How do you really ever fully process a cancer diagnosis?

@denisestlouie I woke up thinking about you today. I was thinking about the action steps you have put into place. This is a life-altering diagnosis and so I'd like to share that it makes sense to me that your thoughts are filled with what is ahead. Hope is not simply optimism. Hope is because of the action you are taking. It's true you cannot change reality but you can change how you wish to respond. And you are doing just that.

Your remind me of myself. My cognitive style is analytical. I tend to get lost in the details - seeing the trees instead of the forest if you get my meaning. Like you I read the research literature about my diagnosis (endometrioid adenocarcinoma, initially Stage 1a, with a recurrence two years later), treatment options, and survival statistics. After all, I thought, I conducted my own research as a postdoctoral fellow and university professor (now retired) so I know how to do this. Except that when it is this personal, it was too easy to get lost in details that may or may not have applied to me. My radiation oncologist and gyn-oncologist both told me that by the time the research I was reading is published it is about 5 years behind the developments in the field. Think development of new medications. Clinical trials. Those are all in development. That's when I realized that what my doctors told me made sense. After all, when I did my own research it was at least 3 or 4 years until my results were published. Of course I stayed on top of my field by reading, networking, and talking with others about their work that had not yet been published. This is when I realized I have to let my doctors do their work. I wanted certainty. I wanted statistics. But I found ambiguity and more questions. I can research my doctors' recommendations but this wasn't and isn't my field. I found medical providers I could partner with and still do. I came to my appointments with my list of questions and they took their time answering them. They still do that as I'm now in surveillance where I return for appointments every 6 months.

I would like to offer this advice. Please tell yourself that your thoughts and emotions at this time in your life are very normal given the circumstances. You don't have to like it. It is just is. This is not the life you imagined you would have at this time in your life. I didn't either. My cognitive style - and from what I can tell, so is your cognitive style - is to move. You don't sit still. You are taking good care of yourself through your social connections. Your close friends do not tire of listening to you and very likely have their own private worries about you. I have a few good friends that I've known for many years who I place in that category.

I'll look for your post after you've seen your new consult on the 18th. Another action step you are taking. In the meantime, please keep posting here and allow us to continue to support you. Because we will do just that.

I have no experience with this condition so I’m afraid I can’t offer you any suggestions or links for information, however I just wanted to comment on how encouraging your words are. You certainly seem to be well informed and on track to recovery. It’s only been a short while since your diagnosis. So, I would imagine it takes time to process all the emotions. I hope others who went through what you have will chime in here. I bet your friends would welcome the opportunity to listen and provide you support, love and encouragement. You sound like an ideal friend to me.

I see a therapist that I share my health anxiety with and he reminds me to do all I can to advocate for my health care needs, then find solace in that I have done all that I can. I try to focus on that in my internal dialogue.

I do wish you much success with your recovery and peace of mind moving forward. You were so on point about how none of us knows our fate in life. We do all the right things and hope for the best. I wish all the best for you. Take care. I’ll look forward to seeing your posts.

@denisestlouie I think you will find a way forward in a manner you can cope with because you want to. You have come so far, and done so much already! It is so very normal to want to talk about it all the time. When you’re ready that need will probably lessen. I finally got so tired of my “navel gazing” that I knew it was time to take action to help move away from that. But 10 weeks is still way early. I talked with friends and family, and then reached out to others with cancer, and then “talked” it out here on the Mayo connection. Earlier this year I had actually decided to not view this forum until 3 in the afternoon as I sometimes get caught up in the issues and it waylays my day. (This morning, though, I got a message about a friend with cancer, which brought me here now).

I’m two years out from diagnosis and I know I can be going along fine having set aside the worries when some event, news, scan, draws me back in. I realize that there are times that I might need/want to go back and re-read the statistics and research or look for new studies. But I accept that it is part of the journey, it’s how I process things, and I give myself the grace to spend some time on a topic that is important to me. Recognizing that gives me the freedom to do a better job of setting it aside and getting on with life. Because I know that when I really need to, it’s okay to take time to take care of that need.

Wishing you the very best! And I really like your new hair! Great choice of color and length for you! Flatters your nice smile!

Thank you, Helen. Your words impact me deeply. I'm so glad you have taken an interest in me. I feel like a little girl who is lost and you are the kind stranger her is helping find my way home.

