My onc appointment yesterday afternoon wasn't as terrible as I expected. Dr. A came through (very reluctantly and couched in all sorts of disclaimers about numbers just being numbers) on some semi-tailored stats, fed through some three quarter-assed computer program from the States. It showed the number of deaths that occur out of 100 women who are my age and have my type of cancer and how that number goes down with each aspect of treatment. I say three quarter-assed, because it doesn't yet account for the relatively recent introduction of Herceptin to the mix, which is showing to have a significant effect on survival rates. Dr. A added that part in herself.
So here's the gist:
If I did nothing but live in harmony with my sweet tumour friends, I'd have a 75% chance of kicking off within 10 years. Which I find an interesting stat, because it means that 25% of women who are my age with tumours bigger than five centimetres who refuse any treatment actually survive past 10 years. Who are these women and how can I meet them?
With the chemo blast, that 75% goes down about 30% to a 45% death rate. Chemo is my friend.
With post-treatment hormone therapy, which includes the Herceptin I get during and after chemo, only about 25% will move on to the hereafter. And surprisingly, radiation only takes it down another 3% or so, so all told, the chances of me taking a dirt nap from this dealio in the next decade is about 22%. Felt completely fine about this news yesterday. I mean really, I could bite it crossing the road to my bulk food store. I could meet my maker (if she exists) if a frozen ball of airplane waste landed on me while I grabbed my In Style magazine out of the mailbox. So a 78% chance of lasting a few more decades after this lovely visit from cancer is totally cool with me.
And man, with the celery, red pepper, tomato, beet, lettuce, lemon and apple juice I'm drinking right now, I'm gonna outlive all the sucker dogs out there.
Three more days of feeling fantastic until round seven. Can you believe it? As much as chemo has been an arse-licker, I know it'll be a breeze compared to the stress of surgery in the new year. So let's drag these last two out a bit, shall we? I much prefer getting my 30% Rockette kick to the face of death than the 3% nose flick of radiation.
Last we talked to the doc, she gave us higher numbers --I was floored. For some reason I thought the percentages re-occurance and death were in the low single digits. To hear 30-40% chance of death within 10 years was not music to my ears.
ReplyDeleteNow we have lower numbers, I feel like I'm walking on sunshine.
Only once or twice a hour now, do I stop, scratch my head, and wonder WTF? If we had the low 20's before, I would have felt just as betrayed and angry as I was with the 30's.
Sometimes I think this cancer racket is a bait-and-switch scheme that only Future Shop could aspire to....
Whatevs -- my babe's gonna make the c-dawg regret even coming close to her. In my book, the number is a low single digit prime.
-Pete
I'll drink to a low single digit prime! Of course it will be with Pink Goddess juice, but I won't have a hangover!
ReplyDeleteThis is wonderful news Carissa! Mom, Pete, and everyone else......are wonderful supporters; all the positivity that surrounds you is awesome. The cancer is slowly getting snuffed out and before you know it......you've won. Keep on writing; it's enjoyable as all get out. xo
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