The surgical plan

I just wrote a REALLY long post about my thoughts on the ACA debate happening at the federal level (and kitchen tables everywhere!)

But, before I release that in to the big, blue world, let me give you an update on P.

Yesterday, he wrapped up 11/12 chemo treatments.

“Only one more!” I said, to which he replied,

“No ‘only’ about it.”

Lesson being – chemo continues to be a very tough physical and mental battle.

After his next treatment, he’ll get scans and then a small chemo break before surgeries.

He’ll begin with his liver, and then, in what we expect to be rapid-fire succession, the two lung surgeries.

Liver will be in Chapel Hill (I assure you, even with the fact that they are helping to save his life, this will not make me a UNC fan) and the two lung surgeries down the road at Rex.

As my boss, Ret, said “Your village stands ready for whatever comes next!” and they do, so now it’s just a matter of chugging through the next two months before the upheaval begins again.

We’ve got trips to the River planned and I have taken a few days off to take Conor to some fun places around town as a family. Preston will get three weeks to feel relatively normal – something that hasn’t happened since somewhere in August 2016. (a note – sometimes that feels like a really long time ago, and sometimes not so much.)

Oh, and get your fave casserole recipes ready, because come surgery time, I’m going to take all of you up on the meal offers. 🙂

The Most Magical Place on Earth

Last week, we boarded a plane (Conor’s first) and high tailed it down to Florida for a long-planned trip to Disney World. We planned it back last summer – long before, you know, all of the crap – and thought long and hard about whether we should still go.

We realize we have been the beneficiaries of very generous friends and family. We wondered, “Would this seem tacky? Will people see this as a ‘waste’?”

Well, friends, it took us about 24 hours to remember that every single one of you would be delighted for us to go on this trip, because we really, really needed some magic in our lives.

So. We went. And it was so incredibly lovely. It was exactly what the Mann/Willcox clan needed.

First things first – without Kristin Staley of Kristin’s Magical Bookings (kristinsmagicalbookings (at) gmail.com) this trip WOULD NOT have happened. We planned this a while ago, and she literally kept up with everything the whole time. Made fast pass reservations. Made sure we didn’t miss important deadlines. Wrote out an entire travel plan complete with tips. For a Disney novice like myself, it was beyond helpful.

We spent 4 full days there – 2 at Magic Kingdom, 1 at Animal Kingdom, and C had a day at the resort while P and I hit up Harry Potter World. Both sets of grandparents came for part of the trip. We rode all kinds of rides. Conor met Mickey Mouse (twice). We stayed in pirate-themed rooms. We had fun and left before it stopped being fun.

In addition to the regular magic of Disney, a friend of P’s found out that we were going down there and sent some extra pixie dust our way. We had VIP access to shows and the parade, and met some folks that made even more magic happen – gifts in our room, extra fast passes, access to characters – so many people were so very lovely.

You’ve heard me say this before, and I’m not going to stop – we are so very, very fortunate. I am grateful that we were able to go and make some beautiful memories. As we head into what is sure to be a challenging Spring, this was a much-needed breath of fresh air.

Oh, the important part – pictures!

From Preston: Strength in Vulnerability

Warning the first: Mom don’t read this at work

Warning the second: This is probably going to be intense for some and contain questionably offensive language beyond my normal lack of mastery of the English language.

Let it begin…. This entire blog started when I was laying the hospital bed recovering from an emergency colectomy to remove the tumor and source of my metastatic colon cancer that had formed a near complete blockage in my system. Sarah asked if I would be ok with her keeping a blog about what we were currently dealing with and what was to come. She asked not because I don’t support her in everything she does but from knowing I am actually very reserved about sharing personal information and that there was not going to be a way to share her story without sharing mine. During our discussion after I said, “yes of course go for it, but only if you are doing it for you not others.” This led to us talking about why blog about it at all and we came to two conclusions.

  1. It is an efficient way to share news and the progress more broadly then texting, calling or emailing everyone.
  2. Maybe there is a chance we can have some impact on someone else’s life or understanding by sharing our story.

It is number two that brings me to writing this post. I have already contributed more than I ever thought I would but feel this is the post I was meant to write no matter how difficult it is for me.

