Alysa Cummings

Last time I checked, cancer is not a comedy. No way. No how. Not even close. Maybe that’s why I was so disturbed by the movie trailer for 50/50 when it first appeared on TV last year.

For some unknown reason, they seemed to be marketing this cancer movie as a comedy. Seriously. Even though there’s not much plot-wise to put a smile on anyone’s face: a man in his late twenties tries to cope with treatment for a malignant tumor in his spine.

(Wait. Don’t laugh yet. There’s more…)

The patient’s dire diagnosis translates into multiple rounds of chemotherapy followed by high-risk surgery. Along the way, his artist/ girlfriend cheats on him, his mother tries to “smother love” the cancer right out of him and his best friend uses a head newly bald from chemo as a cool way to meet girls in bars and bookstores. Good times!

The 50/50 movie trailer made me so mad that I even started complaining about it to a friend who happens to be a fellow cancer survivor.

“Maybe the movie’s not funny-ha-ha,” said my friend. “Maybe it’s more funny- ironic. We should definitely go check it out.”

“I don’t know about that…” I responded. Then my friend suggested an alternate theory.

“Maybe they’re calling 50/50 a comedy just to sell movie tickets…” she said, her voice trailing off.

What was left unspoken was this: who in their right mind would make a serious movie about cancer and actually expect people to queue up and pay the current high price of a movie ticket to see it as entertainment?

Who, indeed. All I can say is that when 50/50 first hit the theatres last year, I was torn, feeling a real “push-pull”: wanting to see the movie because of the subject matter, avoiding seeing the movie because of the subject matter. Do you know what I mean?

Fast forward to now. 50/50 is out on DVD, as well as available on demand. Let the record show that today I surrendered without much of a fight to watch the movie in the privacy of my own living room.

And just as I suspected, 50/50 is definitely NOT a comedy; (I didn’t laugh at all; in fact I actually cried my way through half a box of Kleenex before the credits rolled). But that’s just fine with me because cancer is not a comedy. Instead, 50/50 is a wonderful film that focuses in a meaningful way on the cancer patient experience.

The movie shares moments – intense moments – that will ring true to many CancerLand veterans. Our hero gets the bad news sitting in his doctor’s office and the image on the screen immediately goes out of focus and the audio fades away. What a powerful way to depict the shock of a cancer diagnosis!

His doctor stays in a cold, clinical mode as he speaks with his patient about the treatment plan for his cancer. And his response to his patient’s deer-in-the-headlights expression is to immediately offer him the services of capable psychologists and social workers on staff.

Our newly diagnosed hero immediately makes an appointment to get some of that prescribed emotional support and discovers that he is patient #3 for a graduate student completing her dissertation. She quotes the psychosocial literature admirably, but is unable to be present and offer much comfort to a patient who is unnerved by life and death concerns, beyond patting his arm mechanically (there, there, this must be difficult for you…) as she has been very well trained to do.

Chemotherapy in the film is depicted as a social experience fueled by shared patient anger as well as home-baked cookies laced with marijuana. The newbie learns the ropes from two older cancer patients sitting in nearby barcaloungers who introduce themselves with the stage and location of their cancers. The instant intimacy among cancer patients is good medicine of another sort entirely, and our hero soon enjoys the benefits of connecting with fellow travelers on the road to recovery.

Caregivers try. They really do. But the truth is obvious – it’s not easy supporting a cancer patient who is going through the rigors of treatment. 50/50 introduces us to a girlfriend who admits she would rather wait for hours in the car than accompany her boyfriend into the Chemo Lounge. (I need to keep my energy separate from that), and to a best friend who secretly reads books in the bathroom with titles like How to Talk to a Cancer Patient and thoughtfully dog ears the best parts. The cancer patient’s mother confesses that she attends a support group for relatives to cope with her son’s health crisis. The details ring true because no doubt they are true; the screenplay was written by a cancer survivor.

