An Inconvenient Tumor

I don't know how to start this other than getting straight to the point.

Bryan's tumor shrunk by almost 65%!!!!!

We had our neuro oncologist follow-up appointment this morning, bright and early at 8am. I don't know why, but since the last few MRIs haven't been good news, I'm now conditioned to be absolutely terrified of getting the results. Symptom-wise, Bryan is doing great. He's improving by leaps and bounds, so obviously things were improving inside his brain as well. But over the past few days, my anxiety level grew to a point where it was almost unmanageable. There have been times I've been at the gym and have almost burst into tears in the middle of a class.

I think it's the fact that these MRI result appointments are truly a matter of life and death. It's like waiting to get results from the LSAT or GMAT, but knowing that not passing the test may cost you your life. You work your ass off, you take all the classes, you burn the midnight oil and suffer from sleep deprivation and unreasonable amounts of stress; and it all boils down to one result. It sounds ridiculous, but that's our reality.

So this morning I was just trying to manage my emotions while we were waiting for the doctor. When the physician's assistant, Rebecca, came in, she was all smiles and immediately said, "The MRI looks good." Rebecca isn't one to mince words or use a ton of descriptive words, so her short and sweet statement was all needed to hear. She took us into the imaging room where we were greeted by our neuro oncologist and shown Bryan's latest MRI scan, enlarged on a computer screen. Right next to it was Bryan's old MRI from two months ago. That one wasn't good at all; the tumor was big - maybe about the size of a lime - and there was a ton of swelling/contrast enhancement, which appear as white dots throughout the tumor.

The latest scan, however, looked nothing like the old one. Where there was previously contrast enhancement, there was nothing. Where there was tumor expansion, there was, again, nothing. Everything was calm and the doctor said that the area most affected by the tumor had been replaced by healthy brain cells. The tumor itself had been reduced to about the size of a quarter, which was simply amazing.

When our doctor showed us the scans and I realized how much it had shrunk, I just about lost it. I tried not to...I bit my lip, the inside of my cheek and tried to blink the tears away, but the effort was futile. I just started crying, which in turn made Bryan's mom cry, Bryan cry, and our doctor even looked a little misty-eyed. He was mostly overjoyed to share the great news with us.

It's been the longest seven months of our lives. Every day I would wake up and go to bed wondering how much more time Bryan and I had together. How many more mornings would we have to wake up and lay quietly and lovingly in each others arms. How many more nights would we have to say, "I love you, goodnight my sweetheart." Being faced with that reality is an incredibly lonely, sad, horrible feeling. Those words don't even cover it; just thinking about it makes me want to sob uncontrollably.

But today we're crying incredibly joyous tears! We have been given the gift of time and renewed hope. Those are the most precious gifts in the world when you've married your best friend and soulmate.

Our doctor said that we can expect the tumor to continue to shrink over the next several months, and that Bryan will get better and better. He'll be off all of his medication, except for the healthy supplements, within one month. He'll continue to do monthly chemo cycles to keep attacking the tumor even further. And our doctor is keeping him on Avastin for a little while longer just to keep everything calm up in his head.

Right after the appointment, we went straight to the infusion center to get his Avastin. We all hung out while the phlebotomist tried to find a vein. Today was a tough vein day, too, by the way. But Bryan is such a trooper. Bryan's mom and her friend Theresa took off back to their hotel and I went upstairs to get Bryan his Starbucks. But as I'm walking on the Plaza, you'll never guess who I ran into.

Dr. Keith Black, himself.

We haven't seen Dr. Black since our initial consultation and although he was talking to a colleague, I felt like I had to share our good news. So I apologized for interrupting and said I just wanted to let him know that we had just seen his team's leading neuro oncologist and that Bryan's tumor had shrunk by a huge margin. Dr. Black's eyes lit up in his own quietly-zen way, and he said "That is such wonderful news, thank you for sharing that. Congratulations to you both."

And then, after apologizing again to his colleague for my interruption, I went on my way. But I mean, what are the chances that in this huge hospital I would run smack into the man responsible for creating an industry-changing approach to fighting brain tumors? The man who gave us reason to hope, not fear, our situation? The man who gave us the doctors, the tools and the treatment (no matter how rough) to kick cancer's big fat ass?

I know it's probably not a sign, but I took it as one. And I'm sticking to it.

Our journey isn't over - not by a long shot - but it's our first sign of true progress. Like Dr. Black originally said, "We're going for a win or a tie, not a loss." Well, right now we're winning and we're winning big. We've been forever changed since that fateful day last April, and quite honestly we'll never be the same people. But we're better for it, and I hope that by sharing our story we've made other people better for it, too.

Now we truly have cause to celebrate. Bryan's upcoming fundraiser will be a huge party, one at which we hope to see so many wonderful, friendly faces. Until then, we're going to have our own celebration. Starting now.

And guess what we're going to do? We're going to take the longest, most relaxing nap ever. Because frankly after seven months of this craziness, we're just so god damned tired.

But today, October 9, 2009, made our hard work worth all the effort.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

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