A Brighter Tomorrow

Before the surgery, July 2013.

We knew we couldn't hold our breath while we waited to hear about the surgery, so we poured ourselves into our family and life. Madeline and I enjoyed summer and Jason worked hard at the job that he had taken time away from while on chemotherapy again for the last 6 months, and periodically for the last few years. A job he loved, being the detective at Grand Ledge Police Department. No matter what the outcome, we were looking forward to our future.

It was while Maddy and I were away at summer camp that Dr. Swisher called to discuss the surgery with Jason - a 6% mortality rate, a difficult recovery period, possibly more cancer found at the site - but also that he would do it, and that he, Dr. Swisher, would do it if he were in Jason's place. A good sign. A date was set. Plans were in motion.

Almost too quickly the time came for our travel back to Texas. Jason had to entirely complete chemotherapy, his third round, complete his Avastin, an infusion drug used in conjunction with the chemotherapy, and because he’d developed a blood clot months before, a plan was created for his blood thinning medicines. And I needed to get my classroom & students prepared for my absence. Our trust was again placed in the hands of our medical professionals, and our faith, well, it had to be.

Many of our friends and family came together to help us as well - an online fundraiser was created to aid us with travel, medical necessities, and what we never intended or knew would happen - for Jason to be off of work for many more months than the doctors thought would happen. From the start, it was suggested Jason would be off of work for about 6 weeks after the surgery. Given Jason's lengthy cancer history, his sick days were dried up. We were on unpaid time right off the bat and it was a scary prospect, especially with a seven year old at home. After four years of battling cancer, life was throwing us one heck of a curve-ball!

After 1st lung surgery, 2011. 

Our time prior to the surgery in Houston actually started off quite nice, a mini vacation for just us two. Aside from Jason's diseased lung acting up, it hardly seemed like Jason was sick. Houston’s September heat bore down on us, but we still walked, caught local transportation to Downtown, and spent time that wasn't in the medical center on dates laughing and pretending life was normal, knowing that after this it would be spent recovering.

Less than a week later, Jason's mom and Aunt arrived for the surgery and we said our 'see you later's' to Jason in the hallway at MD Anderson and he was whisked off to the prepping area. I walked slowly back to that waiting room as if my own heart had been removed - my husband sent back to that cold, sterile surgical room without anyone that loved him gave me a sick feeling and sucked all the breath out of me. Every few hours a nurse came out to update us, volunteer services came out to give us coffee and snacks, and I took deep breaths every few hours as I considered what I’d say to people if he didn't make it through the surgery. It was a torturous 5 or 6 hours while the doctors rearranged the insides of my soul-mate who was again putting his life in the hands of a surgical team, in hopes to finally eradicate the cancer that had been holding him hostage for years.

The events that were actually taking place in that OR as we waited with baited breath in the family waiting room were very interesting, actually. Dr. Swisher, thoracic surgeon, was working his magic on Jason - he opened Jason through his back, stretched his rib cage open, removed a few ribs, then removed his lung, a delicate procedure to be sure, especially given the location of the left lung to his heart. The need to remove the pleura, the lining of the lung upon entering the chest cavity was determined to be essential, as the pleura was essentially "bad" tissue. Jason's lung was diseased, not helping his health in any way.

Dr. Baumann, the reconstructive surgeon, came in once the lung was out. His job was very important and very difficult. Dr. Baumann stretched Jason's back muscle, the latissimus muscle, to use in the reconstruction process. The lat muscle, they explained is used often in reconstructive surgeries - most often in breast reconstructions. In Jason's case it's use was and still is to cover the bronchus that had been cut when his lung was removed. For weeks, Jason needed to avoid large muscle movements, and stretch only slowly in order to not pull that flap off the bronchus. It is interesting to see and feel Jason’s scars and muscle movement after this surgery.

The moment Dr. Swisher came out in that waiting room and let us know he was done I felt a twinge better. When Dr. Baumann’s job was done & Jason was heading to recovery, I slipped into the bathroom & the tears came pouring out. There would be many  hurdles in the next few days I knew, but he’d made it off the table.

4th Birthday, Colon Surgery, 2009

Jason has had a number of surgeries in the last years, major ones, too. This has been the biggest, the most dangerous, the farthest from home. I was thankful for family with me, but so many worries swirled in my brain -  reasons to worry when your best friend, the love of your life, your soul mate, your one and only, the father of your child goes in for surgery - the "what ifs" took over my mind the days before as we prepared for surgery, we were inundated with doctors, procedures, paperwork, signature pages. When the “sign on the dotted line” page came, it was difficult, as it has been always, to consider the complications, advance directives, the possibility of death.