Unlike various other cancer-themed movies that have played on the big and small screen over the years, these characters are based on real people and they act in believable ways. They live and breathe on the screen. They say the wrong thing at the wrong time. They mean well. They really do. But they are just like the rest of us – flawed, splendidly imperfect human beings trying to cope in the face of a health crisis.

If there is any humor in 50/50 it’s the chuckle of recognition, of seeing yourself, of seeing people you know and love being portrayed by famous actors in someone else’s cancer story. If you have spent any time at all in CancerLand, the situations and the behaviors on the screen will speak to you and remind you of parts of your own journey through treatment. And if you’re like me, watching 50/50 might move you to play back the mental movie of your own experience, help you acknowledge that you did the best that you could at the time, help you forgive yourself first and then everyone in your inner circle second. After all that, you just might sigh loudly and have a good cry. Not to worry; that’s the great thing about catharsis – it’s all good…

Cancer survivors, caregivers, doctors, nurses and social workers interacting with cancer patients, please add 50/50 to your “must see” list and see if you don’t agree with me.

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Alysa Cummings

The sun is shining brightly for a wintry day in mid-January, but the wind is howling and the temperature’s dropping. So it seems like a no-brainer to stay home and work on indoor projects today.

By lunchtime, other than a quick trip outside to the backyard (a medium sized tree branch has broken off and crashed to the ground. I drag it to the curb and rush back inside), the day is passing by unremarkably with classical music playing softly in the background. That’s when I spot an email from my friends at Oncolink, inviting me to take a peek at a collection of poems written by a caregiver. I’m happy to oblige.

The poet’s name is Donna Marie Merritt and her collection is titled Cancer: A Caregiver’s View (Avalon Press, 2011). Writing poetry while her husband experienced chemotherapy and a stem cell transplant helped her cope with their crisis. (The collection is available for purchase from the publisher directly).

Let me share two of her poems from the collection that “spoke” to me:

The Smile

He

smiles

at us

Oncologist

smiles

at us

Looks us

in the eye

and

smiles

at

us

The

tumor

is

shrinking

Shrinking

he says

We stare at him

He smiles at us

We hold the news

in our hands

If we drop it

it will shatter

Lost

He’s lost his appetite

for food

alcohol

sex

There is nothing

I can offer him

that tempts him

I compensate

by eating more

drinking more

myself

But I need

his hands

on my body

his tongue

in my mouth

I have an urge

for his strength

to surge through me

He’s too sick to miss it

but I do

Donna’s two poems vividly depict some of the challenges of supporting a spouse after a cancer diagnosis. Her writing prompts me to scan my CancerLand Bookshelf to find some other examples of caregiver poetry.

The search quickly turns up two favorite books of mine that are already represented in the Oncolink Poetry collection.

I can enthusiastically recommend them both to you.

The Cancer Poetry Project (Fairview Press, 2001) is an award winning anthology that features poetry written by cancer patients and caregivers alike. In fact, editor Karin Miller is currently collecting poetry for a second volume of the series. Poets interested in learning more about submitting poems for consideration should visit the Cancer Poetry Project website.

Here’s a link to one of my favorite caregiver poems from The Cancer Poetry Project:

Slow Dancing at the Med-Inn

No discussion of caregiver poetry would be complete without a mention of The Radiation Sonnets (Algonquin Books, 2003). Noted children’s author Jane Yolen accompanied her husband David to all forty-three of his radiation treatments. And as she sat patiently in the waiting room, day after day she drafted a daily sonnet describing her experience as a caregiver.

Here’s one of them:

Waiting Room

Reading (and re-reading) caregiver poetry reminds me of some important facts about CancerLand. First and foremost, that a cancer diagnosis has a terrible ripple effect, disrupting the lives of all the significant others connected to the patient. Yes, cancer treatment is a painful, challenging journey – and I can vouch for that based on personal experience as a cancer survivor – but supporting someone going through surgery, chemotherapy and radiation is difficult and draining too.

