Three to six months. Medically speaking this is what the doctor’s giving me to live. The three month mark is what she gives me if my new treatment doesn’t work. Actually, let me clarify a bit: three to six months are not actually my life expectancy exactly, it’s more that within three to six months we can assume that my tumor will grow in extensive ways leading to major paralysis and eventual death. When we asked her if this new treatment could reverse things and kill the cancer she plainly said “No it won’t get rid of the cancer, but it can stop future growth”…not quite what we hoped to hear! We were hoping that this new treatment would wipe out this cancer once for all!
Our doctor is amazing, she’s honest with us, gives us as much info as we’re can handle, and she’s a kind person. By the end of our appointment yesterday she had cried with us (something she does not do with patients!) and she gave us a wad of cash to pay for a motorized wheelchair for our next Disneyland trip. She also spoke boldly of the two miracles that she’s seen happen in her office and how she’s eager to see a third. I’d love to make her happy. Miracles do happen…just not as often as we want…but they happen.
Three months. Ninety days. That means that every nine days could be a tenth of my life.
It leaves me speechless.
I’ll write a better blog tomorrow. I’ve got some ideas ruminating that I’d like to share. My kids have some precious words that need to be shared. But for now I’m genuinely struck speechless by the idea that every week and a half I’m (medically speaking!) a tenth closer to being done…or worse yet, my wife is a tenth of the way closer to being alone. Shit.