Like anybody, each time Jason goes under the knife, as morbid as it sounds, I have to think about what I'd tell Maddy if he doesn't come home with me, if that “and of course, there is the possibility of death,” complication does occur how would I tell her that Daddy is gone and what would we do without him? We've had numerous conversations with her to tell her Daddy’s cancer is back, Daddy will have another surgery, Daddy has to have chemotherapy again, radiation, and more recently we have to leave  to go to Texas for surgery - you’d think I’d have something prepared. So, when that signature line comes up, that discussion rolls through my mind, and my future, my past, my life flashes before me, but each time, the discussion is different. The words just don’t stick, I can never seem to find the right ones.

I hope it’s a sign - a sign that it's a discussion I will never have and, as always, we look forward to a brighter future.

What's Normal Anyway?

Livin' life.

Each time a cancer treatment is complete, friends, family & acquaintances approach the subject with a "well at least that is over" attitude. We all go about our business as if that is it. Life will now go on as if cancer had never entered it, even though we know it has changed us tremendously, deeply. For those of us that it affected the most closely, we live differently - love more deeply, approach life more thoughtfully, with more respect than before, appreciate it more. We now try to prioritize daily activities even while taking responsibilities and deadlines seriously as if that little blip didn't happen, because our expectations must return to normal, too - gotta pay the bills. But in our minds we know we need to do more to take time with those we love, hold friendships more dear, draw lines in the sand more clearly than we did before because now we know just how precious life is, even if those that didn't walk every step with us don't know that yet - we know that any moment that cancer could return and take all of the important things away again. 

What so many people don't realize is that families who've battled cancer fear every cough, every sore throat, every odd feeling. We second guess the normalcy life may bring and place cancer in the forefront of our minds every time we have a funny feeling in the place that cancer took hold in the body. We especially allow "scanxiety" to take over our minds every three months, when a PET or CT scan glows red on the calendar. 

MD Anderson waiting room.

Because even if we lived life normally for a number months after Jason's radiation treatments - a treatment that seemed to work, a treatment that showed quite positive results and reduced the size and activity of the lymph node in his lung, a treatment that gave us almost 15 months of life without cancer treatments, when Jason's PET scans started to show increased activity we actually felt blindsided, kicked in the gut and undeniably heartbroken that cancer would dare return to this house, this family. 

Life was normal again for that time, almost a year and a half. Maddy had gone through one whole grade level and started another without a cancer treatment overshadowing her successes. We'd gone almost one whole school year where we had focused on her -she was loving second grade, we were working with a great allergist to desensitize her peanut allergy, helping her with reading, and just loving her up. Finally focusing on just her. Now, as we headed into the spring, here I was walking into talk to her teacher again to discuss her dad's medical issues at home. How many teachers would that be? How many times would it be that we had to discuss how she might be affected by her dad's medical treatments?

This time, Jason had another spot on his lung. A lymph node again was burning brightly in his left lung, way up in a spot that was probably not, according to his oncologist, in an operative position. She allowed us, though, to begin talking to a surgeon in the area to get his opinion, which we did. And immediately after that, we sought out a second opinion because we did not like the answer we heard nor the options we had been given - to simply live with cancer was not something we wanted for Jason and given that at a very young 35 years old with a 7 year old at home the risks were too great. 

View from the top.

So, we headed to U of M and Dr. Chin for his opinion, where we saw his PA and nurse practitioner who explained to us the procedure - Jason's history & scans would be considered and information would all be given to Dr. Chin and their team would present Jason's case to the tumor board, who'd then determine if Jason would be a good candidate for surgery. At this point we all knew that Jason's tumor was in an odd position, close to the center of his lung, and in order to remove the tumor, the entire left lung would need to be removed. And we were hoping for surgery.

Jason was three months into his third round of chemotherapy, he'd had radiation, he'd already had two lung surgeries, and had started out this whole nightmare with colon surgery. We knew that even if the chemo shrunk the new tumor, there was a very good possibility that it could spread from this lymph node if it hadn't already. He was responding very well from the current chemotherapy - the tumor had shrunk some, but as we soon found out, tumors respond the best in the first three months of chemo, more shrinkage wasn't likely. Surgery was the best option. 

Weeks later, Dr. Chin's PA called to let us know that though he wasn't opposed to surgery entirely, he didn't feel he should do the surgery, and recommended we see who he considered the best - Dr. Swisher out of MD Anderson. From that, our local oncologist got the ball rolling, and by July we were sitting in Dr. Swisher's office hoping and praying he'd take Jason on as a patient. 

Removing this lung would be the chance we had at removing this cancer from our lives forever. Our opportunity for getting normal life back. We learned, of course, that for us, this life is our normal for now. And living with cancer may just be what we have to do for a while, but we also know we sure as hell don't plan to do it forever.