Writing can be a healing outlet for the caregiver patiently trying to cope with one crisis after another. And if a caregiver doesn’t feel comfortable putting some of those difficult emotions into words, these fine examples of published caregiver poetry allow a reader to open a book and see their own experience reflected there.

Rodney Warner, JD

That was the question from a friend of mine. He’s the father of a six year old boy, husband of an oncology nurse recently diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. He, like millions of us, is seeking the miracle of a cure for cancer.

We’re a demanding bunch, we humans. We can never have enough of a good thing, even miracles. Where do you find the miracles?

There may be trillions of planets orbiting hundreds of billions of stars in this universe (and there may be billions of other universes, for all we know). All things considered, our planet is pretty hospitable to life, in spite of everything we’ve done to it. Our sun is not too hot, not too cold, and keeps us comfortable.

The United States has managed to survive, and thrive, over the past 200+ years. In spite of a civil war, and a host of wars involving foreign nations, our nation still plugs along. Other than the War of 1812, the attack on Pearl Harbor and the attacks during 9/11, we haven’t been invaded by a foreign army.

We’re one of the richest nations on Earth, consuming resources far above and beyond other nations our size. Despite its many failings, we have one of the best health care systems on the planet. People the world over come here for care.

We are a nation of much poverty and much wealth, where millions go to bed hungry at night, millions are also over weight. In some ways, we are cursed by our prosperity. We have enough money to buy more than enough food produced, and often cooked by, others. We have enough spare income to buy tobacco, alcohol and illegal drugs. Since we don’t need to farm, gather or hunt our food, we live a sedentary life, with all the chronic diseases and ailments that come with it.

If you can read this, you’ve been educated enough to be literate. You are wealthy enough to own some kind of computer and have some kind of internet service. Considering how many of the six billion plus people on this planet don’t have clean water to drink, sturdy housing to surround themselves or a steady supply of food, you’re probably in that much maligned “1%” of the wealthiest of the human beings on the planet.

You are mentally healthy enough, and have the cognitive ability, to turn on your computer, navigate through the internet and read (and hopefully comprehend) this blog. You are probably physically healthy enough to walk around your house, sit down in front of your computer and use a keyboard and mouse. Hopefully, you can do a lot more than that.

Many of us are blessed with loving relationships, with loving children, parents and siblings. Many of us have more than sufficient housing, in nice neighborhoods. Many of us are employed and able to support our families. As much as we may gripe about our jobs, bosses and co-workers, those of us who are employed, are employed.

How many more #^&*(!+ing miracles do we want? Miracles surround us. We swim through them every day. But we only want what we don’t have, a cure for cancer. Though miracles flow around us, they are finite and not at our beck and call. We can’t summon them like a witch before her bubbling cauldron. But just like cancer, miracles do happen, people are cured, even those in the most desperate situations. So we pray, scheme, research, hope, because despite all the miracles that flow around and through us, we just want one more.

Rodney Warner, JD

It’s that time of year again. No, not Christmas, but in a couple weeks the New Year, 2012, will be upon us. With the new year, comes resolutions, kept and broken.

Mine’s a favorite. Lose weight (and, hopefully, be more healthy). According to one online poll, that’s the most common resolution. That beat out “fall in love” by nearly two to one. How you can resolve yourself to a loving relationship is beyond me.

Having gone through a long, protracted, painful, frightening, expensive battle with cancer, and having witnessed my brother’s long, protracted, painful, frightening, expensive battle with cancer that he eventually lost, you might think I’d do anything to avoid a repeat of the process. If you think that, you’d be wrong.

Quite honestly, I’m in lousy physical shape. I don’t exercise in any meaningful way. Earlier this year I started working full time for the first time in many years. Financially and professionally, it’s a huge plus. But I rode my bike far more often back in my part time job days.