Strength:

I had an incredibly emotionally charged weekend and it brought me some clarity and inspiration and insight I needed. My weekend consisted of hanging out with some of my favorite people on this planet and seeing one of the people who have inspired me for a long time but especially of late in Laura Jane Grace the lead singer of the band AgainstMe! who for those of you who are unaware of her is a woman, who in the world of rock and roll no less, was brave enough to transition from Tom Gable to the person she was meant to be. No, I am not coming out as wanting to be identified as a woman though frankly I know if that was the case the people who read this would understand and support me in the incredible way you have all along this journey and before. But the way she has inspired me as I was watching the show (which was bloody incredible) is as a former mediocre performing musician I began thinking about the pure bravery it takes to walk on stage and perform songs you have poured your soul into in front of a crowd of people, who many may be there just to get fucked up and have a ruckus time, because it is who you are and what you love. Then I thought one step further about the strength that takes and thought about the book she wrote about her life experience and transition that I have just started reading because I had heard it was super intense and frankly until recently have had enough to deal with in the intensity of my day to day. My epiphany while thinking about this over the past few days especially was that by not sharing more openly from my side of this story I was not helping achieve this goal of helping people with understanding and was only doing so out of my own fear of vulnerability.

After already thinking and struggling with this realization and concept, Sunday night I was wide awake at 2 am because I don’t sleep really well anymore and like I tend to do in that situation, I started down the Netflix documentary wormhole and came across a documentary titled “Be Here Now.” It follows actor Andy Whitfield (star of the show Spartacus) and his family’s experience after his being diagnosed with Lymphoma.

Warning the third: Sarah has already been warned but Mom and Dad don’t watch it, you already live it day to day with me. Not that it is going to be an easy watch for the rest of you.

But, I bring it up and put it here because it is a beautifully powerful documentary and other then one major differences in the progression of the story (Spoiler alert: His was 80% curable at the start and declines from there while mine is the exact opposite) there was a lot of it where I felt like I was watching myself in the third person. A lot of people I know desire to better understand what it is like, not that I have the courage and strength he shows in the film, but I very frequently get asked how I am able to be have such a positive attitude while faced with the situation I am in. This documentary does an awe-inspiring job of the “why,” the “how,” and what the day to day life is like of a stage 4 cancer patient so please watch it if you are curious. I know they will never see this but I feel it is important to say thank you to him and his family for having the bravery to share their journey because it is captured on such a personal level to be intrusive but it made me feel not so isolated in my journey, so Thank you.

Then last night I watched my good friend Mike Casey perform stand up magic to a packed house in downtown Raleigh. I have known Mike for going on 11 years and seen through being around him what a commitment to a passion, a whole damn lot of work, and willingness to put yourself out there for a craft that many people question or discount the validity of as a true performance art , though no one that has seen Mike perform feels that way or if they do I will cut them :-). That was round three and the proverbial kick in the ass to write this post… in three days I had seen three instances of people showing the strength to put it all out there for one reason or another no matter the judgement and now it is my turn.

Vulnerability:

Here is my story from my perspective, this past fall I started experiencing sharp pain in my abdomen and groin (it is the second one that got me to go to urgent care!). While at urgent care they did a CT scan because they thought I might have any number of the “ITIS” diseases such as Diverticulitis or Colitis or Crohns…. But in that scan the technician saw what they thought might be scar tissue on the very bottom of my lungs “probably from pneumonia as a child” and decided it was probably a good idea that I get a more complete scan done, this led to more testing and more scans over the next several weeks. I was tested for everything from a hernia to STDs to Tuberculosis because the suspicions from the scans and the bloodwork plus my demographics just didn’t make sense for what they feared it could be.

It was a Friday morning in October 2016 and I had just gotten off a call for work when I got the call from my newly acquired Primary care doctor (I didn’t have one cause I had not needed to go to the doctor for over 5 years) on the call this stranger I had met once says to me “Preston we don’t have anything conclusive but I am going to be setting up an appointment next Tuesday  for you to see the Oncologist at Rex because it appears you have metastatic colon cancer that has spread to your liver and lungs. I am so sorry to have to tell you this over the phone. But if anything changes in your current condition over the weekend you need to go straight to the emergency room.”  …click……silence……realization……silence…….

This was the hardest day of my life, not only did I have to accept that I was 31 years old with a cancer diagnosis that has a survival rate of less than 10% past five years from date of diagnosis. But also that I had to tell my wife when she got home, call my parents, and what do I do about my three year old son…….

