Tag: adenocarcinoma

Plan B

Where I currently find myself, staring at Plan B, which is scheduled for Monday, May 6th. A mere 2 days from today. This plan involves a surgery which has been dubbed MOAS, the Mother Of All Surgeries. It includes a cytoreductive surgery, plus the right colectomy and any debulking that needs to be done, combined with a procedure called HIPEC. It is a 12-16 hour surgery in which the team goes in and removes all (or as much of) the visible tumors as possible. They take each organ and inspect it for tumor nodes and resect (remove) as many as possible. Then they do a targeted chemotherapy treatment directly in the abdomen. Its awful. My husbands body will literally be spread open and his insides exposed for hours. The infection rate is dismal, the opportunity for something to go wrong is high. Its terrifying. But so is having stage IV cancer. What is our other option? Do a traditional chemotherapy treatment, which, I think, through the research I’ve done, I know not to be very effective for this PMP type of cancer.

I have good days and bad days. I am trying to stay as positive as possible but my mind is consumed with this barbaric procedure that my husband will have to endure. I’ve been trying to keep busy with work, but as soon as I start something, my mind immediately comes back to this. I am so lucky to have a job that supports me and is understanding of what I’m going through. I know not everyone is as lucky as I am in terms of flexibility and I cannot imagine having someone hold job performance over your head as you’re dealing with this. Like you don’t have enough to worry about. And me? My job? My P1 team and my opportunity that I had been working for, waiting for? That was on hold. In life you have few chances to choose the right thing. To prove to yourself and to the people who you hold most dear that they are truly your priority. My family is my #1 priority and there was no question in my mind, this wasn’t a choice. When they need me most, I will be there. Everything else gets moved to the back burner. Period.

What I am yet to understand is how this thing could have spread so uncontrollably with absolutely NO physical symptoms!! I mean, how does that happen? One of the reasons we were so convinced that Plan A was going to be our path was because my husband was completely fine! I mean, if someone had stage 4 cancer, you would think they would be exhibiting some kind of symptoms, right? You see people with stage 4 cancer on their death bed, not up, frolicking around with their 4 year old and living a completely normal life. How did this get so out of control so quickly? And why did they not resect it when they first saw it at the last surgery?? All these questions roll through my head with no time left to ask them before the surgery on Monday. I didn’t even have time to get a second opinion before all this was set into motion. Now, if we pump the breaks, we basically risk the cancer spreading more prolifically and being worse — a risk I am not willing to take. I am convinced enough and have enough evidence from the research I’ve done to know that this HIPEC is our best hope, so the fact that our doctor is using this as a strategy to attack the cancer is good enough for me at this point. But I am worried. I recently connected with a facebook group for people with appendix cancers, PMP and PSM. And the thing that EVERYONE keeps telling me is to get with a specialist who knows about appendix cancers. Our doctor does not, he is not an appendix specialist, but he is the only one in our area who knows how to do HIPEC and if we end our journey with him after the HIPEC and seek out someone who is more experienced with my husbands specific cancer, we do that. But we’re sticking with him through the procedure.

But what happens after that?

I didn’t get a chance to even ask that question. Never in a million years did I think I’d be in this position, but also, never did I think that we’d have to resort to Plan B, so I never asked any of the questions around Plan B — and what comes after it. Is it a round of traditional chemo? Has that recently been found to be effective? I have no idea what’s next.

Plan A

On April 26, 2019, my husbands surgery was scheduled. This surgery coincided with not only my 17 year olds Junior Prom, but also my middle child’s 14th Birthday. When it rains, it pours.

We were scheduled for surgery at 2pm. We knew that the plan was to go in there, do a bit of exploratory work, confirm that the cancer had not spread, and then do the right colectomy. This was supposed to take 2+ hours. I didnt know what was going to happen, but I did know that we needed this surgery to take 2+ hours, because if it was shorter, that was bad news.

We got to the hospital around 11:30am. My husband got checked in, and we began the agonizing process of waiting. They called him back and he was allowed to take 2 people with him, so I went. They put him in a bay, had him bag his clothes and belongings and take off his wedding ring, which I took and hung around my neck on a necklace I was wearing. He put on a hospital gown, bare butt and all, and he laid down. Its so surreal to go voluntarily into these types of situations. You hear about people having surgery and having cancer and you always think that this is forced upon them. Like they are dragged kicking and screaming into the room or something — maybe a bit ridiculous, lol But you certainly do not think its such the mundane process that it actually is.

As they hook him up to monitors and tubes I start to feel myself getting anxious. But Andy, he’s the picture of calm. Up to and including this point, he feels completely fine! He is completely asymptomatic. He feels fine, he looks fine, he has no pain, no special diet he has to follow, he is, for all intents and purposes, healthy as a horse … except that he has cancer. He went in to work each day since his diagnosis, he had been a complete rock while I was a total basketcase. Back in the hospital, the nurses tell me its time to say our “see you laters” … I guess goodbye would be too ominous, lol But I can’t help but start to panic. I grab the plastic bag with my husbands things in it, I wrap my arms around him and I tell him he is my everything. I tell him I love him and I cannot live without him. Then I leave. Through tear soaked eyes, I find my way out to the waiting area, where I sit, and cry. The whole time I’m nervous. I keep pacing back and forth. I go between being calm and being a mess. 45 mins after the procedure begins, we get a page from the front desk to head to a conference room through a side door.

I knew what this meant.

The surgery had not gone as they’d planned. I broke down and started sobbing into my dads arms. Dr. Glasgow came into the room and talked to us. He confirmed that the cancer had spread to 2 other organs, the small intestine and the peritoneal wall. Andy was in stage 4 cancer. They did not do the right colectomy as planned, they backed out and closed Andy up, and moved to Plan B. My husband was in recovery and was able to go home within the next hour.

Oh my God. It metastasized. Oh my God, how could this have happened? This puts him in that horrible survival rate statistic range! Not him. Not my Andy. No fucking way.

Dr. Glasgow had taken pictures of the spread and since I had become an information junkie, I needed to see this cancer. I needed to put a face with this enemy! And here it was. It looked like fish eggs. You’ve got to me kidding me!!? This. This is what we’re dealing with? Just take them out! Cut that shit out and let’s be done with all this! Patience has never been my thing.

Plan B. That’s the plan we hadn’t considered because we knew Plan A was going to be all he needed. This little shitty had spread to 2 other organs in a matter of 4 weeks! That was just unbelievable to me! It is still unbelievable to me considering the entire time, you would have never of known he was sick at all! But here we are. Stage IV cancer. On to Plan B.