Amused, Angela tells me she fell asleep last night amidst thoughts of death. "It couldn't have been too bad," she said, "I still fell asleep."
I am glad to report that our bear seems to be gathering her strength. She is at least out of bed more often compared to a few days ago. There are fewer headaches. I am hearing her laugh again. The steroids dropped her so very hard last week when she stopped them, but now she is picking herself up.
Two days ago we met with the oncologist. Without waisting time he told us he does not recommend chemotherapy yet. In this type of cancer he typically waits until there is more obvious impairment in blood counts (low red blood cells, white blood cells, or platelets), or in kidney function. Doing chemotherapy before these sorts of problems arise does not, ultimately, increase overall life expectancy. "Better to wait," he says, "wait and watch." He will see us every three months for tests. In the meantime Angela will be vigilant for any new pain that may arise in her spine or other bones.
Is there a chance that these new problems will never come? Is there a chance that the radiation therapy already done is all Angela will ever need? Yes, there is. Our good oncologist estimates the likelihood of this, however, at 20%. "There is no cure for multiple myeloma," he proudly cautions. In Angela's case, this might be the type of myeloma that, as he says, "smolders in the bones without causing problems for a long time." On the otherhand, of course, time may be shorter.
Long or short, if the time comes, our good man will treat this cancer aggressively. A man of numbers, it sounds as though he, himself, would bet on giving Angela both chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant "sooner or later," but not now. "Why ruin the winter?" he asks.
Regretably the oncologist was not surprised that the pain and weakness in Angela's hands had not improved. Plainly, he told us that these symptoms likely won't get better even as the tumor recedes. Reassuringly, he said they should not get worse. Ultimately, moved by the hard plastic collar still supporting Angela's neck, he referred her to an orthopedic surgeon who has experience injecting "cement" between vertebrae in unstable spines.
At the end of the meeting Angela took this card player by the hand and thanked him for being straightforward. We will see him in three months.
Hope is simultaneously given and taken away.
There will be time, however long, to tend to our orchids. This morning, happily, we enjoyed our coffee with foamed milk while Rocky, once again, explored the meadow. In such moments even a plastic collar is no great matter.
We, of course, do not know to what extent our good man's numbers apply to polar bears. Saint George, of course, is still fighting the dragon above our hearth. Invisible hands still hover around us. We are still the recipients of the fondest wishes and prayers. We return those wishes and prayers one thousand fold. Our friends, we will still...be in touch.
Hope is the word which God has written on the brow of every man (and woman) - Victor Hugo
ReplyDeleteNot a day passes by without the both of you in my thoughts. I send you strength, positive energy, my prayers and love to the both of you.
I am here, always, when you need me.
-S.V.S.C.