That weekend was the only time I have been scared. Not scared for myself but of knowing what it could mean and the idea of leaving Sarah and Conor was and is the only thing I fear. It is completely selfish because they are incredible and would be just fine, I just don’t want to miss anything of the life we have.

After this it was a whirlwind of surgeries, getting an official diagnosis and then starting chemo every two weeks. But it was that weekend and the acceptance I had to come too of my own mortality that controls my attitude. So, when people are impressed with my positivity and outlook I think it is important for you all to understand that it isn’t a brave face or putting up a front of strength, it is coming from a place of acceptance of my situation, my unwillingness to let it control my present, and that I just see the world through a different lens now. So, please don’t give me the damaged puppy look when I tell you I am doing fine because I am.

Yes, Chemo sucks.

No, I am not looking forward to three more surgeries post these last three chemo treatments.

Yes, it does make me feel like shit and I spend my days in a constant state of discomfort.

No, I am not always strong and sometimes I am mentally defeated especially when hooked to the machine pumping nuclear waste through my body for 2 days and don’t feel like leaving my bedroom never the less the house.

Yes, side effects are real, I am not vomiting all the time thanks to modern medicine. But I can’t hold anything cold without feeling like it is cutting me and my hands often hurt and don’t work how they are supposed to all the time anymore and I have numbness in my lips and tongue that doesn’t go away and because I continue to be the less than 1%, a weird jaw locking thing that my doctors have only ever heard of once before.

No, I am not discouraged by the negative impacts this has had on my life such as losing my job, not knowing what tomorrow brings, inability to do what I want when I want because of reasons and needs beyond my control or discomfort. This is because I know there are greater things to come for me and the fact that I may be the luckiest cancer patient in history helps. My support system is incredible and I am crushing all the odds. Additionally, it is impossible for me not to feel fortunate while going to a cancer center for treatment every other week and seeing the people broken by this fucked up, awful, indiscriminate disease.

The moral of all of this and my reason for sharing is I hope you get a little better idea of what this is like from my point of view and how it is to deal with this type of situation so young. It is also to highlight that it is just that my scale is reset not that I have any strength of character that all of you don’t. I have just made the decision that I will appreciate the small things that make me happy and everything else just isn’t important.

So, I ask all of you that want to and don’t know what to do for me, is that you spend time with the people you love (family comes in many forms), go do what makes you happy, be tolerant of the people around you as you never know what they may be going through, and provide just a little bit more love to the world on a daily basis.

If any of you made it this far, thanks, and know I can’t wait for the next time we get to find joy together.

-Preston

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From Preston: The Post I Never Thought I Would Have to Write.

So here we go, effective today I was fired from my job at the American Institute of CPAs after almost 4 years. I am not going to discuss if this was moral or right but explain how it can happen.  The few people I have told have asked how that was even a legal option.

Family Medical Leave Act (FMLA) coverage only covers 12 weeks of leave – then you are no longer protected. You can fill out forms and request an extension of the coverage under the Americans with Disability Act (ADA), which I did, but since my oncologist put that it would potentially be up to a year that I would be out my bosses decided that would be too much hardship on the organization and that they needed to let me go.

It is a little scary knowing when I am hopefully cleared to work full time again (in June or July) that I will not have a job and will need to find something new. With this fear also comes opportunity – this is just another hurdle. I have faith this experience and hardship will end with a chance for me to hopefully make a difference in other people’s lives. I am not sure what that will look like but should be exciting.

To all of you who continue to send good thoughts and positive vibes you have made a difference in mine and my family’s lives, thank you.

-Preston

And, a bit of a P.S. from Sarah…

It has been one of those rollercoaster weeks I talked about before. While it is a bit scary that he’s technically unemployed, we are grateful to have disability coverage and the ability to pay for COBRA medical insurance – and/or add him on at my job. One day I will get into the challenges we all could face with a health insurance system based on employment… but I don’t have the head space to dive into that right now.

From the medical standpoint, we did find out that the cancer that is visible on his lungs are removable. That means, with several (yikes) surgeries this spring, we expect for him to be “NED” – in our world, the closest thing to “cure.”

Now, they won’t say “cure” because recurrence is still something that will be in the back of our minds forever. And we still have a long road ahead of us. However, we feel hopeful and privileged to be positioned this well given the circumstances.

