Boston, We Have A Problem

My husband is in his 40's. We've been dealing with cancer for 4 years. He said to me when we were in Boston, "I'll be so glad when you have this surgery and it's all over. I've been fighting this cancer with you for a 10th of my life. I can't wait until we are done." It's honest sentences like that that break your heart.

We're not done. The results were not good. Yes, the surgeons successfully removed the cancerous tumor. Yes, my uterus is still intact. Yes, I did not die during surgery. All good things. But the margins weren't clear.

A month ago that sentence would have had no meaning to me. "The margins are not clear." Now, it means everything. The overriding goal of uterine surgery was to remove a cancerous tumor and have clear margins. That means, you take out the bad stuff and a little bit of good stuff on all sides, so you know you've plucked all the cancer. A clear margin means there are no cancer cells left behind. We left cancer cells behind.

The pathology report showed the margins weren't clear. Dr. Goldstein had cancelled his office hours to be in the OR while Dr. Garguilo did the surgery. We essentially traveled hundreds of miles and had two geniuses collaborating on how much uterine wall to take and how much to leave. And yet, we didn't do it good enough.

In addition to the bad pathology report, the Beta hCG corroborated our worst fears. The number went up. Two days before the surgery, the hCG was 7.1. Ten days later, more than a week after removing the tumor we believed caused the cancer, the hCG rose again, registering a 12.1. It's not going well.

I feel dead inside. I'm so sad. I'm so frustrated. I'm so afraid. I'm going numb. While I'm smiling on the outside, I'm not well on the inside. But before I take to my inner wrist with a paring knife, we'll wait. Wait until Wednesday when I get my blood drawn again. If it goes down, I will rejoice. Even for a slight drop. That will show progress in the right direction. If it goes up, we have some difficult choices to make.

I feel like I've been at this precipice before. I get all worked up and then it all works out. But it doesn't change the absolute anxiety I feel right now. It doesn't stop the racing thoughts, no matter how hard I try. Maybe Chris and I weren't meant to be parents. Maybe I was never meant to be pregnant and experience the joy of having your baby kick inside your belly. Maybe harvesting eggs and making embryos in a test tube and putting them in someone else's uterus is just not going to work for us. Maybe the cancer isn't in my uterus at all and it's moved somewhere else. Maybe we won't find it in time  ...   Or maybe it will all work out.

I went to church this morning and prayed so hard that it will all just somehow work out. Chris came to church with me. You know we're in bad straights if Chris came to church. We're very cuddly and lovey with each other. We're trying our best to comfort each other. I just keep telling him I love him. He tells me he loves me. Really what we're saying is, "I'm afraid. Who knows what will happen? But no matter what happens, I love you." I think for us, 'I love you' has also turned into 'Thank you.' We're saying "I love you" a lot.

I'm so tired. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. Emotionally. But still, I know it could be worse. I'm blessed to be alive. I could be dead. Other cancer patients are dead. It doesn't change how I feel though. I'm so tired and I'm so scared.

We'll just wait ....