Well, That Was Stupid

Ever since my diagnosis with lung cancer back in February of this year, I have steadfastly made a point of not researching statistics, percentages and life expectancy charts. I told each physician that I didn't want numbers to be a part of my treatment process...that I was in this to beat this motherfucker. No stats. No percentages. No morbidity rates. So far it's been very effective and helpful. That, and I got a really good prognosis from my doctors.

Recently I came across a statistic on another blog about five year survival rates. I read it. I shuddered. I have tried to put it out of my head entirely. This evening I violated my cardinal rule and went looking up stats, percentages, and survival rates. I have scared myself halfway to hell and back. It is nearly midnight. My wife is asleep after a rough day. The cats are all zonked out and here I sit at a computer terminal with sweaty palms and a mind that's running in 18 directions at once. Actually I'm able in moments of pure willpower to bring it back to a center of calmness and determination: we will beat this thing. None of my physicians have said otherwise. No one has told me to get my papers in order by year's end. This is beatable. I must remain cool, calm and collected. I must rid myself of toxic feelings and thoughts. Healthy living begins in the head and heart and I must return to these things as they are what will save my life. My mother beat the most deadly form of this disease, there is no reason I can't.

I should add that I've never had the intuitive feeling this illness was going to kill me, even from the first mention of the word cancer. I've been scared, frightened, bewildered, confused, terrified, unsettled, anxiety ridden, a nervous wreck, but I've never been convinced or certain that my demise would be as a result of this disease. So it is best that I continue to cultivate this feeling and march forward.