Five to Ten
July 16, 2019, I had made it my full two weeks in rehabilitation and was looking forward to getting my discharge date. Or so I thought. My day was different, I was scheduled to meet with my neurologist and to meet my oncologist for the first time, and get the actual information about what the dreaded C word really meant. The appointment was on a Monday so my mom rushed up to help get me to the appointment because my needed be be at home to play taxi and get the kids to their ten million activities.
This is rough post to write, especially trying to keep in the mindset of the day. There wasn't much good that could be found. We first had to run the gauntlet just to find the right place, so frustration and anxiety were already setting hold. Once in the office we sat, and sat, and sat, anxiety continues to build.
In walks the doctor followed by two others, one physicians assistant, and one student. The doctor introduced himself, sat in the exam chair, then sighed a huge sigh.
"The scans and biopsy have been confirmed. You have a Stage II, Oligodendroglioma, we just call them 'Glios.' If we leave it as it is, untreated, now since the resection, you will five to ten years."
I looked at my mom who was also completely in shock and lost. The doctor continued to talk, for I honestly don't know how long, before I was trying to show me on a drawing where the cancer is located, where it had spread, and then how much the neurologist had removed. His next words sent me into another talespin.
"We really don't know much about "Glios," the only thing we do know is that they are not curable. We can treat them, but nothing cures them, but honestly what cancer really is curable, right?" He chuckled.
I was instantly send back down a dark path, that went way past the, "I'm going to die." Instead this went to, "great I'm going to spend my life suffering going through chemotherapy and radiation every two years, so that can kill me."
I don't know if my expression said what I was thinking, or if the closed captioning was working; because he stopped. He then started back at the five to ten, and explained, himself.
"Glios, are a slow growing tumor, (careful not to use the dreaded C word), You may have five, ten, twenty years before it ever grew back large enough to cause you problems again. However, we aren't going to wait that long. We are going to schedule you for follow up MRIs and tests every three months, the next will be the first of October. If there is a change we will go aggressive with treatment, if no change has occurred, we will schedule your next set of tests and schedule treatment along with the tests."
He sat and gave us all sorts of reference materials, including his hand written notes, referred us to the social worker in the office, which was a waste of an hour of my life, and sent me on my way.
It was a very long, quiet and numb walk, well... wheelchair ride back to the hospital as my mom pushed me back through the endless maze.
This is just the beginning of this less than wonderful day. It will have to be continued...
So stay tuned...
Please keep sharing and posting here on the blog for others to benefit. I pray each day this reaches someone new that needs a "Battle Buddy."
- Nate Taylor
This is rough post to write, especially trying to keep in the mindset of the day. There wasn't much good that could be found. We first had to run the gauntlet just to find the right place, so frustration and anxiety were already setting hold. Once in the office we sat, and sat, and sat, anxiety continues to build.
In walks the doctor followed by two others, one physicians assistant, and one student. The doctor introduced himself, sat in the exam chair, then sighed a huge sigh.
"The scans and biopsy have been confirmed. You have a Stage II, Oligodendroglioma, we just call them 'Glios.' If we leave it as it is, untreated, now since the resection, you will five to ten years."
I looked at my mom who was also completely in shock and lost. The doctor continued to talk, for I honestly don't know how long, before I was trying to show me on a drawing where the cancer is located, where it had spread, and then how much the neurologist had removed. His next words sent me into another talespin.
"We really don't know much about "Glios," the only thing we do know is that they are not curable. We can treat them, but nothing cures them, but honestly what cancer really is curable, right?" He chuckled.
I was instantly send back down a dark path, that went way past the, "I'm going to die." Instead this went to, "great I'm going to spend my life suffering going through chemotherapy and radiation every two years, so that can kill me."
I don't know if my expression said what I was thinking, or if the closed captioning was working; because he stopped. He then started back at the five to ten, and explained, himself.
"Glios, are a slow growing tumor, (careful not to use the dreaded C word), You may have five, ten, twenty years before it ever grew back large enough to cause you problems again. However, we aren't going to wait that long. We are going to schedule you for follow up MRIs and tests every three months, the next will be the first of October. If there is a change we will go aggressive with treatment, if no change has occurred, we will schedule your next set of tests and schedule treatment along with the tests."
He sat and gave us all sorts of reference materials, including his hand written notes, referred us to the social worker in the office, which was a waste of an hour of my life, and sent me on my way.
It was a very long, quiet and numb walk, well... wheelchair ride back to the hospital as my mom pushed me back through the endless maze.
This is just the beginning of this less than wonderful day. It will have to be continued...
So stay tuned...
Please keep sharing and posting here on the blog for others to benefit. I pray each day this reaches someone new that needs a "Battle Buddy."
- Nate Taylor
Do you have a battle buddy? Or did you? I didn’t. I hope you have so many!
ReplyDeleteI have been blessed with a great support group. My wife is amazing, my family is second to none. But as far as a Battle Buddy, Yes. I have a dear friend who I served in Iraq with. He and I have been through and are still going through a lot. He knows me as well as anyone. No he doesn't know cancer, but he know me, and is there any time.
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