Sep. 2--The fanny pack on Kathleen Silvey's waist goes with her mountain biking and hiking. It's been to rock and country concerts.
But inside the carryall is not a pair of sunglasses, car keys or cash. It holds a chemotherapy pump that pushes poisons to the deadly tumors in her abdomen.
The rare cancer that has plagued Silvey for 31/2 years is expected to kill her. But the 50-year-old woman is making the job as difficult as possible. With unusual optimism and an active lifestyle fit for someone half her age, Silvey defies assumptions about coping with cancer. Stage 4 cancer, the worst possible, is not about preparing for the end, she believes, but making the most of whatever time is left. On the good days, that could mean kayaking or skiing. On bad ones, it is just enjoying the little things that don't take much effort. A song, a comedy on TV, or a walk around the block.
Statistics? Just numbers.
She's never gone to the Internet for information on her condition, a rare cancer that started in the appendix and spread to the abdominal cavity. She's shied away from group sessions because the outlook is sometimes too dark for her liking.
There are sad moments, she concedes. At times she cries. Then she moves on. She takes advantage of counseling and is on an antidepressant, but she credits her fighting spirit to her Christian faith, laughter, a busy schedule and a strong network of friends.
"I'm not willing to not live my life," she said.
After she began chemo in January 2005, Silvey decided to keep working. A nurse for nearly 30 years, she would finish a shift in an operating room at Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital in California on Friday afternoon and go to her chemotherapy appointments. She would endure the nausea over the weekend, and return to work Monday or Tuesday. Sometimes she'd give pep talks to newly diagnosed patients with their cancer struggles.
She's undergone two major surgeries, including an experimental one at the National Institutes of Health, but tumors remain.
She was first told by doctors to shoot for 2009. Her goal now is to make it for many more years.
Silvey has battled more than her own cancer. Her brother-in-law died of a brain tumor in April 2005; her stepfather died four months earlier of lung cancer; and her mother, diagnosed with kidney cancer after Silvey's diagnosis, died in April 2007. Her 48-year-old brother died in 2001 of a heart condition.
Silvey's sister has cut her out of her life because she can no longer cope with the dying, Silvey said. Silvey stays in touch with her nephews through text messaging and e-mails.
"She literally told me, 'I can't deal with any more death,'" she said.
Despite the hardships, Silvey retired in June 2007 and moved to Colorado Springs. Her reasons for coming here were no different than those of hundreds of early baby boomer retirees: to enjoy the great outdoors. In the last year she's kayaked, biked, hiked and traveled on road trips. She's cruised around town on her Yamaha Virago motorcycle. She recently returned from Hawaii, and in February she visited Disney World. A music buff, she's been to concerts including Heart, Martina McBride. Styx and Boston. She's gone on dates.
Last winter she skipped snow skiing because her medication messed with her balance. This year she's planning to ski Copper Mountain and Keystone. On her recent nine-day vacation to Hawaii, Silvey ascended Diamond Head, a volcanic crater on Oahu with a 750-foot summit.
After moving here, she's fulfilled a lifelong dream of buying a home, a pastel green two-story on a cul-de-sac in Stetson Hills. She questioned the logic of such a long-term commitment, but Silvey decided that what she would do in a life without cancer, she might as well do with it.
Much of Silvey's travel and adventures are solo. She is single, with her cat, Misty, for companionship. She has many friends in California and Colorado Springs, but they often can't break away for spontaneous trips or outings on a retiree's schedule.
Her chemo treatments come every 14 days. She hasn't suffered from the crippling fatigue that some people experience, but the nausea at times keeps her from eating or drinking.
The soft-spoken woman's hands and feet crack and go numb with her chemo. She's lost her hair on multiple occasions, and at times chemo was halted because she went "toxic," meaning the drug regimen became too harmful to continue.
Volunteers from the radiology department at Penrose Cancer Center, where she is a patient, recently spent several weekends landscaping Silvey's backyard, transforming it into a serenity garden flush with flowers and equipped with a fountain. On the low-energy days, it is her retreat.
Margaret Palmer is Silvey's oncology social worker at Penrose and one of the volunteers. "She always chooses life," Palmer said about Silvey. "And she always tries to move forward no matter how limited she is at times."
Not all cancer patients are capable of converting their anger or sadness to something so upbeat, and Palmer said that's normal and acceptable. Even so, there are lessons to learn from Silvey.
"No matter what you're up against, you can still find a way to experience quality of life. You can still choose something that gives you joy."
Silvey was once told by a counselor, "You need to think about your cancer more." It angered her, because the disease is present in every waking moment. She just doesn't let it call the shots.
"I see Pikes Peak on the treadmill," she says about the suburban gym where she exercises, "and I hope I can see it for many more years." To see more of The Gazette, or to subscribe to the newspaper, go to http://www.gazette.com. Copyright (c) 2008, The Gazette, Colorado Springs, Colo. Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Information Services. For reprints, email tmsreprints@permissionsgroup.com, call 800-374-7985 or 847-635-6550, send a fax to 847-635-6968, or write to The Permissions Group Inc., 1247 Milwaukee Ave., Suite 303, Glenview, IL 60025, USA.
Copyright (C) 2008 The Gazette, Colorado Springs, Colo.