You will find people in much worse shape than I. I don’t smoke. I drink very little. Though I’m over weight, I’m not “obese” to the point I’m in any immediate danger of health problems (though my left knee hurts at times and I have arthritis in my right foot, so carrying more weight isn’t helping). I don’t live on fast food and Twinkies. I do manage a regular intake of vegetables.

I bet my situation is shared by millions of Americans. We know we need to eat more healthy food and exercise more. We know what we’re doing and not doing is harming us. But we don’t actually change our ways, or if we do, we fall back into old, bad habits. How I’m living my life is threatening my health long term. One study estimates that 25% to 30% of several common cancers are caused by obesity and lack of exercise. There’s a whole menu of other fatal diseases and conditions related to having too much weight and not enough exercise.

Eating healthier food and exercising more is the perfectly sensible, logical and smart thing to do. These changes don’t need to cost money or necessarily take much time. In all likelihood, if I can stick to this course, I’ll be healthier, live longer and feel better about myself.

So why don’t I just do it?

When I was in my teenage years, one of the things that really bugged me about my parents was their inability to change. Every day, in every way, seemed to be the same. I’m starting to wonder if reluctance to change is genetic. Another reason, ironically, is my cancer experience. Yes, I don’t want cancer again, but I’ve seen many lives cut short, and denying short term pleasures for long term gain is a problem. I really like chocolate milk, buffalo wings and ice cream (though not all together). I don’t like biking so much that I’ll do it year round. Long walks are literally a pain (in my right foot). When my brother was my age, he was three months away from dying. Who’s to say I won’t meet up with that UPS truck with my name on it next week? If my life can be cut short at any moment, why not just enjoy the things I like?

Aren’t cancer survivors supposed to ‘live for the day’, enjoy life every moment we can? I don’t see a regular diet of kale and the absence of beloved chocolate as ‘carpe diem’.

If someone could guarantee me I’d be 30 pounds lighter for the rest of my life, and I could eat whatever I wanted, and exercise as much or as little as I wanted and live a long and healthy life but in return I’d have to go through all the utter awfulness of the cancer treatment I had over five years, packed into six months, I’d do it in a minute. The experience taught me that when my back’s against the wall and I literally have a sword hanging over my head, there’s a lot I can tolerate. When necessary, I can suffer through a mountain of crap. I can beat cancer, but I can’t get my act together to lose weight and exercise more.

When it comes to day in, day out, little decisions that affect my life long term, I, frankly, suck. My resolution is to suck less, hopefully, a lot less. I’ve changed in the past. I’ve moved a couple times. I’ve gone through college and gotten a graduate degree. I’ve gone through career changes, gotten married and have a daughter.

I’m a creature of habit. All I have to do is start good habits. I can change and change for the better. It’s something I can do. All I have to do, is do it

Rodney Warner, JD

It’s a fine line.

As an attorney, I worked with cancer survivors. I tried to make their lives easier, so they could focus on recovery and treatment. It could mean talking about planning issues, advanced medical directives, employment problems or family issues. I had a client in her 30′s with stage three breast cancer. She was the single mother of a young daughter. The father was less than reliable and never let the truth interfere with his relationships with women (at one point he lied to his fiancée (not my client) and denied he had a daughter).

This client had her act together. After getting her diagnosis, she had a ‘to do’ list of things that had to be addressed. One of those things was custody of her daughter. We went to family court and she got it.

As a cancer survivor, I’ve been to many a support and networking meeting. At one, a woman attended who had a hard time admitting that she had cancer (according to an oncologist). She told us she was too busy to have cancer. At the start of the meeting, she told us her diagnosis. Later in the meeting, I asked her again what she had, because I’d never heard of it before. She just looked at me and didn’t respond. I think she might’ve thought that if she admitted she had cancer, it might make it more real, give it more power over her.

These two ladies are on both ends of the spectrum, as far as their ability to emotionally handle their situation. One fully grasped the jam she was in, put together a plan so her needs (and those of her family) would be addressed, put the plan into action and plugged ahead with her treatment. The other couldn’t move ahead to have her needs met (including proper treatment) because she refused to accept the reality of her situation.

