Control
What am I in control of, and what am I not in control of?
What do I want to change?
The main thing I'm not in control of is whether or not my cancer is going to come back. That affects my long term plans. Actually, I don't have any long term plans right now because I feel like those gladiators in ancient Rome. You know, "Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die."
Back in February, my oncologist told me that he'd have to decrease the frequency of my follow up scans because I might be cured, and, if I am, he doesn't want to cause me to come down with a new cancer caused by the radiation from all the scans. Initially, I got frequent scans on the theory, I suppose, that I was going to die anyway from the cancer so I wouldn't have time to develop any new cancers from all the radiation. The docs tend to think that way when a patient has recurrent lung cancer that has upstaged itself to stage IV.
I'm scheduled for a new scan the day after tomorrow. If I pass that one, it'll be more than a year and a half from the time I had my last cancer treatment. The last time my cancer recurred, it was approximately a year and a half after my surgery.
I'm trying to remain optimistic. I go out on long walks, eat less than I used to eat, and drink Kefir, a pro-biotic drink that's supposed to improve the immune system. I think Kefir is just a foreign sounding name that lets the company charge more for a bottle of the stuff than they could charge if they called it buttermilk. But it tastes suspiciously like buttermilk.
Control in the past six months or so has involved going to lots of Wellness Community activities. You have to be a cancer survivor to join The Wellness Community. But, now, control is finding other activities, not cancer related, to enjoy. On Thursday evening, I'm going to join the Tinseltown Toastmasters, a chapter of Toastmasters International. I've always known there was an organization called Toastmasters, but I could never figure out why someone would have to join an organization just to learn how to make a toast. I don't hang out in bars very much anyway so the opportunity to make a toast doesn't come up that often, and, when it does, I just raise my glass and say, "L'chaim." Non-Jews can't even say that unless they're devotees of "Fiddler on the Roof." But for me, it's not hard to make a toast. I found out recently that there's more to being in Toastmasters than just making a toast. It's about public speaking. I like to talk so I'm sure I'll have fun. And there's no requirement that you have to have a fatal disease to join the club.
When my wife was alive, we used to take long car trips—sometimes several months at a time. We were like those retired couples who sell their houses, buy recreational vehicles, and travel the country without any fixed address. Except we didn't sell our house, and we traveled in a Prius. That gave us way better gas mileage than those gas-hog RVs. And sleeping in a motel is just as comfortable as sleeping in an RV.
I haven't done that since Carolyn died, but I'm planning to—this summer. Control.
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