God is good: I'm getting surgery

So, what felt like a long wait to find out what’s next ended yesterday.  I had an MRI last Saturday, and yesterday I saw the surgeon.  He was happy with the progress, so he’s going ahead with the surgery.  We still don’t have a date except that it will be in January.  That means that the chemo session I had yesterday is my last until after the surgery – they want at least a four week break from chemo, since chemo is hard on the liver and they want the liver as healthy as possible before they hack into it.  And THAT means that I will probably have a fairly decent Christmas!!!  It will be three weeks after chemo, so hopefully I’ll be mostly recovered.  I have been finding that with each round it takes a little longer to recover, but three weeks should do the trick.

Just as an aside, I’ve been fascinated by some of the medical things I’m learning as I go through the process.  For example, I can see how doctors need years of training in order to pick things up from CT scans and MRIs.  I’ve been lucky enough to see both of mine, and they just look like a lot of shades of gray.  How they pick out cancer from other things is beyond me.  Also, I’ve heard that the liver regrows, but I had no idea how fast.  In fact, it only takes 4-6 weeks!  The reason that came up is that there is a possibility I’ll need two surgeries on my liver, and they would be approximately 6 weeks apart.

The doctor did warn that it’s a serious surgery.  1-3% of people die from it and there are chances of ongoing liver problems.  So, once again I thank you for your thoughts and prayers!

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”  Lamentations 3:22-23

Brad.

God is good; I am blessed!

(I’m pretending it’s still Tuesday, even though the clock has ticked past midnight.)

So, I’m guessing by some of the feedback I’ve been getting the last few days that some of you have been thinking I’ve forgotten about you, and others are wondering if I’m already dead.  I’m sorry!  Between being quite busy and feeling I didn’t have much to report, I haven’t sent an update for a while.  However, now that I have news, here it comes….

This morning I was fortunate enough to go on a lovely walk around the lake with my lovely wife and an uncle and aunt who were here for a visit.  It really was beautiful, with the fall colors, and a very calm lake.  The only ripples on the lake were the occasional duck making a large V in the water.  There were fresh signs of beaver, as well.  I felt truly blessed to have this kind of beauty right outside our back door.

After that it was time for a trip to the oncologist.  My schedule was slightly altered this week because of the oncologist’s availability.  I didn’t have my chemo on Monday.  Instead, last Friday I had an interim CT scan, followed by a visit to the oncologist today to hear the results.  Chemo this week will be Wednesday.

Well, if you’ve been reading my stuff you’ll know that the oncologist has never really been very upbeat, and has never (as far as I remember) actually given us good news.  Today was different.  According to the CT scan, two of my tumors that measured 2.5 cm had shrunk to 1.4 cm and 1.2 cm respectively.  The others showed similar shrinkage.  So, needless to say, that was great news.  It means that the surgery will almost certainly proceed as planned (sometime in December).

I’ve been saying all along that if it were the quantity of prayer that made the difference, I’d be healed.  I still don’t believe it is, but this certainly appears to be an answer to the many prayers that have been expressed on my behalf.  (After all, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t all the Peter’s burgers I’ve had the last few weeks!)

Thanks again for all your thoughts and prayers!
Brad.

Today's Chemo Session

In my line of work there’s a common acronym:  RTFM.  (I’m always a little reluctant to use it, since I have to make a mental adjustment for the “F”.  J)  We’ve seen numerous “Amazing Race” episodes where I’ve almost shouted it at the screen.  Today it seems to apply to me.  To paraphrase slightly, READ THE INSTRUCTIONS!!!  You’d think I’d know better than to trust my memory, but I was sure I only needed one pill before going to chemo.  Turns out I need two.  That little oversight cost me.

