I thought I'd create this blog as an easy way to keep the people I love (and those who love me!) updated on the ever-changing issues related to my cancer diagnosis. While I don't make any promises that my posts won't from time to time reflect my innermost thoughts, my intention is for the information to be factual. Right now I'm run ragged with trying to remember what I've told to whom, and therefore not getting information to some people while telling others the same thing four times.
It's NOT a substitution for phone calls and other forms of communication! If I don't feel like talking on the phone, I simply won't answer, so don't hesitate to call whenever you want.
So first I'm going to go back to the beginning of this journey and describe what happened in some kind of chronological order.
I became eligible for Medicare on January 1. (Yeah yeah, I know it's hard to believe I'm that old.) On January 2 I went to my long-time doctor, Dr. Pouw, for a complete checkup. Since I hadn't had insurance for over 4 years, he ordered every test known to medical science -- including the obscure one for hemochromatosis, a rare disorder that my sister Joyce has. He also ordered a chest x-ray since I'm a smoker, but he said my lungs were clear and everything sounded good.
I had the lab work done on Jan 4 and the chest x-ray on Jan 7.
On Jan 8 Dr. Pouw's office called and asked me to pop over to the office so he could go over the test results with me. I walked into the office innocent as a lamb, expecting to hear that as usual, my blood work shows I'm healthy and everything is within normal limits. Instead, he gave me the news that I had two tumors in my lower right lung.
At that moment my brain mostly shut down, and hasn't altogether recovered.
The next day, Jan 9, I had a CT scan. Two days later, on Jan 11, the doctor called to confirm that the CT scan indicated cancer. He also said the scan showed some "activity" in my right underarm lymph node, right upper breast, and lymph nodes in my esophagus.
Definitely not good news. Very bad news. The possibility of cancer in 4 different sites is never good news.
On Jan 15 I had an appointment with Dr. Lampert, the pulmonologist, who reviewed both the x-ray and the CT scan. Sherri went with me to take notes and pay better attention than I could. He also wanted a PET scan, but went ahead two days later, Jan 17, with a needle biopsy for the lung. Maureen provided the transportation to and from the hospital. As expected, the biopsy confirmed cancer. (And my reaction was, "Didn't we already know that?")
The following Tuesday, Jan 21, I had the PET scan, which confirmed the "hot spots" noted in the CT scan.
Jan 23 was the first appointment with the oncologist, Dr. Kang (pronounced Kong). Again, Sherri was with me to take notes. Oh my goodness, what a nice man! As soon as he walked into the room I felt an immediate sense of calm. He asked lots and lots of questions and actually listened to the answers.
But as nice as he was, he couldn't soften the news. Given the spread of the cancer, I'm probably in Stage 4. If I opted for no treatment, I'd have somewhere between 6 months and a year. With chemotherapy treatment, at least 2 years. Of course he gave lots of caveats, with the assurance that statistics and averages don't have anything to do with how a particular individual will respond to treatment, and that my general health is good and that's a plus, and my attitude is good and that's another plus, and that it's entirely possible for me to have many more years.
But. Still. A hard thing to hear.
I had to wait another week, until Jan 30, for the second biopsy, which would sample the lymph node and breast.
On Feb 4 I had my second appointment with Dr.Kang. Really, I expected that the only topic would be what kind of chemicals they were going to use on me, and when chemo would begin. By this time they had ALL the results of ALL the tests, so what more is there to know?
But Wait, There's More
Nothing could have prepared me for what he had to say. He entered the room with a smile and said an odd thing: "You know what I'm going to tell you, don't you?"Uh, no.
"The biopsies were NEGATIVE. You do not have cancer in your breast or lymph node."
Stunned silence while my brain tried to figure out what language he was speaking and how I might go about translating it. He helped things along by spelling it out patiently, "We might be talking Stage 2 instead of Stage 4."
Where Things Are Now
As mentioned before, the lymph nodes in the esophagus showed some suspicious activity. Doing a biopsy of the esophagus is a whole different ballgame, and cannot be done with a needle biopsy. It's a specialized procedure which involves making an incision in my neck, then sending a scope down the esophagus. For that I was referred to a specialist at Swedish Medical Center in Seattle, Dr. Vallierus, whom I met with yesterday, Feb 11. Maureen again was my chauffeur, and sister Shelly took notes during the appointment. He spent an hour and a half with me, going over my records and drawing a diagram on a small flip chart (which he gave me when I left) and thoroughly explaining everything.The biopsy is scheduled for Wednesday, Feb 20. Here's how things shake out:
If the biopsy is POSITIVE for cancer, I'll go through a course of radiation and chemotherapy in an effort to shrink the lymph node; then, at some unknown time in the future, he'll remove the lobe of the lung with the cancer and the affected lymph nodes. Prognosis is pretty good.
If the biopsy is NEGATIVE for cancer, I'll have the lobe removed a couple of days later. I'll have a routine course of chemo just to be sure, and then I'm done. Finished. Probably cancer-free.
And as if that isn't enough good news, his experienced hunch is that we're not going to find anything in the esophagus. There is a generalized inflammation in my chest area, and he thinks that's what we were seeing with the underarm lymph node and the breast area and that's what we're seeing in the esophagus.
Before the biopsy he wants me to have a brain scan MRI and a full pulmonary function test. He said that lung cancer "likes" the brain, so we just need to be sure the cancer hasn't gone on a trip to my brain. Again, nothing to indicate that's happened, just being thorough. Those tests are scheduled tomorrow (Wednesday) and Thursday.
The lobectomy hasn't been scheduled yet, though we're tentatively looking at Friday, Feb 22. I'll be in the hospital for 3-5 days, depending on how my recovery goes, with another 3 weeks of at-home recovery. More details about this as I learn them.
In honor of my years in mental health, I did respectfully request of Dr. Vallerius that we not call the procedure a "lobectomy," but a "lobotomy." He laughed, but would agree to my request.
That about brings things current, and now I'm going to go to bed. It's startling, unnerving, and a downright nuisance to be so very tired, and I also know it's to be expected.
My love to all of my wonderful friends and family.
Trying to post a comment...this is a TEST....
ReplyDeleteMarcee - this is GREAT! Thank you for posting this for all of us to share.
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