A hard landing

Back in France after a magical summer, I receive worrying news.

My last look at my beloved New York City on the day we left.

There were so many things I wanted to write about this week, upon my return to France after a magical final few days in New York. But I received unwelcome news yesterday that has swept all these thoughts away.

My first morning back, I drove to the next town to get blood tests from Laeticia, my favorite phlebotomist. I was anxious. During my last week in the US, my body had begun telling me that something was wrong. I’ll spare you the details, but my GI tract ceased normal function. The symptoms felt too familiar. Every day, I told myself that these symptoms did not have to be meaningful. They could be caused by something mundane, something non-lethal. My French team responded to my emails reminding me that perhaps it was just travel that was causing problems. There was no need to panic.

And yet. My tumor markers have risen to above normal. While doctors are constantly reminding me that other things can affect the CA125, for me they have always been reliably predictive. I wish this were not true. I wish I were wrong about what is happening in my body.

I still have no definitive clarity, as I am writing this on the one day between devastating blood test results and my scan and meeting with my oncologist. (Living up to the name of this newsletter). So I cannot say for sure what is happening.

I don’t want to get ahead of things by saying this is a recurrence before I have had the scan and seen my doctor. But this feels very much like a recurrence.

I could wait to write about this until I knew solid facts. But then I wouldn’t be honoring this liminal space, this space I have to find a way to live through before seeing my oncologist. This is the hardest space to navigate.

After getting the news I told Tim and my goddaughter Hannah (who has been looking after our cat Ciboulette while we were away) and cooked dinner. Numb. Heart breaking. I don’t want to say anything to my daughter until I have some definitive news and perhaps some hope. It’s too soon for me to be able to try chemo again, so I have no idea what treatment options might be available. I hope there are some. Please let there be some.

I’m longing for all the friends and family and community I have left behind. I want to pull everyone around me to form a scaffolding, even while I know only I can hold myself together.

I need to start looking into clinical trials, but at the same time I dread any kind of research about this cancer. It scares me and I don’t feel at all strong or resilient right now. I don’t feel at all optimistic, even while knowing that I must be. This summer has reminded me of all the ways I love being alive and connecting with other humans. I need to fight this. And I am so tired.

I want to tell you more New York City stories, and I will, but I think for this week this is enough.

PS: I need to apologize for not being meeting with my founding members on Zoom these past six weeks. We were constantly moving from place to place and I failed to make the timing work. But now that I am home, I will resume these Zoom meetings and happy to meet with anyone individually to make up for my recent absence.

PPS: Comments are open to everyone this week, just in case anyone has medical research or contacts to share. And because I would love to hear from you all more than ever.