It’s been hard week. On the whole, Anne is moving in the right direction; she’s certainly doing better now than she was a week ago. But in terms of how she’s been feeling, it’s been a case of a few steps forward followed by a few steps back, over and over. The following includes some of the (slightly) gory details, so consider yourself warned if you’re squeamish.
Anne has come through surgery successfully, and after a few bumps in the road, she seems to be recovering well. The most important news coming out of surgery is that there were no visible tumors in Anne’s peritoneum, ovaries, intestines or anywhere else. We also got some good news from the pathology of the surrounding lymph nodes: only 2 of 39 had cancer. 2 is not as good as none, obviously, but it would have been VERY surprising to have no lymph nodes involved given the extent of the original appendiceal tumor. We haven’t had a chance to talk at length with the doctor about that news, so we don’t know much about the implications, and we’ll share more in a future blog post.
Tomorrow is my surgery at the University Hospital of Pennsylvania. I’m scheduled for 1:35pm, so our best guess is that I’ll be in the operating theatre around 2 and that the surgery will be about 3 hours, maybe more. We will leave for the hospital around 10:30 in the morning.
Coleman will be at the hospital during the surgery, and probably overnight with me. My parents (Scott and Beth) will be with Coleman at the hospital and will leave after the surgery. Coleman’s parents (Michael and Hilary) will be at home with our children, Samuel and Eleanor.
We have talked through lots of possibilities and contingencies, and we feel confident that this is the right decision for us. We are confident in the medical team’s skill, judgement and care. We trust the Lord for our strength. We have a great deal of peace.
Thank you for your prayers, for your love. We feel them keenly and are so encouraged by them. It is amazing to be carried by your love.
There are days when this is really hard.
Pretty much everyday there is at least one moment when this is really hard.
Cancer sucks. Incurable, chronic, stage IV, ultimately terminal cancer…it’s hardly fathomable sometimes, so hard to wrap our heads around. It steals my energy and my strength, my independence and my abilities. It’s an ugly, awful hard. Continue reading “Sitting in the hard”
On Thursday of last week Coleman and I met with our surgical oncologist, Dr. Roses, and his chief resident to discuss our options and make some plans. With all of the tests back, and several other opinions sought, he confirmed some of what we thought we understood and reaffirmed some of what we had discussed before:
– I have Stage IV cancer, which sounds terrifying, but is really just a description of how far it’s spread, not how widely, and in NET cancer is not really indicative of prognosis – many, many people are stage IV when it’s found, and have a (relatively!) good prognosis. I am barely a stage IV, and am in much better shape than many other patients at this stage. Grade, how each tumour is measured, is a better indication of prognosis, and both of my tumours were Grade 1 – the lowest, the best. Continue reading “A Plan”