A Good Day for Cancer?!

That spring day in 2007, when I first heard the word “carcinoma,”was memorable. Not just because of the diagnosis, but because of what happened after my appointment at Johns Hopkins. As I drove through Baltimore on my way home to Leesburg, Virginia, I came upon a horrible car accident. As the police directed me around the crash, paramedics were placing a sheet over the driver’s side of a mangled car. Someone was not going home.

“Holy crap!” I thought, “That could me. At least with cancer I still have a chance.”

Then I remembered reading something that my running guru, Dr. George Sheehan, wrote about his cancer diagnosis. He was diagnosed with inoperable prostate cancer. His son, an endocrinologist, tried to reassure him, “People with prostate cancer usually die of something else.”

What his son said makes sense. Older people have other risks – heart disease from smoking, weakened blood vessels from untreated high blood pressure, diabetes from obesity. Many people die from heart attacks, strokes, and complications from diabetes.

But George decided right then and there: “I might die of prostate cancer, but I was certainly not going to die of anything else.” *

Likewise, I told myself, “I might die of breast cancer, but I certainly wasn’t going to die of anything else. What I can control, I will control.”

I chose the Sheehan approach. I kept running, had surgery, and worked with my medical team to help my body maintain an optimal state of health. Cancer was going to have to look elsewhere for help. I went about making myself the best body possible.

Was this a cure? No way. The idea of a cure leads many people to assume they are immortal, that they will live forever. Most people assume this. That’s why they smoke, don’t wear seat belts, skip a helmet while riding a bike, or drive after drinking a couple jumbo margaritas. Everyone thinks they are an exception, “It won’t happen to me. Death is a fact of life, but not in my life.”

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Twelve years after my surgery … I had an MRI which indicated one of my lymph nodes was “suspicious.” It could have been caused by anything, a cold, seasonal allergies or … “carcinoma.” My doctor suggested waiting a couple months and then repeating the MRI to see if there was any change. I agreed.

Then COVID came into our lives. On a spring day in 2020, my doctor called to cancel my repeat MRI. Mayo Clinic was canceling all procedures except for the most urgent and dire cases due to the COVID pandemic. “To be honest,” she said, “Your risk of death from COVID is much greater than from cancer. We will reschedule once we get a handle on this virus and can control its spread.”

“How can I control my risk?” I asked her.

She answered, “Wear a mask, avoid groups of people – especially indoors, wash your hands, and continue exercising outdoors!”

Once again, I reminded myself, “What I can control, I will control.”

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The word “carcinoma” is not a word anyone wants to hear. Many people describe the day of their cancer diagnosis as the worst day of their life. No one would choose to have cancer, nor to have their life put at risk. But if cancer or COVID or any other possibly life-threatening disease enters your life, remind yourself that you do have control of your response to the disease:

• Will you accept the possibility that you might die or will you avoid thinking about that possibility and deny it exists?

• Will you embrace your risk with a determination to exercise control over what you can control or will you downplay the importance of your life choices and decide to “just let what’s going to happen, happen?”

• Will you actively engage with your doctors or will you ignore their advice because you think you “know better?”

Eventually I received both a mammogram and an MRI. The results were better than I expected, BI-RADS 1, meaning the image was “normal” and there is no evidence of a lesion or mass. This was good news as there is no obvious sign of cancer at the present time. So maybe I don’t need to have any more imaging studies? Oh, heck, no! I am in control of my appointments and my response is to continue with the scheduled MRIs as my doctor has advised me. Who knows what the results of my future MRIs or mammograms will be? No one. My best hope thirteen years ago was, and still is today, early detection. There is no vaccine to prevent hospitalization or death from breast cancer. The risk will always be present. It’s always there, sitting just outside the door. 

The word “carcinoma” may once again enter my life even though it appears I am “in the clear” – for now. I am aware of life’s fragility in a way I wasn’t before that memorable, “carcinoma” day. I control what I can by striving to take care of myself - my one, precious body and encourage others to do the same. Each morning I wake up excited, eager for what the day will bring. Every day is a “good” day when I simply reflect on the fact that I am still here.

* Sheehan, A. (2013). The essential Sheehan: a life time of running wisdom from the legendary Dr. George Sheehan. Rodale Books.