In my roles as a professional, and as a fellow cancer survivor, I’ve tried to help others cope with cancer survivorship. I’d guess in almost all situations, a helping hand and a shoulder to cry on can be a huge help. With my client, she knew what she was up against, and I was more than happy to give her whatever support I could.

But in case number two, how do you give emotional support to someone who can’t recognize or admit she has a problem? Some people are just in such spiral of self-absorbed woe that I think a cold blast of reality is more likely to get them on the right track, as opposed to a warm hug of touchy feeliness.

I’m no counseling professional, but if along the way you encounter a survivor just submerged in grief, maybe the better thing to do is to encourage the person to understand the reality they face, but to let them know they can take actions to make the best of the situation. Even someone who’s terminally ill can control their treatment, and hopefully, control their pain. Encourage them to take actions and address their problems.

In the end, it’s up to the individual to decide how to cope with what they face. But giving the warm fuzzies to someone in a cocoon of denial or a self-induced haze of inability to make decisions, may not be the most helpful thing you could do.

Alysa Cummings

“How’s it going?” I ask the teenager sitting across from me.

I choose my words carefully before speaking them aloud. Consciously avoid saying how are you? Or worse, how are you feeling?

He’s a kid with cancer getting chemo every three weeks. I’m his assigned English tutor, helping him keep up with his school assignments at home during the “down time” he needs to recover from treatment.

But I’m also a cancer survivor and chemotherapy veteran – experiences that may be much more relevant to this young man right now. More helpful in fact than any advanced American Literature course I aced as an undergraduate.

How weird is this? A teenage boy and a middle-aged woman and here we are in the very same club: the Cancer Club. Not by choice, of course, but card-carrying members just the same.

Today our assignment is Of Mice and Men, and it’s no surprise to me that my student is struggling to remember the details from his reading.

“I think something happens with Lennie and the puppy…” he begins, but before long shakes his head in frustration, unable to recall the scene.

“No problem,” I say with a smile. “I remember chemobrain.” I prompt him with some details and together we page through the book to the chapter under discussion.

But it’s clear that my chemo confession has changed the dynamic between us. My student didn’t know that I was in The Cancer Club before and now he does. I feel him looking at me with a different expression on his face: less guarded, more open. Maybe it’s because my chemobrain comment leveled the playing field. Forget the teacher/student relationship for the moment. Now we’re just two cancer patients chatting together.

Before long we stray from Steinbeck to steroids (my thoughts jump around like crazy for a few days afterwards, he says…and I am quick to respond, I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep on steroids, so I cleaned out closets instead – lots and lots of closets). We debate various ways to mask the metallic taste in your mouth that often comes after chemo. (Have you tried sucking on hard candies? I ask. Lemon flavor worked for me).

Our chemo conversation is a tangent, and we’ll get back to the rabbits and the American Dream and my lesson plan before long. (All in due time, as the old saying goes). But for now we are fellow travelers in CancerLand and need to share that experience with one another.

That special connection between cancer patients, that instant intimacy, is something other cancer survivors often celebrate in their writing. Please check out an excerpt below from Ruth Rakoff’s wonderful memoir below that just happens to be the newest addition to my CancerLand Bookshelf.

Excerpted from: When My World Was Very Small: a memoir of family, food, cancer and my couch by Ruth Rakoff (Random House Canada, 2010).

Author: Ruth Rakoff
Publisher: Random House Canada, 2010
Information: $25.95 US
ISBN: 0307358178
OncoLink Rating:

Membership in the cancer club gives one tunnel vision. Once you are in, a poignant awareness of other members emerges. It is not type specific. Despite the uniqueness of each diagnosis and every experience, the universal bond that determines club membership defies cell permutations and mutations. Slowly, my belonging became apparent to me.

