I realize several of you have asked, and once again, poor Blaine and his cancer treatment have been pushed to the back burner in light of the other minor stuff (oh, like delivering a BABY) that has happened around here the past week or two. But he is indeed starting his next round of radiation tomorrow. He had all his repeat scans and MRIs, the “brain lab” did their magic with math and laser graphics and topography (?) maps and figuring out the best angles for treatment, and he had his radiation mask, which allows them to bolt his head to the table during treatment, made last week. So, prep work completed. For the final step, he and I met with his radiologist on Wednesday to discuss exactly what will happen, what should happen, what we can expect to possibly happen, and what might happen in both a best case and worst case scenario.
Clear as mud, no?
Since moving here, Blaine has worked with three different radiologists at this medical facility. All competent, of course, but isn’t it funny how the doctor who has the most positive outlook is the one you like best? The one we’re working with now is NOT that one.
He walked in the room and said, “Good news. Actually, two pieces of good news. One, after looking at the new scans, we realize the tumor is much more focused than I initially thought, so I’m very hopeful this treatment is going to be effective in treating it. Two, the tumor is located farther away from the optic nerve than we thought, so I don’t think Blaine’s vision is in as much jeopardy as we initially thought, either.”
Well, that’s good, because to be honest, the thought of him going blind wasn’t one we were real crazy about, and they had brought that up as a very real possibility at his last appointment. I know there are worse disabilities out there, and plenty of blind people manage just fine, but to be completely honest with you, blindness is super-high on my personal list of fears and anxieties.
But before I could even fully exhale my probably-not-blindness-sigh-of-relief, he started in with, “So let’s talk about all the things that could go wrong, because it’s only fair and right that I prepare you for all possibilities.”
Yeah, I get it. Just like how when you go to the doctor to have a splinter removed from your finger, you have to sign that release of treatment form that states you understand and accept that the risks of splinter removal could include irritation, infection, pain, fever, sepsis, gangrene, metal poisoning, loss of a finger, dismemberment, disfigurement, paralysis, or even death. I get it, I really do. But wouldn’t it be nice if just once, just one single time, a doctor could say things were going to be fine, with no issues?
OK, so maybe that’s asking for too much.
The bad news is the tumor is much larger than they first thought. This took us by surprise because we’ve always been told Blaine’s cancer is a very slow-growing type. So although the tumor isn’t spread around as far and as diffused as it could be (good news) the fact it is bigger than suspected means a bigger area will be hit with radiation, which means the potential for more problems down the road (bad news.)
A large portion of his jaw and jaw muscle could (possibly) have issues later, specifically, he could lose the ability to chew, swallow, and speak. But that’s worst case scenario, and hey, at least he’s not blind.
The temporal lobe of his brain could (possibly) have issues, resulting in memory loss and hearing loss. Since he’s already partly deaf from previous radiation, that’s not a huge change, and the doctor thinks the memory loss will be short term and will resolve itself, IF it happens at all. And hey, at least he’s not blind.
Increased pain will likely be an issue. That’s always fun.
As always with radiation, fatigue is likely, but that only lasts a short while and is manageable.
The tumor is near the carotid artery, and if it gets hit by radiation, it could (possibly) cause a weakened area. Here I quote the doctor: “Worst case, you could at some point in the future suffer a carotid aneurysm, but the good news about that is you would be dead instantly with no pain or suffering. You’d never know what hit you.” OK, thanks. That’s encouraging.
And at least he’s not blind …… right …… ???
When the doctor was finished delivering his message of cheer, he just sort of sat there and looked at us, awaiting our reaction. We asked a few questions, the primary one being about how all these possibilities are only MAYBE happening, right? None of this stuff is definite, right? There is a chance he could sail through radiation without any problems at all, right? And the doctor said he would be surprised if absolutely NOTHING happened, but that yes, it was a possibility. Then we asked how long before these potential issues show themselves? Answer, six months to two years.
Then Blaine sort of paused and said, “Well, it’s not like I have a choice, so I guess we start treatment on Monday.”
And the doctor said, “Oh, there is always a choice about whether or not to treat, but that choice is not one I can make for you. You would have to decide not to treat on your own. But yes, that is an option.”
And I was sitting in my chair, thinking to myself, “Wow, buddy, thanks for the words of encouragement.”
Blaine replied, “As long as I have a treatment option, I don’t feel as though I have a choice, so let’s go ahead and start on Monday.”
When the doctor left the exam room to schedule the first round, Blaine and I just looked at each other.
I’m so grateful I didn’t marry a quitter. Or a coward.
Now give us those flipping release of treatment forms to sign. But in the meantime, we’re still crossing our fingers that NONE of those things come to pass. Because if you’re going to wish, wish big, right?