Seamus McKiernanSuleika Jaouad was diagnosed with leukemia at 22.
Cancer goes hand in hand with waiting — waiting for doctors, test results, appointments, and most importantly, waiting for better days.
Since my leukemia was diagnosed lastMay, I’ve been waiting for a bone marrow transplant, a risky procedure — and my only hope for a cure.Today my friends are busy starting their lives, but at 23, I am worried that mine might1 end before it has really begun.
My disease was high-risk and advanced when it was discovered. I was bedridden, suffering from painful mouth sores that made talking and eating very difficult, and I had frequent infections because my immune system was compromised.
Since the diagnosis, my life has been a slow emergency, my world a waiting room. Each month I do a round of chemotherapy, and then the doctors examine my bone marrow to determine if I’m ready for transplant. “Not yet,” they keep telling me, “just a few more rounds.” And so I wait.
Living with a life-threatening disease can2 make you feel like a second-class citizen in the land of time.Disease infects not only your body but your relationship to the past, present and future.Thinking about the past used to3 stir nostalgia, but now it mostly magnifies all that is no longer.When mortality hangs in the balance, daydreaming about the future, one of life’s most delicious activities when you are young, can be a frightening exercise.
And even the present feels uncertain. Recently, my doctors surprised me by setting a tentative date for transplant in early April. But a few days later, they changed their minds and set a new date. Now we are back to the original plan, and I am beginning the transplant process this week.
There is a reason they call the start date of a bone marrow transplant “Day Zero.” Your immune system is wiped out with heavy-duty chemotherapy and replaced by a foundation of healthy stem cells. Im lucky that my brother is a perfect bone marrow match.He will4 be my donor.Among cancer patients, a bone marrow transplant is considered a rebirth, a second birthday. But only if it works. The alternative is something that shadows my thoughts these days.
As the date of my transplant approaches, I find myself thinking about the phrase “carpe diem.” Before my diagnosis, it had always felt a bit clichéd, a phrase used in the movies or college graduation speeches. But now that my transplant date nears, I feel a new sense of urgency to seize the day.
For me, the weeks before my transplant feel like a carpe diem countdown, a quantifiable number of days in which I feel like I have to5 make the most out of everything I do.But when you have cancer, the pressure of how best to spend this time can be a recipe for panic. Although distraction can be a godsend, too much distraction begins to feel like denial. The other end of the spectrum is an obsessive “all cancer, all the time” line of thinking.
The more I try to inject meaning into every moment, the more I feel too self-conscious and overstressed to actually enjoy those moments. Even making dinner plans with friends takes on absurd proportions. What makes the most meaningful meal? Is it unforgettable food? The quality of the conversation? My mind is racing. Tick tock, tick tock.
Cancer has shocked and terrorized me into a wakefulness that I didn’t know existed. Now every decision, every moment feels both meaningful and fleeting.
As Horace, the Roman poet who coined the phrase “carpe diem,” wrote, “Dum loquimur, fugerit invida aetas” — “While we speak, envious time will6 have already fled.” Tick tock.
Explanation :
1. Today my friends are busy starting their lives, but at 23, I am worried that mine might1 end before it has really begun.
might = less than 50% certainty
2. Living with a life-threatening disease can2 make you feel like a second-class citizen in the land of time
can = ability
3. Thinking about the past used to3 stir nostalgia, but now it mostly magnifies all that is no longer
used to = repeated action in the past
4. He will4 be my donor
will = 100% certainty
5. For me, the weeks before my transplant feel like a carpe diem countdown, a quantifiable number of days in which I feel like I have to5 make the most out of everything I do
have to = necessity
6. While we speak, envious time will6 have already fled.” Tick tock.
Will = willingness