Wikipedia says that
remission is defined as: “the state of absence
of disease activity in patients with a chronic illness, with the possibility of
return of disease activity.”
The Queen of Neuroses
would have a field day if my doctor said I was in remission. That dread of
waiting for the other shoe to fall, oh yes, the Queen would be in her
element.
But I do know people
in remission that have been that way for several, blessedly normal years. On
the other hand some people who have gone into remission have seen a return of
their cancer, but in a more pernicious form. And they soon die. One such was
Andy Whitfield. Suffering from Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma, he completed his regimen
of treatments, and was pronounced in remission. He was to return to work on
“Spartacus: Blood and Sand.”
His remission lasted
mere months, and when his cancer returned, it was more aggressive and more
lethal. An oncologist, not related to his case, said that there are times when
you can have a PET scan (the current gold standard for finding pesky cancer
cells) and it finds nothing. Yet a single cell can remain, and that cell has
the chance to adapt; it’s already survived what was thrown at it from chemo
and/or radiation.
And when the time is
right, it divides and conquers; stronger, more aggressive than ever, and driven
to survive. So, Andy Whitfield died of his cancer, just 39 years old, in simply
beautiful physical condition, and apparently good health. But that one cell had
gotten away, and it did its job. (And remember, that’s just the theory of an
oncologist non-related to Andy Whitfield’s actual
case.)
On the one hand, I
would love to hear the words that I am in remission, yet on the other, it’s
somehow heartening to continue my treatments, knowing that I’m doing something
active to defeat these little bastard cells. Because really, I would hate to
give the Queen of Neuroses any ammunition whatsoever.
Oh, and Christopher Hitchens, rest in eternal peace. You touched so many, in ways you can't even imagine.
