Statistics
Posted by David Poncelow Thu, 02 Nov 2006 21:43:00 GMT
I’ve been thinking a lot about statistics this past week. This cancer I’ve got is pretty uncommon, so I keep digging to try to find how uncommon it is, how unlikely that I ended up with this. The best I’ve found so far came from a study that my surgeon gave me a copy of. It’s a thirty year study, covering around 400,000 breast cancer cases. Of those, about 2000 are men, 22 under 35.
I also keep looking for statistics on my ‘chances’. I’ve found everywhere from 67% to 85% for my cancer and my stage. I’ve found graphs, charts, and mortality data. I’ve read many, many reports and study abstracts, and I’ve distilled it all down to what that data means to me.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Statistics are wonderful things. When data is complex they allow us to find patterns and make intelligent decisions with incomplete data. Sometimes a graph or a table of aggregated data makes something obvious that never would have been otherwise. But that’s the key word - aggregated. This time, it’s just me.
When we read a book, we don’t look at likelihoods and chances. In a whodunnit we don’t try to calculate the odds that it was the butler, and when a character gets sick, we don’t try to figure out his chances. We may get agitated, scared or tense, but we wait for the story to unfold. By myself, I’m not a statistic. But I do have a story.
Numbers just can’t summarize me or describe this situation. They can’t tell the whole story. They don’t include my attitude, my health, my willingness and ability to heal. They can’t describe this particular cancer, my environment, all the people supporting me. It doesn’t matter if statistics say that I have an 85% chance- like it or not, there are plenty of stories in both sides of that number. Numbers can’t tell me what’s going to happen.
But trying to know what will happen is precisely why I find myself so obsessed with these statistics. When the doubt and fear descend, we cleave to whatever we can to try to reassure ourselves. Fortune tellers, throwing bones, ouija boards- all exist because we want to know what can’t be known, we want to have a glimpse into the future so that we don’t have to worry. We can obsess over statistics in the same sort of superstitious way. We know that a coin has even chances of coming up heads or tails, but the quarter that’s flipping through the air will come down only one way, and we have no idea of knowing which.
It’s reassuring for me to realize this - focussing on statistics reduces the way I view myself to a bunch of digits that don’t really apply to anything. Thinking of my experiences as a story that unfolds re-humanizes them, makes them real. There isn’t much room in a bunch of percentages for real life- for hope, disappointment, joy, humor. There is just doubt, and from that doubt, fear. I have no desire to suspend my joyful life for only uncertainty and anticipation.
I contribute to statistics, they don’t contribute to me. Aspects of my story can be abstracted, summarized and aggregated to find patterns that help scientists and doctors learn about this disease, but they don’t rule my fate. Whatever happens won’t be affected by the most recent study I can find with the most data. For me to know, I’m just going to have to be patient and let this story unfold.
Hope you don’t mind, but I said a prayer for you. Stay strong and positive.
Was wasting time at work, and found your blog.. when I was sick this article which discusses mean,averages, and the median in cancer Stats really helped me.. as I love number (i am an anaylst :), but when you all of sudden become part of the numbers, they are not the same..
Good luck
Molly,
Thank you so much for that link. What an encouraging (and well-written) message. I’m sure that is an article that I will be going back to frequently.
David
David, I am a bit down after reading about your doubts and fears and those darn statistics. You are in the hands of a BIG God. Your cancer does not define you. Your personality does. You are still you–sicker than usual, spending your days at appointments and much more knowledgable about cancer. Hang in there. I’m sure the chemo works on your mind and emotions as well as on your body. Vicky
Statistics are really only valid when looking at a large population, not a population of one.
When told I had a likelihood of survival of 5%, it told me that 19 of 20 in my situation would die. Obviously, that isn’t cheery information, and can effect your outlook.
But as long as the statistics don’t say 100% will die, there is no guarantee one way or the other whether I’ll be one of the 19 or whether I’ll be the other one. I realized that either 100% of me lives or 100% of me dies. And that’s the only “statistic” that matters to me in the end.
So far, I’m alive, though statistics would have that otherwise a long while back.
Hang in there, David. Find the things that give you strength, and ignore those that are too difficult at present. Your goal is that 100% of you survive, regardless of what “large populations” do, right?
That’s exactly it, well. Whether the numbers are good or bad, they really don’t make any difference. I need to do what I need to do to keep myself healthy and happy, and I don’t need to dwell on what the may-bes are.
Whether I have a 1% chance or a 99% chance by all of those statistics, it really doesn’t matter. Digits and numbers and statistics don’t and can’t tell the whole story. But it’s so easy to try to use them to try to know the future when all the doubts crop up.
I’m glad to hear that you are doing well- and also eschewing those frightening numbers for what seems to me to be a truer hope.
………….
Vicky, of course I’m down, scared, hurt, and confused- this is a difficult and frightening thing to go through. But I’m also resolute, hopeful, happy, and ultimately content. this entire experience is a difficult one, and it does take it’s toll on the mind and confidence as well as the body. But I am in a good place, and I’m well taken care of by friends, family, and a wonderful medical staff.
Overall I’m doing very well. I’m in an extremely good place in my life right now- even with this cancer I would count it as one of the best times in my life. But it’s also not always easy. It can’t be, and it shouldn’t be. But it’s also adversity that makes us more human, more wise, more empathetic, stronger. If life was always easy we would never have an opportunity to grow.