Living Longer Than Predicted
By EDIE LITTLEFIELD SUNDBY
NYT
In cancer parlance I am known as an “outlier.” What that means is cancer should have ended my life years ago.
I learned I had cancer in March 2007: a Stage IV gastrointestinal cancer that was eventually determined to be gallbladder cancer. It is a deadly and demonic form of the disease, spreading and wreaking havoc with few symptoms until the cancer cells have taken control. As a result, in the past four and a half years I have undergone 65 cancer treatments, every three to four weeks, and my body has ingested and processed more than 500,000 milligrams of chemotherapy.
The cancer quieted down, but in April of this year it came roaring back with a scary diagnosis: inoperable liver cancer. My oncology team delivered five treatments of highly focused and intense radiation to the liver, and began another aggressive round of chemo.
With cancer once again threatening body and spirit, I knew what I needed to do. And that’s why I’m writing this from a serenely quiet campsite beside the Gilahina River in the wilds of Alaska.
(More here.)
NYT
Edie Littlefield Sundby, a cancer “outlier,” gets ready to canoe down the Moose River in Alaska.
In cancer parlance I am known as an “outlier.” What that means is cancer should have ended my life years ago.
I learned I had cancer in March 2007: a Stage IV gastrointestinal cancer that was eventually determined to be gallbladder cancer. It is a deadly and demonic form of the disease, spreading and wreaking havoc with few symptoms until the cancer cells have taken control. As a result, in the past four and a half years I have undergone 65 cancer treatments, every three to four weeks, and my body has ingested and processed more than 500,000 milligrams of chemotherapy.
The cancer quieted down, but in April of this year it came roaring back with a scary diagnosis: inoperable liver cancer. My oncology team delivered five treatments of highly focused and intense radiation to the liver, and began another aggressive round of chemo.
With cancer once again threatening body and spirit, I knew what I needed to do. And that’s why I’m writing this from a serenely quiet campsite beside the Gilahina River in the wilds of Alaska.
(More here.)
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