I Saw the Figure Five

I Saw the Figure 5 in Gold by Charles Demuth

When we think of things that come in fives, a quick list off the top of the head might look a little like this: five senses, five tastes, five arms on a starfish, 5=the atomic number of boron, five fingers/toes per hand/foot, five faces of Shiva, five wounds of Christ, five joys of Mary, five Pillars of Islam, five books of the Torah, five elements, Chanel No.5, five golden rings. We know the number 5 is freighted with symbolism across cultures, and it figures somehow in nearly every discipline from alchemy to zoology. 

It also figures in cancer statistics. Five years is one of the magic numbers by which we measure the prospective fatality or survivability of a particular cancer. Some cancer treatments have better outcomes than others, and some cancers are so slow growing, no treatment is ever needed, which makes the cancer "survivable" beyond the five or ten-year benchmarks of living we use to measure such things.

When I was diagnosed with lung cancer, the five-year survival rate for someone with metastatic disease (like me) was about 5%. Meaning that out of 100 people with metastatic lung cancer, after five years, only five of us would be left standing. That was five years ago, and the reality of that statistic was made manifest in several of my online lung cancer communities where new fatalities were announced almost every other day. Today, the five-year survival rate is 8%, so we've moved the needle perhaps with a little bit with research and better treatment (I'll save my pitch for why you should support lung cancer research for my next post!). 

I think the odds of surviving this killer disease make me a bit of an outlier. Better yet, I'm gonna call my situation miraculous AF, because I believe in that stuff, and believe that science qualifies as miraculous. So here I am honoring the five years that have passed since the day I heard "You have advanced adenocarcinoma, a lung cancer." In that time I have lost three sweet friends to breast and ovarian cancer, and many many newfound friends who share my diagnosis to lung cancer. My mother also has been dealing with an early stage lung cancer diagnosis and some complications from surgery to treat that, and my youngest sister, Michele, was diagnosed recently with an early stage breast cancer for which she had surgery and will do follow-up radiation in the coming weeks. Cancer everywhere it seems, some days.

(An interesting side note here about my sister's situation...after mom was diagnosed with lung cancer, Michele tried to arrange a low-dose lung cancer CT screening for herself, given that two family members had lung cancer. The only other risk factor she had was long-term exposure to second-hand cigarette smoke, and her insurance denied the low-dose CT. However, in following protocol after a mammogram/biopsy diagnosis of breast cancer, she was granted a REGULAR CT scan, which did pick up some teensy tiny nodules in her lungs, not big enough to biopsy, but alarming enough for her medical team to declare she needed regular scan surveillance for both breast AND lung cancer. As we both say, everyone wants to save the ta-tas, so we screen and screen and screen every year, but the lungs...not so much. Sure...if you have breasts you can get breast cancer and if you have lungs...? Crickets.)

But despite the many difficulties of life in Cancerland (and Cancerland during a pandemic!), I've also traveled around the U.S. and overseas. I've gone to concerts, plays, and movies. I've hiked and camped and kayaked and biked, and I walked through some of the most beautiful parts of France and Spain. I've written LOTS of words, learned LOTS about lung cancer, and have met some of the most interesting, kindest, smartest people from around the world by doing all the things I got to do. So yeah, there have been some challenges, but many many many gifts.

Currently, my disease is not active. I've had other health problems this year, from COVID to some serious internal medicine-type-not-cancer issues, and so far, we don't see any sign that the cancer is stirring. Of course with each (all too frequent) report of a treatment failing or a fellow lung cancer patient struggling or dying, the day darkens with dread. We don't talk so much about cure for those of us with metastatic disease, but of managing the disease, keeping it in check so that maybe something else less awful and painful will end us. And until then, we keep the time best we can, making, working, resting, loving, traveling, celebrating, and recently...voting!

Bigger than the disease are the hearts of those who help me live with it day by gifted day—family, friends, medical teams, foundations, research and patient advocates, lung cancer community pals, creatives in the arts community, so many folk in my spiritual community (especially elders). They all look out for my well-being and give me hope that I'll still be writing and grateful five years from now.