Results
T and I joke that most of our lives are consumed with waiting for results. This is what it means to be a cancer patient.
We had hoped that we would get some answers to our ten thousand questions today. We ended up with a few answers and forty thousand more questions. And more waiting.
T, being T, is now friends with nearly every person in the lab, infusion, and waiting rooms. Me, being me, is more reticent. I just can't go around gladhanding people, I tell her. She looks surprised. She says she is just curious and that it is good to network. She is right, as she usually is, but I can't help it. It is difficult for me to reach out to strangers. Eventually, it inevitably happens. But...it takes me much longer.
Today, we learned the results of all of my tests. And now we are waiting to hear when additional tests will be done.
We spoke to the PA first. I don't mind her. T can barely tolerate her. T says that she talks like a sorority sister who is coming off a bender. She tells us that we have a lot to talk about. I steel myself.
The test results reveal that the original growth on my sternum has shrunk a little. But...a new growth has sprouted adjacent to it. The growth on my spine has shrunk substantially. But...I have new growths...several of them...on my liver. So, it appears that Ibrance was working for a few months and then stopped. We will never know why. Cancer is pretty canny. It adapted and went somewhere else to grow and is now oblivious to Ibrance.
The PA did have some good news: all of my blood counts, while still low are no longer dangerously low. I am no longer on house arrest. I can now mingle with other humans.
Then, she went to get the oncologist. As soon as she left the room, T practically pulled out her hair.
"God, we might as well have had a janitor come in and talk to us."
I shushed her. Sat and tried to absorb the new facts. Some of my growths had shrunk. But, now I had new ones. And cancer on my liver. Plus, while my counts were better....I also had to contend with the fact that my cancer was now considered very aggressive. I gulped air, trying not to hyperventilate.
Dr. P came in. She looked concerned. Her first words were: Well, this is a very unfortunate situation.
You think?
We talked strategy. She wanted to attend to first things first. I needed to get a port put in. I would be undergoing a lot more tests and my veins were practically unusable.
Agreed.
She wanted me to get a liver biopsy. This would determine if we could try another set of oral chemo or go right to infusion. Both options were unsavory. The oral chemo that she wanted to try is famous for giving people almost unbearable diarrhea and nausea. The IV chemo would be extremely time consuming. I would need to come in every day for three weeks to get infused and then take one week off and then start again. This would be for the rest of my life.
I tried to imagine my life. Coming in every day for infusions. Only getting one week off per month. It was not attractive. Plus, while diarrhea was not a huge worry, low white blood cell counts were, along with the nausea and deep fatigue.
A rock and a hard place.
Until then, I was to continue with the B-12 shots, but just once a week. She gave me the name of a surgeon who would be calling me to put the port in and after that we would schedule the liver biopsy. While it would be outpatient, it would be quite painful and require at least a two day rest before I could get on a plane.
When we returned from our beach trip to California, we would decide on a treatment, based on the results from the liver biopsy.
T questioned whether it was wise to be waiting this long. I mean, my cancer was extremely aggressive. Shouldn't we be hurrying instead of moseying? The doctor shrugged. Tests take time. Results take time. And we didn't want to start me on a regimen and then have me go off to California.
Agreed. I told T what was in my heart: I needed the beach more than I needed anything. I was not willing to skip it or postpone it.
The soul needs what the soul needs.
And this woman needed the sea.
She nodded. I think we all felt helpless. But, we stood up and walked out.
As I walked to the car, I turned my phone back on. It dinged over and over again. Friends wanting to know the diagnosis. I was too tired to talk. Didn't feel like questions. I put the phone back in my purse.
On the way home, a Taylor Swift song came on. We sat in the driveway, holding hands, silently listening. Okay. Time to go on. Pick up the sword and go on. Wait. Wait. Wait.
We had hoped that we would get some answers to our ten thousand questions today. We ended up with a few answers and forty thousand more questions. And more waiting.
T, being T, is now friends with nearly every person in the lab, infusion, and waiting rooms. Me, being me, is more reticent. I just can't go around gladhanding people, I tell her. She looks surprised. She says she is just curious and that it is good to network. She is right, as she usually is, but I can't help it. It is difficult for me to reach out to strangers. Eventually, it inevitably happens. But...it takes me much longer.
Today, we learned the results of all of my tests. And now we are waiting to hear when additional tests will be done.
We spoke to the PA first. I don't mind her. T can barely tolerate her. T says that she talks like a sorority sister who is coming off a bender. She tells us that we have a lot to talk about. I steel myself.
The test results reveal that the original growth on my sternum has shrunk a little. But...a new growth has sprouted adjacent to it. The growth on my spine has shrunk substantially. But...I have new growths...several of them...on my liver. So, it appears that Ibrance was working for a few months and then stopped. We will never know why. Cancer is pretty canny. It adapted and went somewhere else to grow and is now oblivious to Ibrance.
The PA did have some good news: all of my blood counts, while still low are no longer dangerously low. I am no longer on house arrest. I can now mingle with other humans.
Then, she went to get the oncologist. As soon as she left the room, T practically pulled out her hair.
"God, we might as well have had a janitor come in and talk to us."
I shushed her. Sat and tried to absorb the new facts. Some of my growths had shrunk. But, now I had new ones. And cancer on my liver. Plus, while my counts were better....I also had to contend with the fact that my cancer was now considered very aggressive. I gulped air, trying not to hyperventilate.
Dr. P came in. She looked concerned. Her first words were: Well, this is a very unfortunate situation.
You think?
We talked strategy. She wanted to attend to first things first. I needed to get a port put in. I would be undergoing a lot more tests and my veins were practically unusable.
Agreed.
She wanted me to get a liver biopsy. This would determine if we could try another set of oral chemo or go right to infusion. Both options were unsavory. The oral chemo that she wanted to try is famous for giving people almost unbearable diarrhea and nausea. The IV chemo would be extremely time consuming. I would need to come in every day for three weeks to get infused and then take one week off and then start again. This would be for the rest of my life.
I tried to imagine my life. Coming in every day for infusions. Only getting one week off per month. It was not attractive. Plus, while diarrhea was not a huge worry, low white blood cell counts were, along with the nausea and deep fatigue.
A rock and a hard place.
Until then, I was to continue with the B-12 shots, but just once a week. She gave me the name of a surgeon who would be calling me to put the port in and after that we would schedule the liver biopsy. While it would be outpatient, it would be quite painful and require at least a two day rest before I could get on a plane.
When we returned from our beach trip to California, we would decide on a treatment, based on the results from the liver biopsy.
T questioned whether it was wise to be waiting this long. I mean, my cancer was extremely aggressive. Shouldn't we be hurrying instead of moseying? The doctor shrugged. Tests take time. Results take time. And we didn't want to start me on a regimen and then have me go off to California.
Agreed. I told T what was in my heart: I needed the beach more than I needed anything. I was not willing to skip it or postpone it.
The soul needs what the soul needs.
And this woman needed the sea.
She nodded. I think we all felt helpless. But, we stood up and walked out.
As I walked to the car, I turned my phone back on. It dinged over and over again. Friends wanting to know the diagnosis. I was too tired to talk. Didn't feel like questions. I put the phone back in my purse.
On the way home, a Taylor Swift song came on. We sat in the driveway, holding hands, silently listening. Okay. Time to go on. Pick up the sword and go on. Wait. Wait. Wait.
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