Winning Over Cancer

A doctor at Emory had given me a lecture on chemotherapy: "If you expect to get sick from chemotherapy, you will be sick, probably very, very sick. But if you can develop a positive attitude about your chemotherapy, try to regard it as your friend which is going to cure you, then the chances are that you will tolerate the chemo better and may not be sick at all."

In the abstract, it sounded good, but I was scared. I had seen too many cancer patients wandering the halls, stopping to use their plastic nausea trays. I had heard stories of people who develop "anticipatory nausea" and throw up when they walk in the clinic just at the thought of their chemo, and horror stories of people who vomit for several days after each treatment.

My primary doctor brought in the consent forms for me to sign. "Before you sign, I have to inform you of potential side effects and risks. You want generalities or details?"

"I had rather have the details so I can spot any side effects," I said.

The details included the possibility of redistribution in my body fat, mood swings, appetite increases, vomiting, hair loss, damage to my bone marrow, heart, liver and lungs, mouth ulcers, frequent urination, bladder irritation, constipation, and, says my doctor, "'neuropathies' which will include jaw pain and numbness or cramps in your fingers and toes. These neuropathies are not permanent."

"Great," I say sarcastically.

"ARA-C causes . . . ."

"Doc, stop! I've heard enough. All this is doing is scaring me. Are these drugs going to kill my cancer?"

"I believe they will," he says.

"Are they going to kill me?"

"No."

"Let's get on with it then," I say.

I waited to be sick but by six o'clock I was eating yogurt. After Dorothy left the hospital, I had trouble sleeping and sneaked outside the hospital to enjoy the cool evening breeze and the stars. I had dodged the bullet that day and was grateful. I wondered how much of it was just luck and how much of it had been my determination not to be sick.

With the first treatment behind us, Dorothy and I tried to develop a normal routine. But there was always something to do medically that reminded us that I had cancer.

There were several different medicines to take every morning and evening. I had to take my temperature four times a day to spot any signs of early infection. I had to rinse my mouth out with a special preparation six times a day to reduce the occurence of mouth sores and fever blisters and apply a special fluoride treatment to my teeth each night to ward off decay, which is aggravated by the chemotherapy. Sleep was precious; a bladder irritation caused me to get up every hour or so during the night. But I learned to cope with all of this.

In addition, there were two or three visits to the hospital every week for routine blood counts, X-rays and my chemotherapy treatments. Having cancer can become your full-time job and preoccupation. But I was determined not to let that happen.

I started to focus back on my work and found myself able to forget that I had cancer. The chemo reduced my energy level to maybe 80-90 percent of normal, but most days I felt good. I started back jogging the day after my first chemo treatment and have been running two or three miles a day. Just the fact that I could get out and do this and feel the wind against my face and sweat on my brow gave me a tremendous psychological boost.

We worked hard to have a normal homelife for our little boy. Dorothy refocused on some of her regular projects. Things seemed pretty normal.

But they were not normal.

I knew that I was receiving the best medical treatment, but as the days passed, it became obvious that my doctors were not doing much to help me emotionally. I understood -- there simply was not time for them to play both medical doctor and emotional therapist.

In response to my question as to what can I do to help in this battle, one doctor said, "Just hang on!"

Well, I was not content to just hang on. I believed that there was much that I could do to assist in a return to full, good health. I realized that I was going to have to look within myself and my own emotional and spiritual resources to develop a positive attitude.

An obvious starting point was to talk to other cancer patients. They -- not the doctors or nurses -- were the only ones who really understood what I was going through. I began to seek out cancer patients when I went to NCI.

The patients who were withdrawn and seemed depressed didn't even want to talk and were obviously just "hanging on." One man about my age cut me off: "Look, I've got my problems and you've got yours. Just leave me alone!"

But there were others who were talkative, laughing and extroverted. They had come to grips with their disease despite poor prognoses. In more cases than not, these people were doing well medically and exceeding their doctors' expectations.

After only one-third of my chemotherapy treatments, my tumor mass was gone. The only thing left were a few slightly enlarged lymph nodes. My response to the chemo was "dramatic," in the words of my doctor.

I drove home like a madman to share the good news with Dorothy. We hugged and cried, then drove to a nearby church. Dorothy, Little Hamilton and I got down on our knees and thanked God for our many blessings.

Since that wonderful evening I have finished my treatments at NCI, and I was told earlier this month that I am in complete remission with an excellent prognosis.

When I got the news that I would have a full life ahead of me, I talked to my family and my friends, I prayed, and I made the decision to run for the U.S. Senate from my home state of Georgia.

I feel this is a campaign we can win but, more importantly, I know now if we lose, it will not be the end of the world. I have had had an experience which has shown me the value of faith, family and friends and it has given a new clarity to the way I live.

Hamilton Jordan was chief of staff in the Carter White House.