Qualified Good News

We finally met our oncologist today and while we didn't come out of the appointment singing and dancing like Gene Kelly in Singin' In the Rain, we left feeling more positive about things than we have in a week. We still don't know a lot but we know more than we knew going in. If nothing else, we are relieved just to feel as if we are moving forward somehow. Granted, we've got plenty more "hurry up and wait" in the immediate future, but at least it feels like a more directed hurry up and wait.

This is the version of Singing in the Rain we can relate to.

The appointment began with the doctor more confused than we were. In response to a pre-appointment bet, Karen blurted "So Doc, give it to me straight" like James Cagney whereupon I promptly paid her a dollar. A good laugh was had by all except for the doctor who likely added "Check for brain cancer" right then and there on his To Do list.

The big news is that there is no big news. That said, we did find out some things for certain. Let's start with the good. Our doctor said that the spots on the liver that had worried the ER personnel were most likely cysts and nothing to worry about. Although future tests could change that assessment, the doctor is fairly certain we're good there. Also, the scary-ass observation that there was a problem with Karen's lymph nodes was confirmed but promptly deflated: since the nodes in question are actually in her lungs, it's not really an issue since it hasn't spread to other nodes. It's like having a skunk in your bedroom. If it stinks up the closet too, well, it's not like it's really made things worse. If the skunk starts spraying ass juice all over the kitchen and dedicated macrame-and-scrapbooking nook, you're screwed. Also, the biopsy confirmed that this was lung cancer that started in her lungs meaning, again, that it hadn't violated the big Do Not Migrate rule of cancer by moving into her lungs from, oh, let's say, her childlike sense of wonder.

This is all good news but it's super-qualified good news. Karen is going to have to have a PET scan on her body and an MRI on her brain (doubtlessly thanks to our stupid bet) to be certain there has been no spread of the cancer. So this preliminary bit of happiness could well be reversed.

The bad news. As Dr. Sirott so poetically put it, "This is an ugly cancer." I got to see the CT scan for the first time and it's dramatic. The tumor is a good three inches across and progressively squeezes the bronchial tube until it's not much bigger than a pinhole. On a scale of 1 to 10 where 1 is not a big deal and 10 is what you get for sleepovers in Chernobyl, Karen's cancer is a 7. It is inoperable and therefore it is incurable. That said, it can be beaten into submission in a manner similar to many memorable Steve Buscemi characters.

The Buscemi character we intend to emulate with Karen's cancer.

There will be more tests in the next week and half. A PET scan, an MRI, and another biopsy since the first biopsy was inconclusive as to which sub-type of cancer Karen has. Once all that info is in, we will be able to address all the big questions like what stage it is, what the prognosis is, and what treatment we will undertake. The answers to all these and more will come December 12 when we meet again with Dr. Sirott.

Thanks for all the warm wishes and concern. They are a source of strength for us. We're lucky to have such good friends and family.

STATUS UPDATE

• The spots on Karen's liver are likely cysts and not cancer. Future tests will confirm this.
• The affected lymph nodes are in Karen's lungs and not elsewhere in her body.
• The above two points mean that the cancer hasn't spread which is good.
• But there's still a chance it might have spread elsewhere. A PET scan and MRI will answer this.
• The cancer originated in the lungs and hasn't spread to the lungs from another site.
• The cancer is inoperable and incurable. But it is treatable.
• On a scale of 1 to 10 where 10 is terrible cancer, Karen's is a 7.
• Once other tests are complete we will know what is what and can settle on a treatment plan.

Bad Santa

Tomorrow we have our first oncology appointment and we expect that a number of questions should be answered. The sense of nervous anticipation is kind of like Christmas Eve flipped upside down and sideways  then dunked in a portable toilet, with  both of us looking forward to and dreading what we will hear.

There should be a status update late tomorrow so check back.

Dear Safeway Employee, Please Accept Our Apologies

While much of life is a lot grimmer shot through a cancer filter, some things are absolutely hysterical. Case in point: meaningless small talk!

Why are you laughing like demons?

Oh how the Coffeys have laughed knowingly at every service employee unlucky enough to ask "How's your day?" or "Having a good one?" Miranda and I chuckled darkly when the nice Safeway lady scanning our yogurt asked us "How is everything?" She was a bit taken aback by our laughter but smiled and added, "I guess I shouldn't have asked!" Just as Miranda and I were settling down the very nice and sweet and totally undeserving of this fine lady opined "As long as everyone has their health, right?" We guffawed. She looked about ready to have whatever security they have at Safeway escort us out.

Oh, Cancer! You're such a saucy scamp!

Yakov Motherfucking Smirnoff

So here we are a full week in to our new reality and it still feels profoundly unreal but I’m guessing that isn’t going to change anytime soon or probably ever. There’s an infinitely looped Sam Kinison scream competing with the worst knock-off Yakov Smirnoff joke ever for full-time residency in my brain but other than that I am coping pretty well. Well, except for the three or four times I basically “woke up” during my bike ride this afternoon and wondered just where I was. But that’s me and what really matters right now is Karen.

So a quick recap of recent events: Karen has cancer. That’s it in a very nasty little nutshell.

A larger nutshell would include the following: there is a malignant growth in her right lung compressing one of her bronchial tubes. We also believe there is cancer in her liver and lymph nodes but we haven’t had the tests or biopsies to 100% confirm that at this time. We are meeting with an oncologist Tuesday November 27 and will begin mapping out our battle plan then.

Despite the fact that the planet suddenly reversed course beneath her, Karen is handling this with breathtaking grace but that’s not really surprising. As a family we are gleefully redefining the boundaries of black humor. Everyone is rattled but everyone is coping admirably. I expect that could change as this invisible threat becomes more clearly defined in the days and months ahead.

We are blessed to have so many concerned friends and family that want to hear every bit of news that we are slapping this blog up on the Internet to keep you all up to date. As much as we love hearing from all of you, a constantly ringing phone really screws up our Homeland and House Hunters Renovation viewing. I’ll be posting status updates as things develop and summarizing them in every post for easy access. These concise updates will allow you to skip right past my BFA-fueled deluded-typist ramblings to focus on whatever news there is.

In between my little blackouts while pedaling today, one thought kept crossing my mind: In Soviet Russia, you don’t get cancer, cancer gets you! It is utterly and profoundly stupid but it has a lot more truth to it than that asshat Yakov Smirnoff ever did. It feels like we are in the grip of something and we have to get away, we are hostages fighting for escape.

We are going to kick Yakov’s ass.

STATUS UPDATE

•   Biopsy has confirmed a malignant growth in the right lung. This growth is compressing a bronchial tube which causes coughing and makes breathing tougher than normal.
•      There is another lesser growth in the same lung.
• ·         A CAT scan has revealed evidence of more cancer in the liver and lymph nodes. These are not yet confirmed through biopsy or other tests.
  ·         We don’t know the type of cancer this is or where it originated.
  ·         We don’t know the stage of the cancer at this time.
  ·         Our first meeting with our oncologist is this coming Tuesday, November 27.