Mayo

Dad and I went to the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, Arizona today.  Unfortunately, the records that were faxed over yesterday didn't get into his file, so we had to recount what we could remember of the progression of Dad's illness.  This doctor was impressed with how well Dad is doing and said as long as he is doing so well, she wouldn't recommend he do anything medically.  However, if he starts to have symptoms, pain, or scans show the cancer growing, then there is the possibility of future chemo treatments.  She needs to see his records, go over his scans and possibly compare them to a new scan, and wants to see the pathology slides so she can confirm the type of cancer cell he is fighting.  This information may also give her an idea of a different kind of chemo to try.  She is the first doctor who said there are still treatment options.  Which makes me very happy.  And somewhat suspicious.  She did say any treatment option needs to be balanced against potential side effects and Dad's quality of life.   

Good doctors have told Dad there's not much more they can do other than keep him comfortable--his own doctor, two doctors at Fred Hutcheson Cancer Center in Seattle, and a highly recommended cancer specialist who is also a cancer researcher in California.  Can all these medical professionals have made a mistake?  Is this Mayo doctor just blowing smoke up our collective rear ends?  Or is there something she knows that the other doctors do not know?  The Mayo doctor did concur with all the other doctors in defining the eventual outcome: this disease is terminal, nothing she can do will "cure" him.  Now why doesn't that make me feel all warm and fuzzy?

This medical maze we live in and are experiencing even now is a real challenge.  We want hope.  Hope makes Dad happy.  Me too.  All of us really.  But are we giving up anything to have this hope?  If it just costs money, then that's ok.  But what if he is spending precious time away from home...away from his family and friends who love him, away from his orchard...the dirt and trees and sun that runs through his body as surely as this cancer does?  Is that a good thing?

We do not know what she will recommend after she has a chance to review all the records.  She may completely concur with the other doctors.  And if she doesn't, if she offers alternatives, I guess Dad will consider his options and make a decision.  The decision isn't mine, that's for sure.  Nor can anyone else make this decision.  He has to.

She said this is not typical esophageal cancer, it is slow moving, so the pathology may be different, meaning a different chemo may be effective in holding at bay for a longer period of time.  She also said any chemo regime she recommends, his own doctor can administer it so he can be home.

No, I don't completely trust this doctor.  But at this moment, I am enjoying the glimmer of hope she has presented.  The rest, we'll deal with later. 

Short Drive

It’s Sunday night and has finally cooled off to 90°. The high was 104° F today (but the weatherman said the RealFeel was 107°). If that means it was HOT, well they are right. The moon is hanging blood red in the sky tonight, huge as it moves across the sky. What a sight from my front porch.

Church was good. The talks and lessons seemed to focus on faith. How do I balance faith with the reality that I haven’t been able to find a good job? Yesterday, I applied for a job that I think would be perfect for me, but if past performance is an indicator … well, I don’t want to think about it. I want to have faith that the Lord knows I need a job. The Lord knows the desire of my heart is to be financially secure, stable, and meet my obligations. The Lord knows I want to work, am capable of working, and have a variety of skills that would make me a good employee. I want to trust that if this isn’t the job for me, that I will still be able to meet my obligations some how, that I didn’t get this job because something even more wonderful is just over the horizon and I need to be patient a bit longer.

So here I sit wrestling with my humanity, hoping for this job, wanting this job, needing a good job, wanting to be faithful, wanting to trust that it’ll all be ok soon, knowing this challenge is but a moment in the span of eternity, knowing that somehow every thing works out because it always has and why not now, feeling weak for doubting … I’m trying not to drive myself crazy over this thing. It’s a short drive tonight.