 

My appointment was this morning at 9:00 am.  The needle poke itself was significantly less painful than last time, but it was still fairly nasty.  It didn’t take me long to fall asleep, only to be pleasantly awoken by our Pastor.  We had a very nice visit – I really enjoy talking to pastors, especially if we can chat about the odd theological question.  After he left I went back to lethargy, though I don’t think I feel asleep.  Around the time that my final, 15-minute bag of chemo was to start, I started to feel a little nausea.  By the time it came time to head for the car, I wasn’t sure I’d make it.  Sure enough, before I left I had to grab the garbage can.  Fortunately it was a fairly short session, but vomiting for me is fairly intense.  It’s not quite as bad as for my father or sister, who actually pass out when they vomit, but it’s no fun.  Anyway, they seem to take that kind of thing very seriously in the chemo department!  The nurses came running, and immediately tried to determine the cause.  Fortunately Sue was there to help me remember what drugs I’m on, so they were able to work out the issues.  They gave me another one of the pills I was supposed to have taken, as well as a fast-acting one for a more immediate response.  Ten or fifteen minutes later I felt good enough and we left.  I haven’t had another bout since, but I expect I’ll be taking ALL my medication next time!!!

 

Anyway, the rest of the day has been fairly good.  I was quite tired again, so I had a decent nap before heading out for hockey.  We were very happy to learn that Brodie made the hockey team he was trying out for, so we took him out to one of his favourite restaurants to celebrate.  I was happy that my supper didn’t taste like someone dropped the pepper shaker into it – I had some war wonton soup that was really quite good.  However, I had some lemonade to go with it, and drinking that was a bizarre experience.  I remember the first winter hike I did with my buddy Barry.  We were at a creek that was still running high up in the mountains, and the water was so cold that the instant you dipped your pot into the water, it coated the pot with a layer of ice and instantly formed a layer on top.  That’s how drinking the lemonade felt:  like it instantly coated my lips, tongue, and throat with ice!  It felt very bizarre, but I got through it.  It was also somewhat reminiscent of that candy that the kids used to get that kind-of exploded on your tongue (pop rocks or something?).

 

One last thing to share:  the “verse of the day” from biblegateway.com was perfect today:

Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.  Isaiah 46:4 NIV

 

God bless!

 

Brad.

P.S.  Oops!  I just looked back at my old post in which I thought I’d mentioned the pepper, but it looks like I didn’t, so that reference may be too vague.  The first two suppers I had after my first chemo session were lasagna and farmer sausage.  Both meals tasted like someone had dropped the pepper shaker into the food.  The first supper I actually asked others whether there was something wrong with the lasagna, but they confirmed it was just my taste buds, not the food.  The second time I was expecting it.  That sensation disappeared after that, though.  The next time I had some leftovers of the same lasagna, it tasted great!

Just thought you might like some context for that one.

Brad.

A Happier Update

Before I get to the main part of this story, I thought I should mention that it’s interesting to observe myself going through all of this.  My spirits seemed to take a significant turn for the better Sunday after an evening church service (to help Brodie make up for missing the morning service for hockey try-outs, and Sue for work).  Apart from some periods of grumpiness yesterday and today, I’ve been feeling quite a bit better.  The port is finally starting to bother me less (more itchy than painful by now).  However, my energy level seems to be attached to a yo-yo.  I get tired quite quickly/easily.  I also seem to be much more affected by low blood sugar.  If I go too long without eating, I really notice myself starting to drag.  In fact, it wasn’t until after a Peters’ burger Sunday evening that I started to pick up.  J

Today, in what seems to have become a never ending queue of trips to doctors, we went to see another surgeon.  This is the one that will hopefully cut a piece from my liver later this year.

This turned out to be a bit of an unusual visit.  It started out poorly.  We had an appointment for 11:30, but didn’t actually see the doctor until 12:45!  It’s safe to say I wasn’t particularly happy about it, and ranted to Sue at length about how they should respect other people’s time and how the medical profession should, after a week or two, learn to adjust their schedules:  if 15 minute appointments aren’t enough, adjust them to 20 minutes, etc., etc.