We are exceptionally fortunate. To review:

  1. We have an incredibly supportive family structure. Truly – we couldn’t ask for more.
  2. Where we live has a lot to do with P’s ability to fight this disease. I can’t imagine how challenging it would be to live in a rural area and have to travel 3 hours to reach a cancer clinic. This is the reality for so many.
  3. Our family exists firmly in the middle class. So do most of our friends. Which means that we have financial resources available to us.
  4. Insurance! God bless it. You should see these scary EOBs coming in. A CT scan – something he’ll have to get twice a  year for the forseeable future – is $8,000 before the insurance write off. That means, if you don’t have insurance, you’d be stuck holding that bill. Even after you take the negotiated rate into account, it is $4,000 +. You guys. Health insurance is everything.
  5. My job. I adore it – from a mental health perspective, it’s a blessed distraction. Plus, my coworkers, board and members are amazing.
  6. Our friends! You keep us sane. You bring us food. You distract us with fun events. You are thoughtful and supportive.

So, though Preston’s new employment status is still stressful, and there are days when this is all very, very hard, focusing on the many blessings in our lives is the best way to keep charging ahead.

Sarah

Surgical consult #1.

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.

 

Guest Blogger Redux

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

 

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And cancer was all, “FUCK. Messed with the wrong dude.”

Halfway point.

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.

My Big 4-Year Old

I don’t know how it happened so quickly. One moment, we’re in the hospital trying to figure out WTF to do with an infant, the next moment, we’re celebrating his 4th birthday.

Everyone says “It goes by so fast!” and it gets annoying because, when they are screaming at you multiple times a day, it does not feel “fast” at all. It feel slow, and it feels hard, and I know they’re trying to warn you that one day they will be FOUR, but there is just no way to prepare yourself.

He’s such a fun kid. He is smart, and funny, and he loves to read and explore. Actually, his very favorite thing is to tell other people how to explore. This kid is management material, I tell you. He loves being a super hero and using his imagination. For his birthday, we got him a box full of random crap from the scrap exchange. If I couldn’t figure out what to do with it, it went in the bag. Old PVC (I cleaned it!) science pipettes, plastic beakers, shoe laces… seriously. Random crap.

As he was exploring it, he pulled each piece out and said “YESSSSSS” because that’s just where his brain is right now. It is so very fun to watch. It reminds me that we need to have more wonder in our every day lives. I’m sure there was a time in my world where a shoelace could have been a million things… it makes me kind of sad to think my brain can no longer conjure such miracles. (also, pats self and husband on back for awesome and cheap birthday present.)

(Should also mention I also got him a giant, and very loud talking dinotrux because my parenting decisions aren’t always perfect.)

I also said goodbye to all of the baby stuff in our attic, which was profoundly difficult. Since we don’t know what the future holds, and it’s not safe to have a baby for at least 2 years, I was harboring a lot of sadness about not being able to have another baby, but also some guilt for keeping all of the stuff – the swings, and toys, and boxes and boxes of clothes – that could be used by someone else. Or, selfishly, could not be up there reminding me that I’m probably never going to use it again.

My dear friend Joye and her husband came to take it away and find it new homes. And they stayed and visited so I didn’t have time to mope, and they made short work of it, and they are wonderful. She told me to stop thanking her, but it feels really good to have it out of the attic, and she stayed with me because she knew it was what I needed, so I am going to keep thanking her.

I saved a few boxes of clothes for whatever reason, and the nicer (read: not plastic) stuff like the crib because I think that may one day find another home in our family. But I feel a lot better knowing that someone who will benefit from it will have their pick of cute baby things soon.

It still makes me sad – Conor growing up, and not having fresh baby smells on the horizon – but our little family is just right the way it is. (Also, C sleeps from like 7 PM to 7 AM and can use the bathroom by himself, so there’s also this “YES WE MADE IT” thing that is happening. So don’t stress over me being a bit weepy at times. Mostly it’s all “Let’s read awesome books and slay monsters in the back yard!” because 4 is FUN.)

These pictures were from his party at the Tumble Gym. There was Spiderman and Rise donuts. It was AWESOME.

But, how are you doing?

I get that question a lot. And it’s kind of amazing – the emphasis is universal.

