The Wolf at my Door

It is useful sometimes to think about our lives in terms of chapters. Like a book, we open new chapters of our life as we make new decisions, make significant changes or when we are faced with major events in our lives. I felt that I had been through several important chapters during the four-plus years since my initial diagnosis and that I was, in fact, well into the post-cancer chapter of my life. I had been through an intensely emotional journey that had left me with many scars, physical and psychological, but I had emerged a new and better person. I had faced my mortality directly and had defined myself, and my place in the Universe with a new spirituality. I had embraced my survivorship in a positive way and was trying to give something back to the world, to make a contribution by helping others deal with their cancer diagnosis.

But I came to realize that having cancer is like having the proverbial wolf at your door. You sense that it is out there waiting to jump you if you open the door at the wrong time and you always worry that one of these days it is going to huff and puff and blow your whole world to hell. And sometimes, when you think everything is safe and sound and you’re feeling very secure, you hear the screeching of sharp claws on the other side of the door and it all comes flooding back. The fear, the uncertainty and the gnawing doubt that eat away at all of the precious hope that you have so painstakingly built.

On September 24, 2007, the door came crashing in on my home and the wolf reared its ugly head.

A few days earlier, I had gone to PMH for my annual PSA blood test. It had been almost five full years from my initial diagnosis and, since my surgery, my PSA reading has always been <0.05, considered="" undetectable.="" my="" appointment="" on="" the="" 24th="" was="" with="" dr.="" tracks="" and,="" as="" usual,="" he="" sent="" one="" of="" the="" residents="" in="" first="" to="" give="" me="" the="" good="" news.="" i="" was="" expecting="" the="" same="" old="" undetectable="" but,="" this="" time,="" i="" was="" told="" that="" my="" psa="" reading="" was="" 0.13.="" the="" resident="" told="" me="" that="" their="" lab="" had="" changed="" the="" assay="" method="" for="" measuring="" psa="" and="" that="" they="" were="" getting="" some="" odd="" results,="" such="" that="" they="" couldn’t="" be="" sure="" whether="" my="" reading="" was="" indicative="" of="" recurrence.="" at="" that="" point,="" i="" asked="" to="" see="" dr.="" tracks="" who="" told="" me="" that="" 10-20%="" of="" his="" patients="" were="" getting="" strange="" results="" and="" that="" he="" was="" not="" happy="" with="" this.="" he="" suggested="" that="" i="" have="" another="" test="" done="" and="" see="" him="" again="" in="" three="">

I was in shock and not at all happy with the explanation. Had the cancer returned or was this some spurious result? There was no damn way I could wait another three months so I suggested that I have another test that day. Dr. Tracks said this was a good idea and that I could call for the results on Wednesday.

Coincidentally, I had seen Andrew pass by while I was in the clinic so I went to see him as soon as I had left the consultation room. I told him how shocked I was and how angry I was with the explanation I was given. He promised to look into the testing situation for me and told me to call him after I got the new results. I left the hospital in a daze and was halfway home when I realized that I had left without getting the second blood test. Talk about denial! I called Dianne and told her that I had bumped into Andrew and had left my briefcase in his office, then turned around and went back.

I couldn’t tell Dianne. When she asked, I said that everything was fine. In spite of all we had been through together, I kept it from her, partly because there was uncertainty around whether this was a valid result, but mainly because I was heading out of town for an overnight trip as soon as I got home. There was no way I was going to dump this on her and then leave like I had when I was first diagnosed. It seemed to be the lesser of two evils. I hated to do it, but I felt that it wasn’t fair to blow up her world without more facts. I carried the burden alone, trying to feel good and applying all that I had learned about the mind. I awoke that evening at 2:00 AM in a strange hotel, unable to sleep anymore.

Two days later, on the Wednesday, I received the news from my second PSA test. This time, it was 0.15, close enough to the last one to be more or less the same. I was still worried and confused about the so-called “strange” results that Dr. Tracks mentioned so I made an appointment with Dr. Goodman (who had since become my family doctor) and asked him for another PSA test at a different lab. Even though I was back from my business trip, I still didn’t want to worry Dianne so I told her that I was experiencing some vertigo and wanted to check it out. She is scarily perceptive. First, she asked me if I thought my vertigo was from brain cancer. Later on, out of the blue, she told me that she didn’t want to lose me and when I asked her how, she said she was terrified that my cancer would return! That made me even more afraid to tell her until I knew for sure. Even though she had chided me for trying to protect her in the past, I still couldn’t do it.