When the doctor finally came in he was quite business-like.  In fact, shortly after he first came in, he left again so I could change.  Sue said something like “well isn’t he personable” with all the sarcasm she could muster.  I, being a guy, said “I kinda like his interface”.  However, after he returned he quickly won Sue over with what he did and said.  First of all, he went out, tracked down a suture removal kit, and removed a couple of left-over sutures (from the port).  That blew us away:  we thought doctors delegated that kind of thing to nurses!!!  But that was only the beginning.  In our initial banter I said, off-handedly, something like “I’m dying from cancer”.  He jumped on that and said “no you’re not!”  I had to explain to him that that’s just the way I talk, that it doesn’t mean I’ve resigned myself to the fact, and that I intend to fight it as best I can.  Then, among his first words were “my goal is to cure you”.  Yes, he actually used the word “cure”.  Needless to say, we were both taken aback.  He then went on to explain the situation with my liver (two spots on two different lobes, for a total of four spots), how they were hoping the first round of chemo would shrink the tumors (especially one near some important blood vessels), and how he was really hoping to get them all with one surgery, but that he couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t take two.  If all goes well, I’ll get re-scanned in late November, with surgery in December.  His optimism was so refreshing, but what was even more important (at least to me) was how competent he seemed.  That kind of competence instills confidence in guys like me.  When we finally left two hours after our initial appointment, we were no longer quite as bothered by having had to wait.

Anyway, this battle is far from over, and the odds are still against me, but it was so nice to hear a bit more optimism.  Now if only I could get back a bit more consistent energy levels.  After all, I couldn’t play hockey or go skiing on what I’ve got in the tank these days!!!

Brad.

Hiccups!

Who knew hiccups could be so debilitating? Walking, standing, sitting, reclining, lying down, home remedies, drinking water, slow breathing, holding my breath – nothing helped! At the worst of it, my entire body would convulse several times with each hiccup. It was no fun! But what was worse was what it did to my brain. As far as I know, I’ve never had a panic attack, but that seems like a good way to describe what the hiccups did. During some fits I felt like I just couldn’t get enough air. And then eventually it felt as though each one would make me vomit. And there just didn’t seem to be anything that would allow my brain to settle. It felt so very psychosomatic, and yet I seemed helpless to fight it. Great news: I never vomited and they eventually passed! J

That was Thursday. Yesterday was calmer, but the nausea has arrived. My energy level was very low – too low to send out an update. Today (so far) I’m feeling a little better, though still somewhat nauseous.

In the mean time, we managed to lease a car (Toyota Camry, in case you care) to replace the Acura, and Brodie made the main AAA hockey camp (not the team yet – that’s still to come) he’d been trying out for. Life is good!

Brad.

Quick Chemo Update

Well, this may well be premature, and I may regret sending this soon, but… so far the only side effects I’ve experienced from the chemo are “chemo hiccups”.  The one article I read on the web said those are a not uncommon side effect of one of the anti-nausea drugs.  The nice thing is that it also said that “people who suffer from chemo hiccups are much less likely to suffer from nausea and vomiting”, so I’m optimistic.  J

 

I’ll also give you a bit of an update of the chemo treatment itself.  The appointment was at 2:15, and started with some cleaning of the port – removing bandages, etc.  That wasn’t particularly fun, since the port still causes me pain and this was a bit rough.  However, it was bearable.  The thing that took me a bit by surprise was when the needle went into the port.  That was excruciating!  Sue gave me her hand to squeeze and I had to control myself not to break it!  I felt cold sweat all over my body and nearly climbed the wall!  They said the first time was worst, and I certainly hope that’s true.  They also mentioned some cream to apply for next time that might help.

 

After the pain from the jab subsided, which took maybe 5-10 minutes, the rest was very uneventful.  I sat there for about three hours letting the fluid drain into my system.  Pastor Jim dropped by and I had a nice visit with him.  Next time I may bring my laptop as well, since I could probably get a bit of work done if I were so inclined.

 

They sent me home with a bag attached the port (hanging on my belt) with more drugs that drain into my system for the following two days (it gets detached Wednesday afternoon).  I don’t notice it much, really – it’s not that big of an inconvenience.