Out for lunch with a friend, I noticed a woman wearing a close-fitted cap. It was a cold day, so to the uninitiated it may simply have appeared to be weather – or fashion-related, but not to me. I knew she was one of us. She looked at me, and I looked at her. We didn’t smile or wink at each other in any discernible way. It was silent acknowledgment from one capped woman to another. I wondered if she noticed that we both ate only half our food. I wondered if she wondered about me what I wondered about her-what kind, what stage, what grade?
I bump into James, an acquaintance, in the street. My belonging to the club is unmistakable at the height of treatments.

“Are you doing cancer?” James asks.
“Yup, I’m doing cancer,” I reply, knowing that he is a fellow traveler.
“What kind?” James asks.
“Breast,” I say.
“Lung,” he says, gripping my shoulder as though it is a secret handshake.
“Keep the faith,” he says, and moves on.

People who are not members of the cancer club want to introduce members to each other. “This is Debbie. She also has breast cancer.”

Or they assume that membership implies association. “You must know Ginny. She had breast cancer.”

And to my surprise, I want to meet Debbie and I will seek out Ginny now that I know they are members. We are bound together by shared experience, by catastrophe, by hope.

Do you hear your test results- like radiology tests, biopsies and tumor markers – and wonder, what does that mean? Join our nurses for an educational webchat on interpreting test results and become an active participant in your care! Our experts will address your questions during the live event, or you can submit questions ahead of time. A transcript of the chat will be available on this page after the chat.

You can use your (public) Twitter account to participate during the live event (use the hashtag #oncochat).

Experts
Gloria DiLullo, RN, MSN, CRNP
Carolyn Vachani, RN, MSN, AOCN
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Rodney Warner, JD

It’s supposed to be The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. Even for those of us lucky enough to be “normal” and “healthy”, it’s a time of stress and high expectations. We’re supposed to be happy, even when we’re dealing with uncomfortable family get togethers, spending time at office “holiday” parties with co-workers we don’t like all that much and trying to cram gift purchases into our budgets. Add to it the cold, snowy and icy weather and financial issues you may have, December is an emotional mine field for the unprepared.

You’ve got cancer too? Just makes the season that much more merry!

I dealt with cancer treatment for three consecutive Christmases. As the years went on, my prognosis became more bleak. The following two Christmases, my brother was undergoing cancer treatment. He died a couple weeks before Christmas, in 2006.

There’s a lot of pressure at “holiday” time. Maybe, because of your health, you can’t see everyone you’d like to see. Maybe, because of the holiday, you’re seeing too many people. If family’s visiting, you may feel the need to put on that ‘happy warrior’ face when talking to relatives you haven’t seen in a while, even when you’re not all that happy and you feel much more like a casualty than a warrior.

In general, the best way to deal with cancer is to live the moment, and that’s especially true at Christmas. You can’t think about the past (Why did I start smoking? Why didn’t I go to the doctor sooner? Did I choose the right treatment?) or the future (Will I live? Will I die? Will I suffer? Will I get all those nasty side effects that are listed in tiny print in those handouts that come with the all meds I’m taking?). There is no yesterday, no tomorrow, only today. That needs to be your focus.

Be honest to yourself and others. If you’re down in the dumps, talk about it, to loved ones, to your doctor. Get professional help if you need it and can afford it. Seek out support groups. Get it out. You’re not the only one dealing with these problems. There are probably hundreds of thousands of Americans undergoing cancer treatment in America right now. It’s OK to feel stressed and depressed. I don’t think it’s OK to ignore these issues. You can feel better, you can do better, but you have to make the choice to move in the right direction.

Don’t want to be the happy warrior with others? Then don’t be! Feeling crummy? If asked, let others know! Feeling scared? If you’re comfortable with it, feel free to share! People who truly care about you won’t run away if you paint a picture that’s not bright and sunny. They will support you the best they can. They will feel better knowing that they are helping you in your time of need.

