Monday, July 20, 2009

Falling Apart Part II

Irony (noun): Incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result.

Yesterday I found out that my aunt, who is a few years older than fifty, likely has ovarian cancer. She has previously had bouts with breast cancer, which she treated with natural methods, aggressively purging her body of toxins, rather than pumping them in through chemotherapy and radiation treatments.

"Obviously, I don't know how extensive things may become," she wrote in an e-mail to my sister. "The staging is considered to be a minimum of 3 (out of 4, though there are varying sub-stages) if cancer cells are found outside the mass. If so found, and if it is intermediate to high grade cancer, it means the necessity for swift systemic cleansing/killing of the little devils before they create problems elsewhere."

Little Devils Indeed.

I couldn't help but smile as I read her eloquently worded message, complete with plans for making a life in the downstairs of her house because of the pain and discomfort of going upstairs to her bedroom. A bedroom next door to an office that my uncle used before he died of cancer seven years ago. I don't know if she has cleaned or filed through the details he left behind, which had remained seemingly untouched when I was there four years ago.

"This may be debilitating to a greater/lesser extent," she continued "depending on whether I opt for chemo/radiation, though you should know I am not a fan of those and prefer healthier alternative methods. Ovarian cancer has a high recurrence and low survival rate, not least because severe chemo toxins are used to attack it, and they have been proven to cause secondary/recurring cancers soon after remissions."

"Damned if you do; damned if you don't" as the old adage goes.

As I shared this information with Curtis, a handful of days after he had proclaimed the truth and risk of the presence of ovaries in aging women, he was in disbelief that this would happen now, as he witnesses and assists in the examination/treatment/removal/assessment of so many ovaries every day.

How interesting that such a life giving organ can be a home for a massive collection of such silent little devils. It happens all the time, I'm told.

But that doesn't make it any easier.


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