 

For a less-than-flattering picture, feel free to take a look at http://pletts.elegantlogic.com/Photos/ShowPhoto.aspx?Folder=2013_08_26_01&Photo=WP_20130826_001.jpg.  Next time I’ll wear a button-up shirt!

 

That’s about all for now.

 

Brad.

Oncologist Visit

I’m a little slow with this update, but as my Mom used to say:  better late than never.  Yes, I think of my parents a fair bit these days, perhaps because I look forward to joining them someday, and lately that “someday” seems just a little closer.  J

I did have my oncologist meeting on Friday.  The meeting went well, and we learned two important things:  1) I am a surgery candidate (as we’d already suspected, but this was confirmation – and good news :-), assuming a scan after the first three months of chemo still suggest it’s worth it, and 2) my outlook is not as simple (and perhaps not quite as bleak) as my earlier email suggested.  I thought I had heard that I had a 20% chance of making it beyond five years.  However, it’s a bit more complicated than that.  The oncologist reiterated that with no treatment the median life expectancy is one year, and with only chemo it’s two years.  However, with surgery, the more accurate picture is that in 80% of cases the cancer returns within five years.  If/when it does, the clock kinda resets and they may still be able to attack it further with more chemo and/or surgery.  In fact, the doctor said that in “men as young as I am”, they can sometimes cherry-pick the liver for a while.  I’m not sure exactly what “cherry-pick” means in this case, but I assume he meant cut off cancerous stuff as it appears (i.e. multiple surgeries).  It sounds like each round would be decreasingly effective, but still might add a bit of time to the clock.  Oh and yes, he referred to me as young.  J  I’ve generally felt young and healthy for my entire life, but I admit I’ve been feeling significantly older with all this going on (and with how slowly/gingerly I move these days due to my multiple wounds)!  So, generally that was all good news.

Additionally, he was pleased with the way my surgery was healing up, and with the way the port was healing.  The port news wasn’t quite as positive, though.  I guess they won’t be using it for everything as I’d understood.  It is used only for the chemo drugs, not for blood work.  That means that when they draw blood every two weeks, they still poke me.  Those of you that know my problems with needles (both that I don’t enjoy them and that medical people often have trouble finding my veins) will understand that was a bit of a disappointment, but really pretty minor in the grand scheme of things.  It did, however, give me a little pause just because the port has caused me almost as much pain and discomfort as the surgery did!  Well, that’s not accurate since the surgery was a lot more painful initially, but the port pain and discomfort just seems to be sticking around longer than I expected.  I wondered at one point whether the port will be worth it in the end, given the pain and discomfort, but I’m sure it still will be.

One other thing I learned is that the liver surgery is likely to be roughly as invasive as the colon surgery, so that won’t be fun.  Still, I’ll take things as they come, one day at a time.

Anyway, I want to leave you with another passage of scripture, possibly slightly out of context, but still very relevant:

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

2 Corinthians 4:16-18 (NIV)

I really encourage you to take a look at what follows that in chapter 5, but if I started pasting that in here, I’d have trouble knowing where to stop!

Tomorrow (well having looked at the clock, I guess “today”, but after a sleep :-) it’s off to chemo.  That appointment is at 2:15 PM.  They say I should expect to be there 2.5-3 hours, and that I’ll be going home with a bottle attached to my port that they remove two days later.  The big bummer is it will force me to miss one of Brodie’s hockey tryouts, but oh, well, perhaps it will keep me alive to watch even more hockey in the future!

Brad.

Quick Update

So I got my port put in today (a picture of it, still covered in dressing, is at http://pletts.elegantlogic.com/Photos/ShowPhoto.aspx?Folder=2013_08_20_01&Photo=WP_20130820_003.jpg), and the next event is another meeting with the oncologist on Friday.

I haven’t heard if I’m actually a surgery candidate yet, but I do have a consultation with a liver surgeon on September 4, which would seem to suggest it’s likely – I just don’t want to read too much into it.