“But, how are you doing?”

I totally understand this impulse. And, for the record, I don’t want you to stop asking me. But this question, for me, is really hard to answer.

Because the answer is nearly always, “Totally shitty, how are you?” and, let’s face it, that’s so crazy rude, and I’m a polite southern lady who still says “ma’am” entirely too much, so there is no way I would say that to you.

So I usually go with something like, “We’re hanging in there,” or “We’re doing OK.” But I know that’s not what you really want to hear.

Everyone has been great about making sure that I’m not left out on a ledge with all this. I have a ready supply of baby sitters and food and massage and brunch dates and even went to a hockey game this weekend, but really, that whole cancer thing is always there. It comes up in conversation, as it should. When I’m at a massage or even at a movie, it’s still back there nagging.

Sometimes the loop in my head is just, “Cancer. Sucks. Tired. Lots to do. Don’t forget to buy more protein powder,” and sometimes it’s darker. And, even when I’m having a good time, there’s still a fair amount of guilt there – guilt that I’m out having a good time while P is sick at home, or C is out having fun with his grandparents when I should be “making memories.” It’s always there. Nagging. Irritating really. My brain is not great at shutting off. (a side note, I tried meditating for a while – IT WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA – I SHOULD NEVER BE ALONE WITH MY THOUGHTS)

The reason people ask that question is because they know that being a caregiver is really hard. I mean, have you ever tried to complain about something stupid to a cancer patient? (it feels crappy.) So you forge ahead and keep a good face, and try really hard to stay level.

The only thing that’s more universal than the italicized “you” is the look I get when I tell people that I tap dance.

A couple of years ago, I decided that, because this is America and you can pay anyone to do anything, I would find somewhere to learn how to tap dance. So on Monday nights, I hike it up to the North Carolina Dance Institute (doesn’t it sound so, I don’t know, official?) and I spend an hour with a room full of bouncy and thin 16-year olds and I, Sarah Mann Willcox, tap dance.

When I tell folks this I usually get a, “wait, you tap dance? That is so cool! I wish I could tap dance!” and I am here to tell you that for $160 per quarter and a pretty solid hit to your ego, you too could be watching “Singing in the Rain” and thinking to yourself, “I CAN DO THREE OF THOSE STEPS!” (They are maxi ford, irishes, and step shuffle hop cross – there are some others, too, but they are so fast I can’t identify them.)

I am not good at tap dancing. But I love it. I have to record everything on my phone and go home and practice. This is where I gain a strategic advantage. I may not be as springy or pick things up as quickly as the youths, but I am willing and able to practice. Every so often, I shuffle into my laundry room (how I long to tap around our hard wood floors, but it it is strictly forbidden), strap on my shoes, and tap dance, because, well I can.

And tapping is the only hour in any given week that I’m not thinking about cancer.

And it’s because my brain is SO FULL trying to keep up and not fall on my face that I literally have no brain cells left to worry. To say that it is freeing is something of an understatement.

Everyone, Preston, my in laws, parents, sister, everyone bends over backwards so I don’t miss tap class. When I get all, “Maybe I should stay here…” P practically throws me out the door.

Our homework this week is to watch “Singing in the Rain” – lots of the girls in class haven’t seen it. I have, but I think I’ll watch it anyways.

Because, really, life is just better when there is dancing.

 

Looking Good!

Good morning! I hope you’re all staying warm. We have had several good snow days – Conor has LOVED playing in the snow/ice. He’s been sledding and playing until his cheeks are bright red.

Preston is getting his chemo right now, and reports that his labs are all “really solid.” This is such a wonderful thing to hear. He’s been rocking the protein, taking his multi-vitamins religiously, and working really hard to follow instructions. And it seems to be helping. He also got a little lecture for gaining weight – which really, is OK by me! I’m so glad he’s not losing any more weight.

The big number that I want to report is his CEA – it’s the one indicator that sounded the alarm when all of this began. It was at a 4 and is now down to 1.9! Seems insignificant, but mentally, it isn’t since it is one of the few things they can look at to say that the Chemo is doing its job. We still won’t know for sure until after the scans at the end of this month, but this is a much-needed piece of good news. It makes the awfulness of the drugs feel worth it. It’s really hard for P to be feeling back to his old self and then go get medicine that makes him feel like crap for 5 days…

Just had to share!