MY BATTLE WITH CANCER

In September 2005, I was diagnosed with Chronic Myeloid Leukaemia (CML), a cancer that until recently proved fatal for most patients. I was in hospital recovering from abdominal surgery for intestinal cancer. During my surgery I went into cardiac arrest and had to be resuscitated. While in recovery from my surgery, my temperature escalated and my potassium levels dropped to a dangerous low. Doctors and nurses were running around in a frenzy of madness retrieving blood samples, trying to stabilize my temperature and at the same time increase my potassium levels. I started to hallucinate, causing further concern to the doctors. Also, I was becoming overly anxious and was hyperventilating. The prognosis was not good. Blood tests confirmed what the doctors feared most, Chronic Myeloid Leukaemia.

I’m doing incredibly well now, my blood levels are stable, my chromosomes are all normal, but there is still some evidence of leukaemia in my genes. My oncologists are confident that my disease will soon be undetectable, not necessarily gone, but not discernable by even the most sensitive tests, but hopefully by my next biopsy at the end of February 2009, I will be in complete remission. Perhaps then I can relax a little.

For now, I’m continuing with the treatment that has worked so well for me (four Gleevec pills every day and two Cytosine pills nightly). Gleevec has been around for only five or so years, so data is incomplete on what constitutes remission. I’ve just started on a treatment regime injection of Ara-C, also known as Cytarabine, a chemotherapy drug injected once a fortnight. The idea is to phase out the Cytosine and control the CML with the Gleevec alone. I could potentially be taking Gleevec for the rest of my life. But no one, not even the best specialists in this field and certainly not I, knows what to expect. I feel fine when I’m taking just the Gleevec and Cytosine, but the Ara-C injection totally zaps my energy. So far I’ve had a single dose of Ara-C injection, but the effect feels as if I’ve had multiple doses for months.

I used to feel very sorry for myself and often wondered “why, why me?” which was not like me. I hated that I was always so tired. I hated wondering if a cough is just a cough, if a runny nose is just a cold and if that bump behind my ear is a pimple or lymphoma. I hated having to decline plans for a night out with my friends because I was too tired from the injections and the medication or I was having severe side effects from my chemotherapy treatments. I also hated that I was restricted to just one glass of wine when I was able to socialise with family and friends. But at the same time that I complained about the burden this had put on my life, I’m so grateful to have a life to complain about. When you have cancer, there’s a fine line between feeling sorry for yourself and feeling damn lucky. People who don’t know me, will never suspect that I have carcinoma cancer and leukaemia. When I tell them, they are in total shock saying, “I would not have guessed. But you look so well and you still have all your hair.” It’s strange how people react, associating cancer and cancer patients with hair loss. Not all cancer sufferers lose their hair and I’m lucky in the sense that I still have my beautiful hair. Yes indeed I do look normal and somewhat healthy, minus a bit of weight loss. That’s solely due to my determination to beat this disease, and my positive attitude towards life itself.
I often think about what my life would be like had I not been diagnosed with cancer. But one thing is certain, cancer has not changed me as a person. It might have taken away some of my pleasures and privileges in life but it most certainly did not take away the pleasures within myself…being a mother, a friend, a sister and a wife. It has not taken away my humor, my kindness, my love for others, my generosity, my intelligence, and above all my character and personality. I know I will eventually beat this someday because I most certainly won’t let it beat me. It’s a race I’m going to win against all odds.