Anyway, thanks again for all your prayers, thoughts, and concerns!

Brad.

P.S.  This has nothing to do with me nor my health per se, but it was shared with me this week, and I enjoyed it so much I thought I should pass it along:
http://www.godvine.com/Christian-Painter-Creates-a-Holy-Image-That-ll-Leave-You-in-Awe-Check-It-Out-3788.html

No Sugar Coating

It appears God intends to test our faith, either in how He heals me or in how He provides for Sue and the kids.

We met with the oncologist Dr. Monzon today, and he informed us that the cancer had definitely spread to the liver, and maybe even the lungs.  He went on to say that as recently as seven years ago, that was an automatic death sentence.  Now, however, there was some (if limited) hope.  I think I’m summarizing correctly when I say that with no treatment, I have approximately a year, and with straight chemo-therapy I may have two.  However, if I’m a candidate for surgery, there is a 20% chance (maybe even 20-40% chance, depending on whom you quote) of being cancer-free in five years.  Yes, if you do the math, it means about an 80% chance of being gone in 5 years.  The oncologist will be speaking to the surgeons over the next few days to decide if I’m a good candidate for surgery.  They make an evaluation now.  Assuming I am a candidate, there is a slim chance they’ll want to do the surgery immediately.  More likely they’ll do 3 months of chemo, do another evaluation and, if it still makes sense, do the surgery, followed by another 3 months of chemo.

So, it looks like the following is the most likely scenario for my immediate future:

• August 19 – chemo class
• August 20-22 (somewhere in there) – have a port inserted (a “Port-a-Cath, which is different from a “PIC line” for you medical junkies J)
• August 23 – another appointment with the oncologist
• August 26 – start chemo

I think that about sums it up.  For today I’m putting my faith in Philippians 4:19. God bless!
Brad.

Working!

I can’t even tell you how good it feels to be back working again!  I put in a few hours yesterday, and I’m at it again today.  And I’m very thankful to the guys at R2 for letting me put in some billable time even if I can’t make it in to their office very easily.

Brad.

Goodbye staples!

Hi folks!  Not a lot to report today.  Recovery from the surgery is coming along (including a nice drive to the mountains with my sister yesterday), and I got the staples out this morning (all 39 of them!).  I’m hoping to be able to start working from home again bit by bit, hopefully starting tomorrow.

 

I guess now the focus will begin to shift from removing the tumour and recovering from that surgery to the reality of cancer.  The next event on that schedule is a meeting at the Tom Baker Cancer Centre on August 13.

 

Brad.

 

P.S.  I’ve begun chronicling this journey on a blog just so that as I add people to the email list, I don’t have to send extra emails or include all the history in each email.  You can find that at http://pletzky.blogspot.ca/, but don’t worry – I expect to keep sending email updates.  The blog will just contain copies.  J

Yay, I'm home!

It was an unexpected delight this morning to hear the doctor say I was being released today.  I’m still very dopey and groggy, but I’m writing this from the comfort of my own home.  Yes, I’m now sitting in my office, having been chauffeured home by my lovely wife and served chicken soup by my lovely daughter!  Life is good!  J

 

I’ll be getting the staples out sometime early next week.

 

So, the pathology report has already returned, and confirmed it was cancer.  I’m not good enough with the medical details to provide very specific information, but the tumor was between 4 and 5 cm in any direction (i.e. maximum diameter was less than 5cm). There has been some spreading, though it sound like not a lot (1 of the 18 lymph nodes removed with the metre-long section of colon contained cancer cells). I’ve been referred to the Tom Baker Cancer Centre, which is where I’ll be going when I’ve recovered from surgery a little more.

I was thinking of putting a picture of the incision with this email, but Sue thought that might not be the greatest – not everyone would want to see it.  So, if you ARE interested, you can see it here:  http://pletts.elegantlogic.com/Photos/ShowPhoto.aspx?Folder=2013_08_01_01&Photo=WP_20130801_002.jpg

Thanks again for your thoughts and prayers!

 

Brad.

