Wednesday, July 13, 2016
I might as well get straight to the bad news: it appears that the cancer has metastasized to the liver.
I knew this before even seeing the oncologist, since radiology sends the report to me directly via email. (The oncologist hates that they do this, but I like it because I'd rather have an inkling ahead of time rather than be blindsided by the news at the clinic.) The radiologist report reads (referring to the liver):
Interval development ill-defined segment 7 hypodensity (3/106), measuring 1.6
cm this concerning for metastasis.
(That's a copy, complete with missing verbs and punctuation.) To be certain that the "ill-defined segment" is cancer would require a biopsy, but based on my history and the scan, the oncologist seems to have little doubt. He thinks I should begin "therapy" immediately, which brings me to the decision point.
The easier decision is what form of therapy to choose. Although there are some newer options that I've mentioned before, I would go with the devil I know, namely the delicious cisplatinum-gemcitabine cocktail, the Nectar of the Gods, served on 8th floor Southeast. The oncologist agrees. The hard decision is whether to do it at all, and if so, when.
One frequently sees obituaries of so-and-so who died "after a long, courageous battle with cancer".
While I have great admiration for such courage, I'm not sure I have it and in any case a "long battle" may not be the path for me. One side of me wants to say screw it, let's forget chemo entirely.
If I had a crystal ball and knew that to a high probability the cancer would get me in a couple of years no matter what, I would definitely forgo therapy and focus on enjoying life while I still feel good, rather than eke out a bit more time at the cost of feeling miserable. I don't know that I have the guts, though, for this all-or-nothing gamble.
On the other hand, the thought of spending the rest of my summer on chemo is not very appealing. In fall at least I could use it as an excuse to get out of committee meetings. My idea would be to
wait until we're back from Italy, but the oncologist is strongly against waiting that long. He has
emphasized on several occasions that bladder cancer can be very aggressive, so I understand his point, but we're talking two months and a patient who (if I do say so myself) has consistently defied the norms. Naturally, the oncologist is going to be conservative and thinks of worst-case scenarios.
At any rate, for the moment I am scheduled to begin chemo next Thursday. The theory is that I would squeeze in two 3-week cycles before leaving for Italy, then take a break. But I've told them that I'm not yet committed to doing this, and may cancel. It's a gamble, yes. That's the decision I have to make. Curse you, ill-defined segments!
Well, enough of that. Apart from my annoying bladder symptoms, I still feel perfectly fine. We just got back from a wonderful vacation in Sunriver with Jessie and family: Hiking, biking, waterslides, bumper-cars, mini-golf, climbing walls, watching the Mariners (if you miss an inning, Kaia can fill you in with an accurate blow-by-blow summary). Anyway, to stay grounded I always like to end with a kid-quote:
I was about to tell Kaia and Finley the latest episode of a series of stories about them, in which they
usually rescue mischievous kittens Fluffy and Tuffy from various evil-doers such as the Three-headed Wafflesnort and the nefarious Dr. Drooly Trashit. The title of this one was "Kaia and Finley build a time machine". I began with a preview, knowing that they'll want to add lots of details.
Me: You'll go way back in time, to the days of the wooly mammoths.
Kaia: The Ice Age!
Me: Yes, and then you'll go back even further, to when dinosaurs roamed the earth.
Kaia: And men first walked on the moon!
Me: Now wait a minute, when men first walked on the moon I was just out of high school.
Kaia: Well, that WAS a long time ago.
Until the next post this is Herr Professor Doctor "Steve-asaurus" Mitchell signing off...