A Very Good Prognosis

My sister knows how devastating the stroke has been, for me and my whole family. She’s been a rock of strength and support. But every so often, when we’ve talked about how hard it’s been, she would also remind me: I’m on the upswing. It’s not like, say, cancer, she would say.

Well, in January I was diagnosed with cancer—sort of. It's a kind of breast cancer called ductal carcinoma in situ (D.C.I.S.), often called stage 0. It’s not one of the kinds of scary cancer my sister was thinking about. There is even some controversy about if it should be even called cancer (I like this NY Times article). D.C.I.S. is almost never life-threatening.

But it’s been a long four months since the diagnosis, and figuring out what to do about it. The fear that comes with the word “cancer” is one thing. The fatigue of entering back to the medical (and bureaucratic) world is a whole different story. It has felt so cruel: finally I had enough energy and fluency to chat with other parents at the playground, but now I needed to put my energy in talking to doctors about treatment options. Also, most of the doctors and medical people have been nice, but they haven’t seen many mid-life stroke survivors. At the appointments, sometimes I wanted to say: do you know how much energy this is costing me? Do I really have to change into the examining gown this time? Because I might have the energy to change into and out of the gown, or make dinner this evening, but probably not both.

Fortunately, this chapter of my saga is closed for now. I had minor surgery, and I can go back to focus on stroke recovery.

The really weird thing is this: I seem to be getting better all the time, despite everything. Maybe the diagnosis forced me to talk and write even more. Maybe my brain fog has been better because I've had to strategize about how to explain my issues before every appointment. Maybe I have even more of a sense of urgency about my stroke recovery.

 Who knows? Or maybe my brain was just ready to get better.