yesterday we saw the surgeon for the first time in 8 weeks. we're supposed to see him every 4 weeks but because of the 4th of july holiday, our roadtrip the following weekend, and then a change in our insurance, we went longer than everyone was anticipating. and i was petrified - we haven't gone this long between appointments since before matt was diagnosed. the surgeon would scope the nose, brain lining etc. and if he found even the slightest sighting of a tumor, we'd go back in for surgery. he said there's no reason to biopsy, which is "standard," because nothing about this is "standard." with pins and needles we waited, wondering what the next weeks would hold.
my mind played ping pong with my thoughts.
would he find anything? take every thought captive.
are we going in for surgery and how extensive will it be this time? think on whatsoever things are true.
why does matt have headaches after swimming in the ocean? He is good.
why is he getting "phantom" smells? He is faithful.
how long will matt be healthy before we have to start over? He knows the end from the beginning.
why is matt so incredibly tired? we are fearfully and wonderfully made.
the Word has so many specific instructions and practical applications but my mind goes back and forth. i am a doer and need to know exactly what to do. i'm thankful we have that.
waking up early, we drove to uci and checked in. the ent residents saw us and talked in words they probably only recently learned in medical school. i didn't understand anything except they seemed proud that they could say them. i wasn't impressed, was tired of the anticipation and finally asked how many of these cases they'd seen? the two kids in white jackets stopped talking, quietly admitted this was the first time they'd seen it and then told us the surgeon would be right in.
thank you and buh-bye.
finally he walked in. i held my breath. he scoped and looked around, he was somber, a little serious. surgeons are hard to read. finally he said everything looks good and he'd most likely see any tumor regrowth before a scan saw it. whew. we told him we were head to get an mri and pet scan after his appointment. he asked that we get copies of those to him because his radiologist will read them as well as his tumor board. matt succeeded in making him laugh.
we asked about phantom smells. he said it could be the sensors trying to kick start. it could be the brain compensating for what's gone. hard to tell. he said give it more time. whatever matt has in 6 more months is most likely all he'll have.
he told us to see the neurosurgeon for a follow up, he wants that every 3 months. i'm not sure why. perhaps it's "standard"?
he also asked about matt's hearing. funny thing. all along matt has denied much hearing loss, though the rest of know there's a significant change and like everything else, we tease about it. but the other day it was very evident in the car that something went wrong when taylor asked me to send her a picture and matt replied with, "did we tape sesame street???" we all laughed. hard. and we knew he clearly didn't hear her. at the appointment matt told the surgeon his hearing was worse and dr. b ordered another hearing test with the specialist. matt said, what? i nodded my head. the surgeon shook his, we all laughed again.
we asked why matt got a massive headache after swimming in the ocean. the surgeon said because he has so much space now because not only was the tumor removed but so was a lot of other stuff. the flap and tissue that would normally keep water out is gone so when you have water go up the nose, with matt, it doesn't stop or go down to the mouth. it keeps going up and when the cold ocean water hits the brain lining, you experience a shock in temperature thus giving you a brain freeze. makes sense. he did caution us as there is so much bacteria in the water, but as long as matt continues to rinse, he should be ok. he also gave us another round of antibiotic rinse to help with irrigating. matt's tissue still has to learn to take care of itself and this will help in the mean time.
after this appointment we got to see our nurse, joe. matt invited him to the crusade and joe said he wouldn't miss it. matt has prayed for joe often and they've become close. i call this a cancer bonus. one of the amazing things that has happened as a direct result of the cancer. we would probably not meet otherwise.
from the surgeon's office, we headed back to riverside for the pet scan and mri. after 4 attempts, they got the iv in his hand. we're told veins take time to rebuild. scan results will come tuesday. but while matt was getting his scans, i went up to say hi to our friends in the oncology office and chemo room.
so many people have made an impact on us through the various appointments and treatments, but if i had to reflect back on everyone, it's our buddy, james who stands out the most. maybe you remember him, i wrote about him in previous entries. we met him a few times during chemo. he was old, he was frail. he had lived a full life. when we met him he had the advanced stages of cancer, it was pretty bad. he lived alone and a transport service brought him in his wheel chair to chemo. the last time i saw him he was bruised and bandaged from a fall, my heart broke. he'd sit as close to matt as his chemo chair would allow and listen intently as we read the bible, at times he'd shut his eyes, at the end he'd interject or ask questions. then he'd tell us stories. each time we saw him, matt would end their visit by holding his hand and praying for him. it's been a few months since we've seen james and it was yesterday that we found out james finished his race, he beat cancer. he's in heaven where there is no more sadness, no more pain, no more tears. i believe he heard well done. matt and i couldn't stop the tears. knowing perhaps, just maybe, we were able, through our own cancer journey, able to make a small impact on a man during his cancer battle. it truly makes it all worth it. i didn't see that before, i couldn't say it before. now, faced with the very realization that a man we prayed with is sitting a jesus' feet, is so...i don't know, i don't even have the words. i'm in awe.
2 cor 4:17 says "for our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that outweighs them all." in the scheme or eternity, our lives - our cancer, is light and momentary. no matter what happens here, this is not the end. heaven is. eternity is. what we do in life, our successes, the earthly things we live for, none of it matters so much, people are the only thing we can take with us to heaven.
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