My prognosis of cancer is, in part, based on statistical probabilities and, in part, how well  I react to  treatment.  As my disease progresses, I find myself being all consumed with these statistical probabilities.

I took Statistics 101,  my one and only statistics course in college some 30 years ago. I remember thinking "oh what a fun course" when I signed up.  That was before the first day of class. By the end of the second week, I realized that Statistics  101 was not going to be the picnic I thought it would be. I suffered through the course ending up with a "C".  I now find myself racking my brain trying to remember the differences between the mean, median, and mode, standard deviations, measures of variations and measures of coefficient and how they all apply to me and my cancer prognosis.

My oncologist recently explained the statistics involved in determining the success ratio of a particular control group.  He is amazingly patient with me, understanding just how important this information is to me.  I ask questions such as what percentage of patients  fall on either side of median, what percentage of cancer patients die from the side effects of the multiple drugs they take,  based on my current condition how much time do I have left, and how does switching my current chemo medicines effect my time line?  The good news is that I am responding to treatment very well, better than most.  The bad news is that terminal still means terminal, no matter how well my body tolerates this treatment, or any treatment, the end result will be the same.

I have researched first line treatment of chemo drugs vs. second and third line treatment, the success levels of all, and the statistical probabilities of survival of all.  By definition, first line chemo drugs give the best chance of prolonging one's life. There is a precipitous decline between first line and second line chemo drugs, and an even more precipitous decline between second line and third line of chemo drugs. My goal is to stay on the first line of chemo drugs, regardless of the side effects.

I have found that terminal cancer patients fall into two basic categories, those who want to know nothing about their disease and those who want to know everything. I fall into the latter group. Not that I am all consumed with the medicine itself, that I leave to my doctors, but I am very interested in my medicines.   There are 11 taken every day.  How they affect my body, how those 11 medicines affect my "time line" and, most importantly, how much time I have left are the pressing questions. I have noticed a marked difference in my health, a marked decline, over the last six months.  Knowing it is all downhill from here and that right now is as good as it is going to get is truly frightening.

The knowledge that one is  a medical statistic, a number in a control group study is uncomfortable.  The knowledge that eventually one will be a medical footnote, perhaps with an asterisk, is even disquieting to say the least.