As many of my devout readers are undoubtedly aware, there has been an overwhelming silence emanating from me and this blog for the past couple of weeks.  And, as these same followers also are certainly aware, I always have something to say about pretty much everything so such a silence is quite atypical for me.  So, pray tell, what caused this lack of pontification from me?  To put it simply, I thought I was on death’s doorstep for several days.  It turns out that I was actually, however, suffering from what is probably best classified as a cold (and which still has me feeling quite suboptimal).  But I think it is a fair question of you, the reader, to wonder how something as admittedly annoying but as non-lethal as the common cold could cause one to think that Charon’s canoe was being docked in my front yard. 

For starters, I think it is only appropriate for me to state that I am not a hypochondriac.  I am related to a number of such people, and I know I am not like that.  Plus, the vernacular usage of the term implies an irrational obsession with illness and maladies in general.  Applying that understanding of the term, I am pretty sure that it is impossible to be simultaneously a hypochondriac and one with cancer.  I assert this because, rather unfortunately, there is no illness, ache, pain, sniffle or cough that one living with cancer could readily dismiss as unimportant or even simply uninteresting.  Particularly when one has a chronic (i.e., incurable) form of cancer, constant vigilance regarding one’s health is not only prudent but often mandatory.  In fact, a better term for those of us with cancer would be hyperchondriac because no matter how much attention we pay to our health, we cannot be as knowledgeable about our badly-behaving bodies as would be ideal.  (I note that Merriam-Webster does not recognize hyperchondriac as a term, but Urban Dictionary does.  Let’s get into the 21^st century, M-W!) 

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With the holiday season bearing down on us too soon yet again, those of us fighting cancer face the unenviable proposition of having countless uncomfortable discussions with well-meaning, but often completely tone-deaf, friends and, worse still, relatives about our health – or lack thereof.  In light of these dreaded encounters, the following list of basics about my cancer is mandatory reading for anyone who may be breaking a wishbone with me or thinking of offering me anything with pumpkin in it.

1. Appearances are deceiving. 

Cancer is not a disease most readily identified by cursory inspection. Particularly cancers such as mine, which is primarily hanging out in my blood, are not apparent unless I accidentally cut myself while carving the bird (a distinct possibility) and someone nearby happens to have an electron microscope at the ready. (Given some people I know, this is also a distinct possibility.) But just because absent an impaling I look quite healthy does not mean that I am. To quote my oncologist prior to commencing chemo, “You had no idea how sick you were.”

2. No second guessing.

Few things are more frustrating after living with — and worrying about — my cancer for over six years than to have someone suggest that I had been going about it all wrong.  Besides the fact that this information would have been more timely if given to me prior to deciding upon treatments, the reality that such a view is coming out because “a friend of a friend knows a doctor” tends to carry little weight with me.

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As I have observed in past postings, when one has cancer there is far too much doctoring that takes place.  In addition to the regular visits to the oncologist, I must also see certain other members of the medical establishment to make sure that none of the secondary problems that can arise from my cancer – such as, for example, other types of cancer – are brewing.  And then, just like those not burdened with cancer, I still must maintain my other doctors’ appointments:  PCPs, dentists, optometrists, urologists and so it goes. 

Given that my medical dance card is already quite full, I am most reluctant to have to try and work in yet another examination of any type.  Unfortunately, however, there are two irrepressible forces at work:  First, I am aging.  This should not be news as, I believe, most others are also in this boat.  When that reality is coupled with the second force – cancer and its mysterious manifestations – it becomes harder and harder to just rely on an apple a day (notwithstanding that there seem to be way more types of apples available today than are necessary). 

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Note: This post is excerpted from a longer piece on Blood-Cancer.com’s website and may be read in its entirety at https://blood-cancer.com/living/cll-surprising-symptoms/?utm_source=advocateshare

In the more than six years that I have been uneasily co-habitating the same body as chronic lymphocytic leukemia, I have learned – most involuntarily – a great deal about this cancer and its manifestations. For example, I learned relatively early on that CLL-compromised cells often like to hang out in one’s lingual tonsils, a part of my body that I did not know I even possessed. (I, like I daresay many my age or older, knew only of the more notorious tonsils – the ones removed after a sore-throat too many and that are extracted in the dubious exchange for “all the ice cream you can eat!”, which is truly misleading as no one feels like eating anything after having their tonsils removed – lingual or other.) . . . And these strange transfigurations of my body were before I underwent six months of chemotherapy. Now the list of problems, issues, maladies and general oddities has grown beyond that which I can list in 500 words or less. . . . But none of these strikes me as odd – or more immediately annoying – as a result of my cancer about which I just learned the other day.