Another way to cope with Christmas with cancer is to focus on what Christmas is truly all about. Despite what you’ve heard, it’s not about Black Friday sales, covering your house with lights and busting your budget to buy gifts for the sake of buying gifts. At its heart, Christmas is a religious holiday. It’s a celebration of the fact that God sent us His son, to spread the Good News that we need to treat each other with love and respect, and that we might be able to live life everlasting. Feel free to opt out of all the Christmas Crap that’s been layered onto the holiday over the centuries.

Give gifts to yourself this Christmas. Be honest to yourself and others. Reach out for help if you need it. You can get through today, you can feel better, be it Christmas or not.

Christina Bach, MSW, LCSW, OSW-C

Another month – Another Awareness Cause! (This time, our pets!)

Did you know that November is National Pet Cancer Awareness month? I am a “pet parent” to three amazing dogs, two of whom do therapy work with me. Before I worked in “human” oncology, I was privileged to work with many of the outstanding veterinary oncologists at the Ryan Veterinary Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. I had no clue about cancer and pets before I started working in Veterinary social work, except that my first family dog, Shadow, died suddenly when a tumor “burst” in his liver. I was 12 and back then there really was not a lot of education about cancer in companion animals, let alone about treatment options.

Flash forward to 2012. Let’s look as some facts about cancer and pets

• Did you know that cats and dogs receive chemotherapy and radiation? They receive many of the same drugs that humans do.
• Cancer accounts for nearly 50% of all disease related pet deaths each year (Veterinary Oncology and Hematology Center).
• Dogs get cancer at roughly the same rate as humans (AVMA.org).
• One in four dogs will die of cancer (Morrisanimalfoundation.org).
• Cancer risk increases with age in both cats and dogs.
• Pets get cancers like lymphoma, melanoma and sarcomas, just like humans!

What’s striking about this information? Cancer is remarkably similar in its incidence and treatment between humans and companion animals. However there is one BIG difference, most pet parents in the United States do not have pet insurance. The cost of chemotherapy and radiation for a dog or cat can be upwards of $5000 (sometimes even more)!

One of the best things I ever did was purchase pet insurance for my three fur kids. The peace of mind that this coverage gives me, should I ever have to face a cancer diagnosis and treatment for one of the dogs, is wonderful. Most pet health insurance plans have coverage for cancer treatment and some even cover complimentary therapies like acupuncture. For more information about pet health insurance check out this article with links to the providers (Pet insurance providers). Be sure to do your homework and ask specific questions. For example:

• Do you cover pre-existing conditions?
• Do you have a maximum dollar amount you will pay for the lifetime of a pet?
• Do you cover chemotherapy, radiation and diagnostic tests for cancer?
• Do you cover complimentary therapy like acupuncture or physical therapy?

Another important difference with pet health insurance is that you are still expected to pay for the cost of the veterinary care and then submit a claim, for which you are reimbursed. You can also expect your quote to depend on important factors like your pets age and breed.

Increase your awareness of cancer in pets

The Veterinary Cancer Society has published the following list of signs and symptoms to be aware of with your animals.

• Abnormal swellings that persist or continue to grow
• Sores that do not heal
• Weight loss
• Loss of appetite
• Bleeding or discharge from any body opening
• Offensive odor
• Difficulty eating or swallowing
• Hesitation to exercise or loss of stamina
• Persistent lameness or stiffness
• Difficulty breathing, urinating, or defecating (American Veterinary Medical Association)

If you are concerned about symptoms your animal may be having, take them to your Veterinarian as soon as possible. I always err on the side of caution with my animals. I know that I have to act as their voice as well as their decision maker. This is a tough position to be in as a caregiver of a pet with cancer. Just as with human cancers, earlier diagnosis and treatment CAN make a difference. Take care of yourselves and Fluffy. Our pets are enormous supports, especially when going through a life threatening illness; but they also need our support too.

Learn more about cancer in companion animals on OncoLink’s Veterinary Oncology section.