<p>Thanks to everyone for all of the lovely posts, and Calmom, thank you especially for yours, as it helped me a great deal to put things into perspective. I am also 48 and with several months to go before 49. You are quite correct in all of your points, and your taking the time to get into specificity does get me to a far healthier frame of mind. </p>
<p>My daughter is asleep now; todayâs news has her in substantial shock. She was with me at my appointment this morning (she attends all doctors appointments) and she is sort of stunned and confused. My oncologist at one point said âthe cancer in your lung is GONEâ, but, when I asked to see the radiologistâs report, it clearly says there is new activity and new uptake in the lung, and, when I asked him how to reconcile the written report against his statement, he couldnât explain it. He sort of weaved a web of words to say that this didnât mean cancer and this and that, and that the radiologistâs writing was just âschemanticsâ (sp?) and that he was going to have to talk to the radiologist to clarify, however, the written report doesnât read in an encouraging manner, identifying two new areas of uptake, and literally summarizing the entire matter as âinterval progressionâ. Itâs very, very clear to me exactly what it says, and I donât see where any clarification is necessary because there is absolutely no ambiguity in what the radiologist wrote. </p>
<p>Unlike perhaps 99% of his patients I have studied radiologist reports re PET and CT scan very intensely for the last three months and I am reasonably confident that I know when to be alarmed. To my mind, that is a very, very dangerous situation, and my oncologist should have taken it far more seriously. (The decision to order MRIs strikes me as bizarre.) But I had to explain all of this to my daughter, as she was listening to the oncologistâs words, and, she hasnât read the million or so reports and documents and case studies that I have, every last one of which tell me that progression in first line treatment with this particular cancer is disastrous. And, she is trying to somehow factor this against the physical view of her mother - very active, traveling, engaged in the world, never sick; we came straight home from the doctor and (through shear force of will) I conducted a two hour trans-national conference call on technology issues with some clients, as if nothing in the world were even remotely wrong. (Amazing how elastic our minds can be.) But my daughter observed this and she isnât quite grasping the conflict re the disastrous news and her outwardly healthy, fully functional, calm and rational mother. I have explained to her the sequencing of chemotherapies, the typical disease course of small cell, and how the best possible chance to beat this is right away, and that never or rarely do results improve after first line, and that I almost certainly just lost my single chance, and, she is not really obsorbing that I think. Worse, she heard my oncologist say that there is still a chance of remission, and, I have had to explain to her that in spite of his medical degree I cannot afford to sit still and be complacent: I cannot sit still and wait around for MRIs and casual decisions and idle speculation. </p>
<p>On some level too it is simply beyond all imagination to her that I can be defeated by this, especially considering that I have enjoyed excellent health all of my life. Even today I am not on a single medication of any kind.</p>
<p>Having said that, I am not giving up - not by a long shot, although I have come to terms with certain realities. If I am destined to lose this battle, at least I will do so in the city that captures my interests so intensely, and in close physical proximity to my most important clients, and doing the work that I love more than anything in the world. I never, ever want to stop doing my work regardless of how much time I have left or even how sick I may become, and, if I die at my desk on Pennsylvania Avenue, doing the work I love so much and serving my clients, thatâs completely o.k. with me.</p>
<p>So my car is loaded and (against the advice of ALL of my friends), I will make the 16 hour drive to Washington beginning tomorrow morning. My daughter will make the decision to go with me or not when she wakes up in the morning. Another friend is threatening to fly to Miami tonight so she can make the drive with me. Regardless, Iâm ready to go; I have an appointment with my Arlington oncologist Friday morning and so itâs pretty important I get there on time. He is deeply corkscrewed into U.S. Oncology as well as part of a specifically designated lung cancer center so I am convinced this is the best I can do. </p>
<p>I also have an appointment with MSK later in February, so I can work with that if I need to. </p>
<p>Arlington is good; so that I do not ever have to be alone, two very good, kind friends are waiting for me in my rental house. I have given them both a description of the ugliest possible scenario I can think of in terms of what death by lung cancer is like, and, they have both sworn it doesnât matter and that theyâre going to be there for me and that they WANT to be there for me. For this I am very, very grateful. Many people - especially the elderly - go through this scary situation all alone (the horrid details are in the millions of documents Iâve read recently) and I am so blessed that at least I will have significant support. </p>
<p>When I do become very, very worried, I simply think of Randy Pausch, or visit his website to see if there are updates. He faces a far more heartbreaking scenario in terms of his three young children. At least God has granted me the opportunity to see my daughter through college, for which I am very, very grateful.</p>