Part 44 When an “A” in not an “A”


Another PET scan. The procedure itself is easy, but there is still some anxiety wondering what may be creeping around inside you that the image will reveal. I don’t worry that much, but I have been overly optimistic regarding my timelines for conquering this disease, and at times am apprehensive about my future. I wait at work for Dr. N- to call with the results. It is almost time for me to leave, and I have called her five times today. She finally returns my call, informing me that I am “90% improved”, with residual problems being the swollen throat tissue which is impairing my ability to eat.

A score of 90% is usually fine with me. On a test, that is still an “A”, and I will take that and run with it any day. If an artist records an album that is 90% strong, I will buy it and endorse it. But with this frightening disease, nothing less than all clear, 100% will do. This is no place for “close enough”.

Dr. Bu – is also pleased with the scan, and thinks the continued activity could simply be the result of inflammation from treatment. He is concerned, however, about the potential for residual disease, so he orders two more rounds of chemo (is that like being in a bar and ordering two more rounds of drinks?). I am devastated at the prospect of more chemo and possibly more ensuing hospital time.

I return to the hospital to have my esophagus dilated. Dr. Gu-, one of the gastroenterologists that has treated me performs the procedure. I am finding that most procedures/surgeries require hours of your time in preparation and recovery, while the actual event is often brief. The operation itself lasts about four minutes, but I have waited and waited for nurses to come disconnect my IVs and doctors to give their blessings that I am fit to go home, and five hours later I finally can. They have discovered two ulcers in the esophagus and there is a small tear in the wall from when I retched during the operation.

It is a rainy day, the first one in a while. I continue to have trouble swallowing – in fact, I can’t tell any real difference at all despite the operation. CC comes over and we all watch the football movie “The Blind Side” (which I appreciate for its optimism). I sleep for five uninterrupted hours on the couch. I awake to another overcast day. My oldest daughter has strep throat. In the evening I go to our church to sing in the funeral service for a lady in our choir who succumbed at far too early an age to the same disease that has been knocking at my door. My life is still gray despite the brief flashes of color.