To every season, there is a purpose.
This, autumn, as I turn 75, is a time to honor life with Stage 4B ALK Positive Lung Cancer that began seven autumns ago.
I am alive today because a lab in Japan discovered the ALK mutation just seven years after the completion of the human genome project. And targeted therapy (i.e., pills, not chemotherapy) has shrunk, for now, my ferocious tumors.
I am thriving because of everything else—gratitude, loving relationships, lifestyle and my superlative healthcare team. And purposeful hope--engaging with the world as it is and how I’d like it to be.
First among equals in my domain of purposeful hope is ALK Positive, Inc. This patient-led non-profit is dedicated to supporting cutting-edge research to outsmart the aggressively sneaky cancer cells that inevitably evade the most effective targeted therapies for ALK (and hopefully other cancers).
But…
The National Cancer Institute is pulling funding for the basic science critical to advancing human health.
In these dark and uncertain times, philanthropic giving becomes ever-more critical.
Please consider donating to ALK Positive Research.
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For those of you who may not have witnessed my cancer journey, here’s a brief summary.
It started with a whisper. A momentary twinge under my left scapula, then in a two days later, under the right. But I was at the top of my game. The leaves were colorful and bright. What could possibly go wrong?
The leaves fell and shriveled, vague aches emerged and morphed into excruciating, intermittent pain, Winter stormed in with intractable pain, blood markers screaming inflammation. As the rule-outs rolled in, sighs of relief grew ever briefer.
That CT scan on a dreary Friday morning was anything but a rule-out. At my primary’s desk that dusk, in an utter state of disbelief we heard:
Metastatic disease
Unknown primary.
The next day all cried out i was drowsing by the fireplace. As I took a long deep exhale..
My essence was dissolving into sparkling dots across midnight blue,
Floating weightlessly
Full of light
At peace.
Jolted awake to the loving and healing scent of chicken soup,
You have so much to live for
It’s not your time.
Trembling at the prospect of certain suffering on cancer’s battlefield a phone call at dusk, a new “rule in” test announced:
Primary lung, mets to the liver and most bones.
Two minutes later, my very wise soul sister, phoned. With a sigh of relief, she said:
You might have a genetically-driven lung cancer.
And there it was—the volume of hope. During the two-week wait for the genomic results, I trusted my inner voice against the growing evidence that I was going down fast.
My mantras:
It’s not my time.
Of course, I have one of those genetic mutations for kung cancer.
I will have years of a good life without the ravages of chemotherapy.
I am after all, a cat with nine lives.
On a sunny winter afternoon, my oncologist called with good news! I had drawn the ALK card—the ace of aces in a miserable deck.
ALK—Anaplastic Lymphoma Kinase—comprises just 5% of non-small cell lung cancers, most commonly diagnosed in healthy adults under the age of 50. At 68, I had never felt so alive—and lucky to hear that.
I am neither a horse, nor a zebra, but a unicorn.
Seven years later, still on that first treatment, I am overjoyed to reach the ripe old age of 75, with a lot of loving and adventure to live for.
To every season there is a purpose. In this season of dark, uncertain times It is time to lean in
To make a difference.
To weave a net of love, care and trust
With gratitude,
Meg