Back in February I had what can only be described as the worst day of my life. I was told, in a very unceremonious way, that I had cancer. It sucked. I couldn't eat or sleep for days. I cried. I was scared. I spent a lot of time over the last few months working through treatment, but also through my feelings. I had a lot of feelings.
Throughout all of it, I just kept putting one proverbial foot in front of the other. I focused on exactly what was in front of me and needed to be done for my treatment. I tried to appreciate little things, or glimmers, when I could.
I had lots of expectations about what my life was going to look like. A major surgery, an ostomy bag. A changed life. It was hard, but the alternative seemed harder. So I just kept moving. One step at a time. One day at a time.
Other than the ICU visit last month, my post treatment phase of life was pretty hum drum. My GI system felt fine ... actually the best it had felt in more than a year. But I still had the specter of a major surgery and an ostomy bag hanging over my head.
But that changed after I saw my surgeon. And again after my surgery. I thought maybe, just maybe, I had beaten this thing. I thought I could look forward to getting back to a normal life. I thought it, but I dared not hope it too much so as to not scare it away. Try not to grasp it too hard and have it slip through my fingers.
I was cautiously optimistic.
And then today I met with my Oncologist. He was going to give me results from the biopsy of the polyp that they took out of me during surgery last week, and give me results on my cancer markers.
I thought it might be good. I dared not hope too hard that it would be too good.
He walked into the room, put his arm on the exam room, looked at me and Emily with a very serious face and said, "You sure are dramatic" referencing my trip to the ICU. And then he smiled and said,
> The Biopsy came back and there's no trace of cancer in the sample. Also, your cancer markers are absent from your blood test. This is the ideal outcome.
No. More. Cancer.
Holy ... fucking ... shit. NO. MORE. CANCER!
I thought being told I didn't have cancer would make me cry. But I didn't. I was just in disbelief. Five months ago I thought I had gotten, at the very least, a sentence to change the quality of my life, if not the quantity of my life, and today ... the thing that caused it is gone as far as we can tell.
I am still going to have to do chemo. Six rounds of three weeks each. Infusion for 2 hours 1 day a week and then a similar regimen of Capecitabine 2 times a day for 2 weeks and then a week off.
I'm still going to have an MRI to confirm there's not something hiding somewhere that hasn't been detected with lab results and visual inspections.
The rest of my year will be me mostly staying home and avoiding people, and germs, because the chemo will again destroy my immune system. But it seems like being young and handsome has finally paid off in my fight with cancer.
I am, as far as medicine can tell right now, cancer free and it feels pretty fucking good.
I'm still processing everything, and writing it out has helped, but yeah, I still haven't had a good cry about it ... but I'm guessing I will soon.