Anybody who may be easily offended should probably stop reading at this point in this blog entry. This likely will not be a very pleasant read.
To quote Jessica from this morning, shortly after the first doctor entered the room, "FUCK!". A truer word has never been spoken. Not sure that any other phrase could encapsulate the feelings in a room better than those four letters did. In hindsight, the news probably should have been expected when the first doctor to come in (a very skilled and pleasant surgeon named Dr. Pytynia) appeared extremely disheveled and began crying almost as quickly as Jessica.
Perhaps I should back up a step...I am now about 6 weeks removed from finishing my chemo and radiation treatment schedule to combat the latest re-occurrence of my SCC (squamous cell carcinoma). Everything has been going great, recovering nicely in my new home on a hill, on a golf course, overlooking the hill country, etc...Taste is back, swallowing ability is back chewing quasi-normally, just overall feeling like a normal person again. Only thing remaining out of kilter is the missing pectoral muscle and a Franken-neck that just takes some getting used to so as not to illicit slack-jawed stares by innocent passerbys. So 6 weeks after treatment happens to be the perfect time to perform a CT scan on my head and neck and check out all the cool changes that have occurred since the last one in May. Sounds innocent enough.
For better or for worse, I know now definitively that I will ultimately die as a result of this disease. The only unknown now is the timing. There is a spot on my voicebox in an area of concern from the last surgery, growing right next to the marker placed there during surgery to help aim the radiation treatment to the exact location. This part of my body received the highest dose of ionizing radiation of any area, and this spot is very concerning for many reasons. This is not how it was supposed to happen. Up to this point, I have been fairly good about just taking it all in and accepting it for what it is. I am now, for the first time, feeling very deflated and pretty freaking hopeless. It's a very surreal situation when the doctors don't really know what to say, but they try their best to let you know that you are completely fucked in the nicest way possible. Further radiation is not an option, my body can not handle it. More surgery could be an option (depending on further test results) but will render me completely unable to speak and does not guarantee anything other than the loss of my voice. It would also be another radical surgery and extremely complicated and risky and blah, blah, blah... "Managing" the disease with chemotherapy for the rest of my life is also on the table, but there are many differing paths and right now the path is not clear.
Here is what I know...I will be going back to Houston next Wednesday for a couple of ultrasound guided needle biopsies. Later that same day, I will have a full body PET scan. This scan will tell us whether it has spread to other parts of my body (likely the lungs) better know what path to take. After the day of tests on Wednesday, I will again meet with the doctors on Thursday to talk about the results and what my best options are. Put simply, I am in no IMMEDIATE danger of coming up dead, but am headed that way and will need to do something drastic to keep the party going as long as possible. Also to be considered is my quality of life. Very difficult and important decisions to be made in the near future. I pray for strength that I can make them with a clear mind but such a heavy heart. There is one best case outcome that I can think of so I will lay this out as it is in the overall realm of possibilities, just way down there on the probability scale. It is possible that this growth occurred between the time I had surgery and the time that treatment really began affecting the rapidly growing tumor cells. If this spot turns out to not be an active tumor, I could get out of this thing relatively unscathed. Like I said, it's a possibility and just about the only thing I can cling to at this point. I will update again when I know more.
For the record, my mother taught me better than that. It sorta just happened.
ReplyDelete#BStrong babe. We'll stay positive! We just need to be patient for the next week.
Knew that you going in for a scan (you still have many followers here at T.I. who keep up with your status) but didn't know the exact date. When I read this entry my response was almost identical to Jessica's but my clergy training kicked in with another knee-jerk (and more appropriate) response. You know that I will be in prayer for you, buddy - and I won't be the only one at T.I. pulling for you. Keep strong in the faith and He will see you through this.
ReplyDeleteWords fail me. How does one speak of the unspeakable? I hate this news. I hate cancer. But I love you, Franken-neck and all… and I won’t love you one bit less if you lose your voice. ;-) (too soon for that joke?) Sending hugs to you and prayers to our God Most High. I pray you are able to feel His presence this week as you wait for more answers.
ReplyDeleteI love you Mom. It's never too soon for jokes. We've thrown a few around today. Laugh or cry, right?
DeleteWe love you all so very much and are praying for you all! We have never stopped lifting your name before the Lord and we won't stop now!!
ReplyDeleteLove you all,
Aunt Sandy and Uncle Steve
We love you guys dearly!!!! Xoxoxoxo ������
ReplyDelete