Counting Blessings Is Key to Living With Cancer

Since my diagnosis of stage 4 ovarian cancer in January of 2016, one of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned is to count my blessings when the endless gauntlet of treatments and side effects start to drag me down. Giving thanks for blessings is important during the holiday season, but it’s something I try to do year-round for the sake of my mental health.

My first blessing is that I’m still here to celebrate the holidays after almost nine years. That leads me to the bigger picture. I’m here because of health care givers who arise every day and go to work to help patients with cancer, like me, survive an insidious, devious, ugly disease that comes in a myriad of forms, all of which require targeted treatments.

I don’t believe in coincidences. As much as I shook my fist at the heavens when I was first diagnosed, I still give thanks to God for the way He’s placed the right health care professionals in my life as I’ve needed them.

My first oncologist, a Russian transplant to Texas, took care of me for five years. She was smart, funny, warm, kind and a plain-talker—just what I needed to withstand the trauma of my diagnosis and subsequent recurrences that eventually resulted in becoming platinum-resistant. When she retired, she personally called the founder of a phase 1 clinical trial clinic and asked him to take over my care. NextOncology is 30 minutes from my house. Dr. Anthony Tolcher has opened a series of phase 1 clinics in Texas as well as other locations that give patients like me access to phase 1 clinical trials. He and his staff collaborate with researchers to get new drug trials started as quickly as possible. Dr. Tolcher is the most optimistic doctor I’ve ever met. His optimism feeds mine. I’m so blessed to not have to travel a great distance for this care.

My current clinical trial treatment has been working for almost two years. It’s amazing. I could focus on worrying about when it will fail (which I do), or I can take this time as a gift (which I also do).

I’m thankful for the clinic nurses who spend their days caring for patients who are participating in first-in-human drug trials. It requires great attention to detail and constant surveillance. The nurses are kind, capable, professional and understanding—even when I’m not in the best of moods.

The behind-the-scenes folks deserve a shoutout too. Research coordinator Steven Alvarado, who puts up with my pestering, and scheduler Crystal Huerta are two standouts. Both are perfect pictures of what customer service should be. (Yes, patients are customers too). Crystal goes the extra mile to help when the imaging center has dropped the ball on getting preapproval for my scans (which happens virtually every three months). Her can-do attitude and sweet assurances are sunshine that makes me smile even as I grit my teeth in frustration. And then there are the phlebotomists, pharmacists and lab technicians.

Living with the trials of metastatic cancer can be gut-wrenching. It’s made worse by the knowledge that my cancer caused a rare motor neuron disease called paraneoplastic syndrome. That means my immune system went berserk trying to fight my cancer and attacked my central nervous system (my simple-language definition). That resulted in me losing my mobility. It took a long time to find any blessings in not being able to walk normally, to not being able to hike, zipline, play in the ocean or do aerobics. Worse, it’s hard for me to pick up my grandbaby. I can’t babysit my grandkids, run around the playground with them or take them swimming. It hurts.

But the blessings exist. Again, God guided me to the right people. I’m 30 minutes from an ALS clinic directed by Dr. Carlayne Jackson, a respected ALS researcher. Because the symptoms are very similar to ALS, she’s continued to treat me since my original diagnosis of primary lateral sclerosis only a month before the cancer diagnosis.

Imagine spending your life treating and researching a disease that takes the lives of the majority of your patients within two to five years. It takes special people to staff the clinic which provides all the necessary specialists in one day so that patients can get care in a way that’s convenient for them. I’m so blessed to have their help in finding ways to live with limitations and side effects I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

In the cancer world — or anywhere — the ability to give thanks in the midst of trials is an acquired skill. It must be practiced. I can have a pity party, or I can pull up my big-girl britches and get on with it. I’m thankful for my church family which includes an amazing Sunday school class. They help me find the wherewithal to seek silver linings in the suffering.

No matter what happens next, I’m thankful for the nine years I’ve been given to watch my grandchildren grow, celebrate birthdays and anniversaries, spend time with my husband and all my family, and write dozens of novels.

All these things bring me great joy — for that I’m thankful.

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