It’s officially called Stage IV colon cancer, metastatic to the right lower lobe of my liver.
The unofficial name is heartbreak. I know I am not alone in a fight like this and I thought the folks who check in with this blog deserve some info, too. Here is part of an e-mail I sent to the staff at Cumulus, Knoxville.
It started with a visit to our long time family physician Dr. Dean Mire, with a complaint of a cold.
On a scheduled check of my CEA test, it showed a near doubling of the factor, from 3.1 to 6.1.
Dr, Midis scheduled a PET scan, and it indicates a mass in my liver. The scan also showed why I lost my voice. I have pneumonia.
Treatment of the pneumonia started immediately (I had already called in sick because I sounded so cruddy).
My commanding general in this fight is Dr. Greg Midis, a Fort Sanders physician who is known as a hot shot who comes from M.D. Anderson hospital. He is also a friend and a listener of Newstalk 98.7.
Proving once again the doctor’s care and effectiveness, he called me last night, saying he had been thinking about me, rather my cancer treatment, all day.
Here is the battle plan:
It will definitely involve liver surgery. Which is quite painful, I understand. God put our important parts inside the ribcage, and it has to e moved in order to get the job done. The doctor says then, the liver is pulled down and cut upon. There’s about a twelve inch incision.
Then, there is around five weeks recovery.
It will definitely involve chemotherapy. The question is whether is comes before or after surgery.
For those who might not be familiar with how this operates, so to speak, Thompson Cancer Survival Center has a cancer committee. Doctors present their cases for consideration on Tuesday mornings. That brings more minds into the fight, and its ia good thing. I’ll be assigned an oncologist who will be Dr. Midis’ wing in the fight. My treatment is in their hands.
For now, I’m working hard to beat the pneumonia which is essential before any other treatment begins. Pneumonia is dangerous in, and of, itself.
This time, I am scared, and worried. Not scared of my ultimate destination from this life, but scared of the pain, as any normal human might be. and worried over what my family will have to do with endless “work around” and compensation for my down time.
So that is exactly where I stand right now, in my jammies, loaded with Levaquin and Combivent,
and pondering these words from Jereimiah:
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
And I’ll hang my hat on that promise any day.
As they say…. stay tuned.