Friday, November 8, 2013

7th Chemo Treatment Doesn't Happen...

This morning, I arrived at the oncologist's office fully intending on spending the day being pumped full of toxins which I was hoping would be my last treatment. Turns out that didn't happen! Not that I received good news. What I did receive was unsurprising and extremely honest news from my doctor.

As is customary, I had some blood drawn and my vitals checked before meeting with the oncologist. All were normal and I've lost 18 pounds. The doctor came into the exam room and we got to talking about my symptoms - particularly the latest and greatest one: mouth sores. The minute the doctor saw and heard about these sores, he decided not to proceed with the 7th treatment and explained his reasoning.  Here's a summary of our conversation:  

Seven treatments is a pretty arbitrary number that studies have shown to be most effective for my particularly brand of cancer. Then he went on to explain that my cancer is not curable. It's about extending my life and not eradicating the cancer. While the treatment has been effective, it's just a matter of time as to when the tumors will resume growing. So for now he wants to stop the treatment because of the extensive amount of side effects that I'm having.  His thought process is that every three months I should have a scan and see where the nodules are and then after that figure out what the next treatment might be. Either a continuation of the current treatment, or something new, or perhaps a clinical trial. (Or as I might decide, no treatment at all and just let nature run its course.)

I must say it made for a nice change of pace to actually have a doctor not blow smoke up my tukhus. Maybe other people would prefer a doctor to not be fully honesty about their disease, but I am not such a person. I'd rather someone be brutally honest, than lie to me. I want the reality of the situation; not the wishes and dreams. Does this mean that I give up hope? Of course not. I would like to think that the treatment has worked and I won't have growth for 20 or 30 or 40 years, but the statistics speak for themselves. As I've mentioned there's only a 15-20% chance that I will see my 52nd birthday.

Where do I go from here?  In early December, I will go back to the oncologist (my original one who will be back from maternity leave by then) and will probably have a CT scan to see what's going on. Meanwhile, I will: continue to live my life, teach students who don't want to learn, and find enjoyment in watching the sun rise every morning.

7 comments:

Unknown said...

Sandi I'm so sorry to hear about your side effects. You are strong and brave. I hereby honor that in you! I'm amazed by your resiliency.

Lee said...

As always. ..you are a courageous woman that speaks her truth and lives life on her own terms. I am proud to call you my friend. Love you. <3

Franka said...

Your strength is amazing. I'm sorry that you're having side effects. Continue to be strong and an inspiration to me and countless others...you're in my heart because I love you always.

Paul said...

I don’t know which is more admirable or impressive: Your unblinkingly positive and straightforward outlook or the fact that you know how to spell “tukhus.” Probably the outlook

Sandi said...

Thanks, Franka. Love you! Paul, I'd probably go with "tukhus" over the outlook. :-) Thanks for the props.

SnarkyTom said...

Is that how you spell it? I will have to remember that for the next time I write Congress.

Sandi said...

Planning on telling Congress to kiss your tukhus??