I know I'll be okay no matter what happens because I've always figured out how to be okay in the past. It just so difficult to do and sometimes I'm just tired of changing my plans and perspectives, but I can and I will. Thank you for your kindness.

The picture is me in my new hair piece. See I have means to make all this tolerable.

How do you deal with the knowledge that you have cancer? I’d like to share what has helped me. But it’s not for everyone. Please keep that in mind.
When I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, I knew my odds weren’t great. I realized I could be dead in two years.
“This could be my last Christmas.”
“I’ll never see any grandchildren.”
I’d have to make arrangements for the care of a loved one with dementia who would now likely outlive me.
Sounds depressing. I was scared, but I wasn’t depressed. I did not give up. I was very aggressive about treatment. I wanted the best treatment, the most treatment. I just wasn’t very hopeful that it would work.
After surgery and chemo, my CA-125 decreased, but never went down to normal. My scans always had little spots “to keep an eye on.” I was never NED (No Evidence of Disease).
Two years later, when everything slowly worsened, I went through another six cycles of chemo. Then was scheduled for a PET scan afterwards, to see if the chemo had any effect.
Driving to that PET scan with my husband was my lowest point. I had to explain to him that the scan would show either that the cancer was stable or that it was worsening. I wanted to prepare him: if the cancer has spread while on chemo, the only thing the doctors have left to offer is hospice.
We saw my oncologist after the scan. “All clear!” she said. “What?!?!” All the previous hot spots on my last scan were gone! NED! I was totally unprepared for that. It was quite a shock. A wonderful, happy shock.
Cancer patients are always encouraged to hope for the best and “THINK POSITIVE!!!” “You can beat this!” No one tells us, “You really ought to prepare for the worst!” or “Think negative.”
But I’ve found I’d rather brace for the worst and expect bad news. Because then if something unexpected happens, it’s a happy wonderful surprise.
It’s horrible to get bad news. But it’s even more devastating when you’re not expecting it.
“Think positive” was the mantra of the 1980s. Back then, I had a friend who had lymphoma. He was 33 when he died. His girlfriend said at the time, “You know how you’re always supposed to ‘think positive?’ Well, it can backfire. Because when things aren’t going well, you blame yourself. For not thinking positive enough.”
That made a big impression on me, long before I got cancer.
And I did get to meet my first grandchild. The happiest surprise.🥰

How do you deal with the knowledge that you have cancer? I’d like to share what has helped me. But it’s not for everyone. Please keep that in mind.
When I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, I knew my odds weren’t great. I realized I could be dead in two years.
“This could be my last Christmas.”
“I’ll never see any grandchildren.”
I’d have to make arrangements for the care of a loved one with dementia who would now likely outlive me.
Sounds depressing. I was scared, but I wasn’t depressed. I did not give up. I was very aggressive about treatment. I wanted the best treatment, the most treatment. I just wasn’t very hopeful that it would work.
After surgery and chemo, my CA-125 decreased, but never went down to normal. My scans always had little spots “to keep an eye on.” I was never NED (No Evidence of Disease).
Two years later, when everything slowly worsened, I went through another six cycles of chemo. Then was scheduled for a PET scan afterwards, to see if the chemo had any effect.
Driving to that PET scan with my husband was my lowest point. I had to explain to him that the scan would show either that the cancer was stable or that it was worsening. I wanted to prepare him: if the cancer has spread while on chemo, the only thing the doctors have left to offer is hospice.
We saw my oncologist after the scan. “All clear!” she said. “What?!?!” All the previous hot spots on my last scan were gone! NED! I was totally unprepared for that. It was quite a shock. A wonderful, happy shock.
Cancer patients are always encouraged to hope for the best and “THINK POSITIVE!!!” “You can beat this!” No one tells us, “You really ought to prepare for the worst!” or “Think negative.”
But I’ve found I’d rather brace for the worst and expect bad news. Because then if something unexpected happens, it’s a happy wonderful surprise.
It’s horrible to get bad news. But it’s even more devastating when you’re not expecting it.
“Think positive” was the mantra of the 1980s. Back then, I had a friend who had lymphoma. He was 33 when he died. His girlfriend said at the time, “You know how you’re always supposed to ‘think positive?’ Well, it can backfire. Because when things aren’t going well, you blame yourself. For not thinking positive enough.”
That made a big impression on me, long before I got cancer.
And I did get to meet my first grandchild. The happiest surprise.🥰