Dr. Stark, Not to Be Confused With Tony

Chemo got delayed this week, the real reason for my silence. It hit Matt hard. He wants to be done, I want it to be over for him. I’ve been sick. The kids both had ear infections. Back to school went great, but I always worry Couraira’s going to get emotional at school. 

I got an email back from Dr. Fong at City of Hope. I’m getting Matt’s latest images sent there tomorrow. I should’ve gotten it handled Friday. I dropped the ball, but there’s not enough hours in a day. 

Thursday we met Dr. Stark, an interventional radiologist, and another personable guy. I may favor him slightly more than the Johns Hopkins genius, because he didn’t just outline a plan. He put it in motion. Matt has to make it through the last three rounds of chemo. That includes this session we just missed. Than he has successfully endured six months. I have to pause at that. It’s been six months of this toxicity. That’s twenty-six weeks of sleepless nights and exhaustion. One hundred and eighty-two days of ups and downs. It’s like the longest roller coaster ride, where you continually get the feeling that you’re going to throw up your intestines. 

The plan is try and use this upcoming chemotherapy and immunotherapy break for some targeted radiation therapy. I have been pushing and pushing for more than just chemo maintenance. We can’t be wasting time. 

We’re striving for the Y-90 mapping. This Friday we’ll meet with a radiation oncologist. I’m hopeful that this will be a stepping stone to surgery. 

In the meantime, Matt is heading in to see if he’s ready for chemotherapy/immunotherapy again. He has to get the treatments completed to bring radiation to the table. He’s been walking more, and we’re pushing the heavy protein foods in the house. 

Aside from this relay race between providers and prayers, I have seem small glimpses of my husband. The Matt B.C. (Before Cancer), he’s still in there. We laid in bed flipping from football to Hallmark movie last night, joking and I felt a resurgence of hope. We can do this. Together. So I’ll cross everything I have that they start chemotherapy tomorrow even though it takes my husband away. It depresses him and withdraws him from both the girls and I. I won’t say it’s a small price to pay to have him alive. It’s not small. It’s a massive void. But, as a caretaker and a cancer wife I will tell you what gets me through. Focus on the end goal. We have to do this. Pretend there is NO choice. Because the reality is all the options are less than appealing. 

So here’s to hoping tomorrow brings a chemotherapy treatment connection (never thought I’d be typing that). Then praying only good news from the radiation oncologist on Friday. There’s no point in thinking past that. I have a better chance of predicting week seven stats for an NFL Survivor League (which I already got booted from- thank you Ravens). 

If all goes well, we will be back in the office of Dr. Stark soon. 

I love you three thousand.