Life’s Qualities

Quality of life is something one talks and thinks about a lot with cancer. Most of the time it’s an easy conversation with oneself: Is it worth it to undergo this treatment, that might be difficult and will certainly have side effects, for the good chance of killing more or all of the cancer? Yes, yes it definitely is.

As cycles of treatments progress, it becomes more clear: I’ll trade off quality of life in the next six months for the possibility of six months, or five months, or three months, or two months, of high quality life afterward.

For me, the only thing complicating the decision was that I had no pain from the cancer itself. We were making the decision to go back to chemo based on what we saw on a scan, “disease progression,” even though that progression wasn’t affecting me physically in the day to day.

Now, though, things are different. The treatment gives me “stable disease” and reduces the fluid in my right lung, though the little tumors (which aren’t bothering me) don’t shrink on the films. No spread. But thickening of the lung lining and persistent fluid.

The fluid is a problem. The state of the lung is such that it’s difficult to drain the fluid, and the lung doesn’t really reinflate. I seriously hate the thoracentesis process used to drain fluid. I now have pockets in the lining, not a single large area of fluid, so we get only a small percentage out anyway. For me, it is no longer worth it.

The main symptom of that lung fluid is shortness of breath. I used to pride myself on my 2-mile walks, but yesterday a half-mile walk (albeit in cold and snow) left me gasping for breath and needing to sit down and recover. My lung was on fire. Of course, it’s much better walking through a grocery store. Even carrying laundry up two flights of stairs, though, is something I feel.

I had a treatment option that would have started on December 14. I had been on a break from treatment since August 30, so that’s not bad– that’s a good amount of high quality life. The new treatment was supposed to be mild, and I’d convinced myself it wasn’t really chemo but a “maintenance” drug. Reading and hearing about it from the nurse and pharmacist, however, I realized this was still chemo, albeit a pill instead of an infusion. I wasn’t ready.

I had too much food to eat.

The big thing for me right now is the taste issue. For me, the quality of life I realize I enjoy maybe above all else is eating. Cooking at eating. And it was two weeks from Christmas! I had cookies to eat and bake and eat, cocktails to drink, a Mangalitsa pork roast to braise and savor, some bison steaks, chicken paprika, Thai butternut squash soup, pie, and did I mention cookies? For me, Christmas is the cookies. My step-daughters sent a huge tin of ruggelach from NYC. The lights and music would not be enough. It is the food.

I’m so glad I took the extra month. I really enjoyed it. And before Omicron arrived, we had two lovely restaurant meals as well. Now it is time. The lung hurts, and its hurting is making my shoulder, ribs, and arm hurt, too. Massage helps, but not enough. Now the quality of life scales are unbalancing, and chemo is needed. If the scan next week shows the cancer is still stable, has not progressed, I’ll go on that “light” pill. If not, I’ll go back to the “heavy” regimen.

I’ll focus on the other qualities of life that are so nice in the winter: my husband off work and full of reading and writing and ideas, my novel to promote and several starts of short stories to develop, lights and music and podcasts and movies and time with friends, even if mostly on the phone as Covid surges again. Looking at the snow and light in all its forms, walking around out there some days, snowshoeing even if not too far. Life has so many qualities. I like pretty much all of them.