Or as I intend to call it, “Four hours waiting in a cold, windowless room.”

Because we truly waited for 4 hours. For a 15-minute appointment with the surgeon.

GAH.

Look, we’re pretty patient people. But it is truly torture to put a cancer patient with cold sensitivity into a freezing cold room and make them wait it out for FOUR HOURS before telling them whether or not you can actually save their life.

Because those are the stakes. Getting the cancer out is really important. And until today, we didn’t know if that was even a possibility.

Aaaand the good news is, for the liver at least, it is a straightforward robotic surgery that will likely be performed after chemo is complete. They know where the spot is, they know it is shrinking, and can snatch it out “easily.”

So, that’s awesome.

We will meet with the other surgeon on March 1, and they will discuss options for the lungs. One new piece of information that just made sense today is that if the lesions on his lungs get too small, they will be hard to see/remove. And cancer is a sneaky bugger – if there’s even one cell there, it can grow.

So we’re pretty much in the same place we were before, we just know that one more part of the treatment plan will work.

To sum up:

Step 1 – remove large main tumor and surrounding lymph nodes. Margins were clean, and only 1 lymph node had cancer. (that’s good – means there weren’t tons of them just spraying cancer all around.) DONE

Step 2 – systemic chemo – 12 treatments of FOLFOX + Avastin. Completed 7/12 and we know it’s working

Step 3 – removal/laser ablation of tumors in lungs (of which there are 4 teeeeeeny tiny ones) We will find out whether it is possible on March 1st.

Step 4 – The “easy” part – removal of the tumor on his liver. (Did you know you could surgically remove 2/3 of your liver and be totally fine? There’s your fun fact for the day.)

Outcome – hypothetically, “no evidence of disease” which as close as they’ll get to saying “cure” in our world.

Next time we have a doctor’s appointment at UNC, I’m bringing a cooler full of beer and snacks and a heated blanket.

 

Warning: this blog post may contain content only suitable for an immature audience.

Dear family and friends,

I know many of you that keep up with the goings on by reading the blog have contributed to the go fund me campaign, helped with meals, sent gift card or positive thoughts and I can not thank you enough. You all mean the world to me and while I don’t feel deserving, as Sarah, Conor, and I are incredibly fortunate even in a tough situation, please know your kindness has not been missed and I look forward to my opportunity to do my part for others once we are on the other side of this. So, thank you.

Now most importantly and why I imagine you have read this far, I had another CT scan with IV contrast done yesterday and got the results today. The results were very positive and my oncologist is pleased. The largest tumor on my liver went from 2.6cm down to 1.5cm and the ones in my lungs followed suit, which also means the free floaters that may be in my blood stream should be getting taken out as well. They are monitoring a couple of my side effects but the current plan is for them to keep turning the screws to me cause it is working. So there is much to celebrate as I sit here at the start of treatment 7 of 12. I will be meeting with two surgeons in the coming weeks to discuss the possibility of surgical procedures on both my liver and lung to remove anything the chemo may not have eliminated once I have been through all 12 treatments. I know my beautiful bride will continue to update you all and can’t thank her enough for everything she does for me.

Dear Cancer,
Fuck you…

Warm regards,
Preston

 

We’re very nearly to the halfway point on the currently prescribed chemo. P has finished 6 rounds of pretty intense FOLFOX. (The dosage is so high the nurses routinely go, “holy shit” as they’re hooking him up to the IV.)

Though the treatment is by no means easy for anyone in our house, he is fortunate that he is spared some of the more dramatic and outward effects of chemo like losing his hair and throwing up. The fatigue is tough, but P has been walking regularly with his dad (hooray for Jim!) and, since taking a leave from work, is able to rest when he needs to.

The worst part about chemo for me (and P would probably tell you the same thing) is that he’ll be feeling pretty good this week, but just knowing he has to go right back in and get poison pumped into him… well, let’s just say neither of us sleep well the night before.

We will, however, know very soon if the chemo is working. On Monday, P will have a colored CT scan that will show if his remaining tumors (in his liver and lungs) have shrunk. I have faith that it is working, but damn it will be good to see proof.

The oncologist will share the results and plan with us on Tuesday. As far as I know, if it’s working, they’ll discuss the possibility for surgery and/or six more rounds of chemo.

It often seems like we’ve come so far, but then I am reminded that it is still quite a long road.

As always, thanks to all of you for your love and support. Send up a prayer/good vibes/pleasant thoughts early next week, please. I’ll keep you posted.