Expectations. We all have them. We expect things to go a certain way, for our kids to accomplish certain things....
To have chemo when it's scheduled.
I was supposed to have my 6th round of chemo today. Unfortunately, my platelets were too low, so the doc postponed it for a week. I wasn't too surprised - I have been bruising way too easily this week, so I figured my platelets were low. Ask any cancer survivor or patient - we learn to roll with the punches pretty quickly. I just went and grabbed lunch, then went to work. No big deal.
I made the mistake of looking at survival rates for ovarian cancer again the other day. When I first looked it up, I was pretty sure that I'd be Stage 3 - back then, no one told me what stage my cancer was in. And survival rate for 5 years for Stage 3 patients is 30%. Not a great rate to be sure, but shoot, my mom-in-law had a 35% chance of survival for her Stage 4 non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, and she's been in complete remission for a few years now. 30% was totally doable.
Do you know what the survival rate for Stage 4 ovarian cancer is? 18%. Yeah. That was quite a punch. I quietly freaked out over that number for several days. 18%? Holy cow - that's hardly anyone! Should I start deciding who gets my cool stuff? My darling hubby could probably care less about my beloved vintage candy dishes, blue glass vases and baskets that were my grandmothers, and vintage hats. I'm pretty sure my boys don't care either. But I don't want them thrown away - that stuff is awesome! Should I start a will? Prepare a living directive? Plan my funeral? Put little tags on the bottom of everything that says "This goes to De Lyn. I don't care if she doesn't have room for more crap. Give it to her anyway."
And then a still small voice spoke in my heart. That voice said "somebody has to make up that 18%. Why not you? You have the right things going for you - under 50 when diagnosed, pretty darn healthy except for the cancer thing, good attitude, responding well to chemo, tons of sweet people praying for you, stubborn as a mule..."
(Funny thing about that still small voice - I'm pretty sure it's the voice of my heavenly Father, and he knows me better than anyone. Including that whole stubborn thing)
Suddenly, I wasn't really freaking out anymore. Sure, I think my chances of living to be 93 like my Granpa are pretty slim, but I bet I make it another 5 years. Heck, I think the chances are pretty good to make it another 20 years. Because they are coming up with new treatments all the time, and doing more and more research on ovarian cancer and who knows? They could come up with a cure in the next few years. And I intend on being around for that cure. So there, panic attack. Take a hike.
Another expectation? My youngest had his district/area track meet today for discus. I expected him to do ok. He placed 2nd in District and 4th in Area. Woohoo!!! He gets to go to Regionals. We're so tickled for him. I'm especially tickled that I didn't miss his last meet after all! Heh.
Now my family expects me to cook supper for them tonight, since I don't have the whole "I'm tired from chemo" excuse, so I'm off to take care of that. And damn happy to do it.