation and do what I must to ensure that I will be around for my sons. I want as many years with them as I can have, and if the price of those years is only 4 months then that is what I will pay. Even though the odds are in my favor, I can't risk a recurrence because I never want to go through this terrible experience again. In order to preserve my health, I must remain in confinement for a little longer if I choose to undergo additional treatment. Our perfect day at the zoo was a blessing because it gave me a sense of freedom. But a good day at the zoo depends on which side of the glass you find yourself.