“But doctor, you’re the one who, on three different occasions in the last eighteen months, told me I was knocking on death’s door. What do you mean there’s no apparent cancer left?”
My apologies for the delay in this update, especially to those of you who were aware that we met with the oncologist on Tuesday, and have been waiting to hear. It’s just that we’re still digesting the news (and, of course, working, driving boys to hockey, etc., etc.).
Apparently, the pathology report from this last surgery was good. Really good. So good that the oncologist said “this confirms for us that your cancer was not a true recurrence. The pathology from your first liver surgery showed that there had been a bit left behind, but the surgeon was hoping that the fact that he had cauterized the margins would be enough to deal with that.”
And then he said he had asked for a second opinion, and he had talked to someone more senior than he, who agreed that there was no value to be had in offering more chemo, since there appeared to be no cancer to deal with, and the next thing we knew, we were booking an appointment for a three month checkup, and just like that, we were in the monitoring phase. (To be fair, it’s the same phase we were in last May, but this time with a little more confidence.)
When we were alone in the room again, we just sat and looked at each other, and that’s when I uttered the “F” word. I looked at my wife and said “Perhaps I can begin to think about the Future again.”