Today, for the first time since this whole nightmare started, I feel hopeful! We had our follow up meeting with the surgeon who did the HIPEC today. He is extremely happy with Andy’s progress and his incision looks really good! He said that all the lymph nodes that were removed, about 20 of them, came back negative for the cancer. HUGE. SIGH.

Breathe. I can breathe!

I am so relieved. I mean, SO RELIEVED! Andy was relieved too. Through all of this, I have been critical of his lack of emotion. He is just a stoic human, that is who he is. But the few times that he has shown me some sign of emotion, it has meant EVERYTHING! Honestly, I can count the times on one hand. 1: The night he told me about the cancer. We both cried, he was clearly upset. It was the first time he had even spoken the word out loud and it was terrifying. 2: The day of the colonoscopy, when the doctor said that she saw no sign of disease. He fiercely grabbed my hand, and with some short breaths and a winced face, he said in a squeaky voice, Oh thank God! As if he could have broken out immediately into tears, but he didnt. He stopped just short, and we sunk into a deep hug instead. 3: Today at the doctors office. He asked about the lymph nodes, and although we assumed that no news was good news, we still had to hear the answer. When the doctor said that the results were negative, Andy grabbed my hand once again, and squeezed it so tightly. I could hear an audible sigh of relief coming from his voice. We were both so relieved.

The fact that I wear my heart on my sleeve shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. When my emotions hit, I often overindulge them, both sadness and happiness. I act quickly, often putting my foot in my mouth or saying something sans a filter and regretting it later. This probably happens more than I would like to admit. I’ve lost long time friendships because of this and I’ve damaged relationships. I’m brash, I can be a bit overbearing (especially if I’ve had a drink or 2) and I tend to overreact. But Andy grounds me and puts me in my place, if need be. Its a dynamic that cannot be duplicated and although, as you know, the things he does sometimes infuriate me beyond belief, they are also comforting in a way that I don’t even understand.

At the doctors office, we sat there talking with the doctor and the assistant for a good 15 mins. We asked our questions and when I asked him if he were in our shoes, and knowing what he had seen in our case, what would he be most worried about, he said the disease on the small intestine. This is good to know. He said that spread to the small intestine is often difficult to treat because you can’t just remove the small intestine. He said that he definitely recommends we do the systemic chemotherapy and we not put that off.

Ok, noted. We definitely will not be putting that off. Whichever treatment course we decide on will begin in early July. We meet with the specialists the last week of June, make our decision and then move forward with the regimen. That’s our plan. It feels good to have some structure back in my life. All this waiting and loosey goosey tentative-ness is enough to drive me mad. The dr said that they would do an MRI scan (which he recommended over the CT because there is less radiation involved … which, if you have cancer, ya know, extra radiation is not really a good thing) at around the 2 month mark, before chemotherapy starts. This scan will sort of serve as the baseline for all new scans to be compared against. Even though, he said, the scan will show “thickening” because of the scar tissue and the healing that is still in progress, it will be better than nothing. I asked about the frequency of collection of the CEA and tumor markers, and he said they’d do those every 3 months. Tho he did caution that because Andy’s was already low, they might not be a good indicator of recurrence. He said that if they started out high and then got low after the surgery, that would be one thing, but because his CEA was already relatively low, it might not be the best predictive gauge. Ok, fine. But I still want it tested.

We made another follow-up appt with Dr. Glasgow, our surgeon, for 6 months. He said that he wanted to stick with our case and will be consulting with our oncologist, Dr. Rigden, who will run point for the near term. I don’t love Dr. Rigden, but I do love Dr. Glasgow, and if he trusts her, so do I.

I have learned that positivity will get you so far with the cancer journey, but having the facts and speaking with the people who hold your life, literally, in their hands, is essential. We still have yet to hear from the Sloan Kettering program, so that’s annoying, but I am hoping we hear from them today so I can start getting flights and lodging booked for our trip. That’s the last piece of this puzzle I need to get organized, then I will feel absolutely whole.