Dream Crusher

Dreams: they are the things you think about and hope for when you believe you have a long future ahead of you. Some you plan and then work for; some just fall into your life with no effort at all; some you keep wishing for because why not, you might live to be 100!

Then a random event happens to you that takes all the thinking, planning, working, serendipity, and wishing that you did and dumps it all in a pile forcing you to watch it melt away with every tear you cry.

Then another unexpected event happens. One that brings you out into the sunshine again. You start to breathe and take in all the freshness that a spring day can give. Some may call it divine intervention. I call it luck. Whatever it is, your world opens up and you start to dream again.

I had dreams that ceased in April of 2013. Then, those dreams sprang to life again when my living was not halted as quickly as I expected. I began planning to see my youngest graduate from high school and began believing that seeing her graduate from college might be possible too. I planted daffodils expecting to see their beauty at winters end. I thought about the trips I would take to see my older children as their adult lives took root with the partners they have chosen. Working full-time wasn’t a thought any longer. It became a reality! I made plans--not the I gotta get it done before I die kind of plans. The happy kind of plans that only futures can offer. I began thinking in terms of years instead of months, or weeks, or days.

For 4 years after the first 2 progressions, my oncologist walked into the room after each scan telling me, “Your scans look great.” We didn’t talk about what could be done next. We talked about the side-effects I was experiencing from Kadcyla and what could be done to ease them. Each wonderful and unexpected scan report brought such jubilation.

My hugely important scan day approached hopefully marking 4 years of no progression. It had been many months since x-rays were shot at me from many different angles putting together the picture that defined my dreams. Though thoughts that my good luck might be ending existed, I tried to see beyond those and see only the ones where I continue celebrating. My oncologist for so long did not seem to believe that my living 6 years with stage IV breast cancer was possible. She eventually began cheering me on saying, “We don’t see many people on Kadcyla as long as you.” I've been on it for 5 years, 83 treatments in all.

The familiar knock on the door came. She walks in and says, “Your scans look good. But . . .”

I stared at her bracing myself for her next words.

“Five lymph nodes look to have each increased about 3mm,” she says. “There are four on the right along your trachea and one underneath your arm.”

Every plan, every hope, every wish vanished. The Dream Crusher has reappeared.

“I,” she says, “am not convinced this is progression.”

Was she offering hope? Did she truly believe the words she spoke?

The rest is blurred by my thoughts reminding me my good luck would end, someday, this day.

I heard her say something about the nature of how CT scans work, and the possibility I could have a virus or bacteria causing those lymph nodes to enlarge as they work to kill the tiny invaders.   

She said, “Let’s scan again in eight or nine weeks.”

“OK,” I said.

I want to believe the CT scan has it wrong about the five lymph nodes showing progression, and that my body is fighting some infection. Five lymph nodes enlarging, though, is no small number in the world of metastatic disease. I remember—oh too well—a scan in 2014 that showed a small increase in size of a few lung nodules. I left the treatment center that day not worrying about it. I don’t remember discussing progression. Taxotere was dropped from my treatment plan because I was tired of the side-effects. Herceptin and Perjeta were given every three weeks for another three months. I thought since she, my oncologist, allowed Taxotere to be dropped, it could mean nothing but good news. Looking back, I think she knew my cancer had found a way to out-smart the drugs. One more scan would be the truth teller. It didn’t matter which drugs I took at that last treatment. This feels hauntingly similar.

Sadness has again entered my world. What a crappy way to spend my spring break from school.