It was a long day. I often feel like a little factory whose only function is to manufacture tiny fragments of courage that will float like cartoon icebergs, allowing me to avoid the frigid waters below. This deliberate creation is the very definition of Fierce Hope. It is the kind of hope that is coiled like a snake in the corner, ready to strike when needed.
I had my first of many meetings today with the cancer team at Penn State Hershey Medical Center. While I’d love to report it went smoothly, it was actually a bit bumpy. We found out plenty of our scans and records had not made it to them. A change-over in care from the California / Nevada hospitals to the East Coast was mostly to blame. So, much of our time was spent figuring out what they needed and what tests I still need to have done, therefore, I don’t have much to report on my condition today.
The primary oncologist did make sure to remind Amy and I that this is palliative (end of life) care only that we are receiving from them and not “curative.” We already knew that this was an incurable and aggressive cancer that I have, so neither of us were shocked. I did attempt to get the doctor to give me a general idea of how much time I can expect to survive (I suggested 3 months to a year as an example to him), but he declined and said he may be able to do that when more of the tests come in. Things remain pretty bleak strictly from a medical standpoint.
As many of you know, we’ve been trying to arrange some kind of brief family trip (possibly to Orlando) and the doctor emphasized that this, right now, may be the best I ever feel again and to take that trip ASAP before I begin treatment. One reason for this is that he doesn’t anticipate any break in my chemotherapy once it is started. Unlike some patients, my treatments will be continuous until they can figure out if it is working. This is also where a tiny glimmer of hope remains. If the chemo works extremely well, I MAY be eligible to have a section of my liver tumors surgicly removed. I joked with Amy that I know I am in bad shape when I hope to get healthy enough to have a chunk of my liver removed!
Special thanks to everyone for the generous financial support you’ve sent along. Amy and I have been using the gifts to support our move back across the country and our very survival. We are also extremely grateful for the support of loved ones, friends, and our church family who have helped in countless ways to make this move possible so that we can be with our family and support network. My heart breaks with gratitude for all of you who have taken time to subscribe to the blog, offer support, and share our story.
Best to everyone and thank you all
I am part of the load
Not rightly balanced
I drop off in the grass,
like the old Cave-sleepers, to browse
wherever I fall.
For hundreds of thousands of years I have been dust-grains
floating and flying in the will of the air,
often forgetting ever being
in that state, but in sleep
I migrate back. I spring loose
from the four-branched, time -and-space cross,
this waiting room.
I walk into a huge pasture
I nurse the milk of millennia
Everyone does this in different ways.
Knowing that conscious decisions
and personal memory
are much too small a place to live,
every human being streams at night
into the loving nowhere, or during the day,
in some absorbing work