ONLY THREE MONTHS

Twelve weeks, IV infusions once every three weeks. That really doesn't seem like a lot of time, nor does it seem like very aggressive therapy. Only four visits to the oncologist's office with a lot of down time in between. Until a few days ago, no imaging studies since December when my lungs were full of tumor and tumors were visualized in my neck and in my leg.

Three months doesn't seem like a lot of time -- in retrospect. During that interval, however, there were some pretty long weeks filled with pain, anxiety, fear, apprehension, exhaustion and lots of hope.

My signs and symptoms from the tumors had abated considerably the last few weeks, but the telling would be in the results of the week 12 CT scan, done a few days ago. In the world of the cancer patient it's termed "scanxiety" -- one's emotional state anticipating the scan and awaiting the results. I was fully prepared to wait until my next doctor's appointment early next week, and was a little surprised to see his phone number on the screen when there was a call the day after the scan. It turned out that he was the one who couldn't wait until next week to tell me the results.

"They can't find any cancer."

Now, of course, this is exactly what I was hoping for, but it had a strangely disquieting effect on me. I should have been jumping for joy, crying with relief, yelling from the rooftops and preparing to go out celebrating. But something just wasn't right. My whole professional life I had been taught, I had seen and had believed the paradigm that Stage 4 melanoma was not a reversible phenomenon. Yet I had just been told that the tumors from what was once an almost invariably fatal condition had disappeared. Yes, it makes sense when one looks at the advances in immunotherapy and knows something about the mechanism of action of these drugs, but it is hard to make sense of it emotionally.

As I was out hiking today, I was ruminating on this. I should be able to accept changing values such as these. In general, I'm in the "early adopter" group for technologic advances, I'm accepting of new and different ideas in art, music, etc. But as I walked, I did recall another situation in my life, a long time ago, when I was thrown off balance as my beliefs were debunked, and I suspect I was not the only one who had this same experience.

Procreation. The Birds and the Bees. We were probably all told some type of fable about where babies came from. And most of us probably believed it, unquestioning. Then the day came when we learned the truth. I may not remember the exact day, but I do remember the exact reaction. I was just old enough, and just educated enough to understand the biological principles, so that was no big deal. But then the realization hit. "NO…WAIT! That can't be right! Not MY Mom! not MY Dad!"

I finally got used to that idea (although I'm not sure MY children have), and we adapt. I've written before about needing to adapt to the "new normal" once cancer is diagnosed. I guess I hadn't realized that the new normal can include such good things as "They can't find any cancer."

The results of this scan are not the last words in the story of my melanoma. I still have much therapy to undergo. I will have more evaluation down the line to assess for any residual cancer. There are still risks of recurrence. But I'm starting to adapt to the concept that all of the tumors are gone. And the best thing I can think of to do in celebration? Just keep breathing, as long as I can.