Last chemo before the great unknown

Yesterday I had my last chemo treatment, that is, my last treatment in the first part (or front-line) of dealing with the disease. I initially wanted  the title to be "The last chemo (for now)," but I'm trying not to go there, I'm trying to balance a positive outlook where I am one of the people with stage 3 who never recur (depending on what ancient statistics you unearth, that is somewhere between 20 and 30%), with the reality of the disease, which is yeah, obviously 70-80% do. Why not me in that magical lower-number group, hmm? I mean I have choices in terms of perspectives or mindsets right? I can at least choose my focus. 

FOCUS 1: Short and scary
I can focus on X, a person I knew who died from this disease about 5 years ago. I'm calling her X because X seems cool and I thought she was cool, even though i'm not sure she felt the same way about me. X was close in age to me, and from what I can tell from facebook and the brief blog she posted, she received a similar diagnosis and staging. She had a different regimen of chemo and surgery, but she seemed to get through front-line treatment fairly well. I don't know all the specifics, though. We were not close.

She finished her last chemo and went on a trip with her husband. Then she went on a trial for maintenance, but had to drop out when she recurred 6 months later. She had a 2nd surgery which seemed to go okay, but then developed pneumonia and spent a long time in the hospital with that, and then decided on palliative care at home and didn't get better, and died, 14 months from being diagnosed and a year younger than how old i am now.

Truthfully there are so many specifics I do not know, her exact regimen her personal medical history, how her body reacted in detail to the drugs. Every person is different with this, even if many of the drugs and regimens are the same. X had posted pictures and was very optimistic and positive like they tell you to be. Like they say helps. She was doing that. I don't know exactly what happened.  

FOCUS 2: Long and strong 

Alternatively I can focus on Y, a woman I met only recently when this all came to light. Y had the surgery and chemo 15 years ago, and she has never recurred.  Same diagnosis, 15 years ago, before many of the medical advances and angelic anti-nausea drugs they have now. She went through this raising 2 children and working as close to full-time as she could. Y who also happens to have beaten breast cancer as well. Strong, force-of-nature, lovely Y who has been so kind to me. NOT. ONE. RECURRENCE. NONE.

FOCUS 3: Long and anonymous

I can focus on Z, a name on top of an entry in an on an online support group for people with ovarian cancer. Z, who has been free of the disease, 32 YEARS after her surgery. 32. years. I can't remember if she's had recurrences.

Truth is yes, I can choose my focus. Truth also is, regardless of chosen focus, what is going to happen is going to happen. Very often, people with horrible prognoses end up living a good long time, and people who seem like they're going to be ok do not make it. So while I'm trying to keep focus on Y and Z, a part of me knows my situation could be closer to X's, because that part is not up to me or to the doctors or to positive or negative thinking. That part belongs to the disease, which will be aggressive or not-as, which will run its course regardless of what we throw at it, and so is out of human control. Isn't it? Is it?