Cancer: May 2007 Archives

Continued from here...

The Cancer Rehab Group: It's called prehabilitation, actually. It wasn't bad, and the staff is quite nice and efficient.

PET Scan: This test found absolutely nothing beyond the actual main tumour. However, it did find something, a tiny little thing on my trachea that reacted to the tracer fluid. They have no clue what it is.

Ultrasound: Liver's fine.

Oncologist: He believes that the trachael thing will be destroyed by chemotherapy if it's real, or left alone if not, in which case it doesn't even matter. Further, he is very optimistic about how I will react to chemo. So am I. I start chemo in two weeks.

Last thing to do: I spoke with my brother in law, who has now accepted an assistant professorship position at Harvard. He spoke to my surgeon, and he has a pretty good feeling about him. In fact, the treatment is something that he agrees with medically. However, he still wants me to get a second opinion, and I will be doing that next Tuesday from someone he knows. He believes that this doctor will have the same conclusion, but that I should find out which is the better doctor and go with him.

Again, I could go into so much detail, and I apologize for not doing so, but the fact is, I just don't feel as though I can. There's just one thing I really wanted to share from yesterday.

I was to meet several health professionals to discuss my present situation both physically and mentally. They would give me a baseline measurement of how I am doing and will use this to compare how I am doing in the future. At some point I was with the physiotherapist doing tests. One test involved me walking a distance of about 20 metres back and forth for six minutes as fast as I can. After the test, the PT told that that I destroyed the record. Not hard when you are half the age of everyone else doing the test.

Later on, I was waiting for someone else when I poked my head out of the room I was in. I saw the PT doing the same test with a man that was 75 years old if a day. This man was obviously not doing all that well (although I don't know what "well" is for someone like him). At the end of the six minutes I was afraid that the poor guy would keel over. And then it hit me. This man is suffering from the ravages of old age AND has cancer. What the hell does he have to look forward to?

I don't know this guy from Adam, but really, what's left for him? Don't get me wrong, I don't see myself that way at all. It's a completely different situation as far as I can see. But him? I dunno. It almost seems a little pointless.

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UPDATE: Reading Michel's comment below, I should clarify my position. It was ill-stated and I didn't really try to communicate clearly. In fact, I haven't really tried much lately. Anyway, what I am trying to say is that if it were me in his situation, I might not have 1% of the hope and positive expectations that I have now. So let's change it a little. Instead of "What the hell does he have to look forward to?" I should state, "It is very hard for me to see what I would have to look forward to if I were him." It's entirely possible that he has the same expectations that I do for me, and if so, that's great. If I were in his situation, which I assume is worse, then I hope that I could handle it, but I don't think I could.

I'll just make this point form, more or less.

• Preliminary pathology says carcinoma. They have no other information as of yet. There is no hope of it being benign, not that there was any anyway.
• The GI thought that it was distal esophageal carcinoma. This probably resulted from my so-called ulcer from four years ago that wasn't properly treated, and this may have actually been a case of Barrett's esophagus.
• Right now we are trying to get all the tests we can. To this end I have had the following tests:
  • A biopsy, whose results have not been revealed to me as yet;
  • A CT scan, which, although not the best diagnostic tool, strongly suggested that there was no metastasis.
  • A diagnostic laparoscopy, which seems to have confirmed what the CT scan revealed.

The last line of my last entry was eerily prophetic, for risking esophageal cancer is exactly what has happened.

This morning, I went to get scoped. The experience was definitely far superior to the last time. The doctor used more spray to freeze my throat, and the instrument was bendy, so I didn't have to struggle against it. He also gave me a shot of something to make me woozy, but not enough to knock me out. It was over before I knew it, and I barely remember what happened. Wait, I remember now: air was being shot down my throat at the same time. The procedure, maybe five minutes long, was one looooooong burp. Oddly enough, it didn't smell, and there was no pain afterwards.

I was then asked to lie on a gurney for an hour. Both in the waiting room and in the...gurney room?...I was the youngest there by about 25 years. The old woman next to me emitted these long odourless bubbly farts. Maybe she had the P-scope.

At 10 am, I was told to wait in the waiting room. After about ten minutes, the doctor called me and gave me the news; it's a tumour, and he thinks that it is probably malignant. We won't know until the biopsy results come in which is as early as tomorrow, or as late as Monday. Surgery seems to be the most likely course of action at this point. I have an appointment with a surgeon tomorrow. I will get some scans to check the extent of the growth, if any, and we can make a battle plan.

By the way, this tumour is in the exact same place that my so-called ulcer was four years ago. Coincidence? I think not. The meds didn't work, so I just stopped eating meat for three years. No more pain, problem solved, right? Wrong. The doctor agreed that it could have started four years ago. In any case, although the doctor said that I did everything I was supposed to do, I can't help but think that I should have done more.

More news tomorrow.

UPDATE: By the way, there was a strange omen in the mail today. I received my new health card, with an ORGAN DONOR FORM.

UPDATE 2: 8:17 PM. I am now officially scared.