Counting chickens

How do the sayings go; it's not over till it's over, don't count your chickens before they hatch, don't count you're money while you're still sitting at the table, don't celebrate before the last out. For a week, we have been looking forward to seeing Dr. Myint to get news that I might be in remission. He even said to have the champagne on ice. Sometimes when you want something so bad, you lose sight of reality and all of the possibilities of what is real. Then when reality steps up and slaps you on the side of the head, you say whoa! this isn't what I was expecting. I had some friends that were having a baby and were for sure that they were having a boy. They bought boy stuff, decorated for a boy, etc. Then, as you can guess, they wound up having a beautiful baby girl. I remember when I was young and thought I had money in the bank. I found out differently when I used an ATM and my card was captured due to lack of funds. The things you learn growing up, life's lessons. Yet I still wind up doing the same thing, hoping for the best, not expecting the worst. Is that optimism? Wishful thinking? Stupidity?
Wednesday, my wonderful wife gathered friends from work and surprised me when she had them all gather in a meeting room. She read a wonderful note that almost brought me to tears. She entitled it "You're a lucky man". She reminded me of the time I had a motorcycle accident and split my helmet in two yet survived with only a broken arm and damaged leg; the time I slid my car on ice under a semi truck in the mountains and only wound up with a broken nose even though the car was totaled. She reminded me how lucky I was to have her, a wonderful family and the friends that were there surrounding me. Then she gave me a wonderful gift in advance of remission of my cancer. I even told my friends we are scheduling a remission party in September.
Well, you can tell where I am going by now. Reality brought us back to earth Thursday. I had my scan, and the results were not what we were expecting or had hoped for. Dr. Myint was even disappointed and surprised. Seems there is still a node located by my lower back that is not responding to treatment. Everywhere else, things looked good. My spleen, which I didn't even know was a concern to him earlier, had cleared up, and all other nodes and organs were listed as "unremarkable". Meaning that was a good thing, there were no remarks to make about them. One node however, noticed the previous time, was still about 1.1 cm x 1.
7 cm and still active. The color ratio had diminished some from 3.7 to 3.4 but still glowed, which means there is still cancer. Dr. Myint explained that these cells are probably follicular cells and sleeping now, not multiplying. Chemo only works on active cells that are in the growth cycle. So since these are not multiplying yet, the previous chemo treatments have not found them. He suggested that I resume chemo treatments for two more rounds. Only eight rounds total of RCHOP can be given to anyone, and I have already had six. O course, I asked him what happens if that doesn't do it. I looked him in the eye and could tell it would be an answer I might not want to hear. "I will leave it alone and wait and see what happens." Because of the location to vital organs, he does not feel radiation is a good option. Surgery to remove it would be risky as well due to the small size of the node and the location. What he suggests is to wait and see if it restarts to grow, then he would perform a bone marrow transplant.
When I had my surgery to fix my lung and start chemo on Easter at U of C hospital, I was up on the cancer ward. At the end of the hall were two sets of automatic doors with large waring signs posted on them. If you passed through one set of doors you had to wait until that set closed before you went through the next set. This was designed to let the air cleaners purify the air for the next set of rooms, the bone marrow transplant rooms. This area was basically off limits as all of the patients were trying to cope with having no immune system whatsoever. Risky to say the least. When they preformed a bone marrow biopsy on me, I must admit it hurt somewhat. I have heard transplants are worse.
It has been a few hours now since I heard the reality of my situation, and I am still learning to cope with it. I have to take two more rounds of chemo which may or may not clear the cancer. If not, I wait until it starts to spread again, then have a bone marrow transplant. Seems like a ticking time bomb has been discovered inside me, and I can't do anything about it until it goes off.
Bev made an interesting comment to me while we were looking at some pamphlets about cancer. I told her it was amazing that I thought I was almost done and I didn't really know much about what I had, or what it was really all about. People in the waiting room could tell you from memory what medicines they take and for what, what their blood counts were and why, and on and on. I can't begin to say any of that. Bev told me I have been in denial. I buried myself in my work and just fought this to get it over with then move on. That really hit home. Of all of the stuff I have learned, I really don't know anything about what I have. I just wanted it to be over. Like my surgery, I thought the chemo would do the trick and I would go back to living a "normal" life. What a wake up call. I felt just like when I first learned of my condition back in March. I have cancer. It doesn't play by the rules.
My emotions have been all over the place. I was sad I couldn't pop the champagne. I was mad I would have to go back to chemo and get sick again. And now I don't have my pic line and they will have to needle me through my veins. I was disappointed I celebrated with friends before I knew the outcome of my test. I felt stupid for planning for remission before I knew I was in remission. And most of all I felt scared because I could see in the doctors eyes that this is not what he had hoped would happen, that the future all of the sudden was not as bright as hoped for.
Now that I have slept on it for a few hours, I have had a change in feeling. I do still feel lucky. I am still alive. I can work, play, talk and share with family and friends and still live life. Who am I to complain? I have seen those far worse off than I. I have cancer. But it doesn't have me. I am a survivor. I am a lucky man!
Thank you for your continued prayers and support!