 

Hey folks! I'm still alive!

(Brad dictating, Sue typing)

As Sue may  have mentioned, the surgery was worse than expected, but every day I'm getting better.  I had a lot of pain on Saturday but since then it's been very manageable.  It's relatively easy for me to get out of bed and walk around.  I assume though, that I'd have a lot of trouble getting through a metal detector.  The number of staples in my belly is ridiculous.

At this point, the next step is simply passing gas, which I have not been able to do.  They say walking should help, which is why I keep trying to walk, although I'm in a very lethargic state so that's not always easy.  They say it could happen any time.  It sounds like I'd likely get out of the hospital about two days after I manage to fart.

We don't have the lab results from the three foot section of colon that was sent away yet, and it sounds like the CT scan is somewhat inconclusive so it's unclear at this point whether or not there will be chemo, however, I am being referred to the Tom Baker Cancer Centre for follow-up, and the initial appointment should be within two weeks of my being released from the hospital. As the only doctor we have spoken to is a colorectal, who doesn't treat liver cancer, he can't really give us much for answers.

Love you all, and covet your prayers.  Thank you for the outpouring of support we have already been blessed with.

My own prayer continues to be that "I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God."  Acts 20:24

Brad.

The day after the day after

So this is Sue typing.  I’m assuming I know at least some of you. You will no doubt notice that  I have not been able to reach quite the same level of “well isn’t this an interesting new adventure” in my attitude to this journey as my marvelously pragmatic husband has.

Brad’s surgery was Friday, early early in the morning, and it ended up being a long, hard day for all of us.  Although the surgeon was hoping to do the surgery laparascopically (that’s maybe not the real word.  I can’t do any better than that.), that approach didn’t work, and so Brad ended up with a rather long vertical abdominal incision, in addition to the three lapar. . incisions.  Apparently much of the colon was removed, although the tumour was “average size.”

Brad spent several hours in recovery while they attempted to get his breathing stabilized, so even though he left for the OR at 7:45 am, we didn’t see him again until almost 5 pm.  I cannot begin to express the depth of relief I felt when I was finally to touch him again.

Today he had a peaceful day – he is getting enough painkiller for the pain to be manageable, but he was very groggy.  He did get up and go for a walk at least twice, and he spent a lot of time thanking nurses for being nice to him.  One small praise from today – he ripped his IV out in his sleep, but a) I noticed it almost immediately and b) he came out of the OR with two IV lines in, so they simply switched his medication to the second, now unused line.  As it can be very difficult to find a vein (his tend to shrink away from needles) to put an IV into, it was a blessing that he did not have to go through that ordeal this afternoon.

The challenging news is that the CT scan he had done on Monday showed spots on his liver.  Although spots on the liver are not necessarily cancer, the surgeon said that they looked like cancer that has spread from the bowel.  We will know more when the lab results come back from the portion of colon that was sent away yesterday, but it looks like chemotherapy will be a part of Brad’s not too distant future.  He needs to recover from the surgery first, however, so now you all know how to pray J

The verses that have been running through my head today are “Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:  Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning.” (Lamentations 3:21-23)

Thank you all for caring.
Susan

RE: Yep, I'm mortal! (2)

CT scan Wednesday morning at 9:00 AM, ECG Thursday morning at 9:00 AM, both in prep for Friday’s surgery.  J

Brad.

RE: Yep, I'm mortal!

Thank-you all for your prayers, thoughts, and emails during this time!

OK, here are a few more details, as well as the latest news.  Some of you asked why I had the colonoscopy in the first place.  Well, approximately two years ago I went in for a routine physical.  At the time, the doctor said “well, you’re 50 – you should get a colon screening”.  She made the referral and I promptly forgot all about it.  Sometime after Christmas I began to experience some abdominal discomfort/pain.  To some degree I was like a frog in water, though.  It started very subtly, and even now isn’t particularly bad.  It’s not a strong pain – more discomfort.  However, my stool also started looking darker and became a bit more irregular.  The really weird thing is that it has gotten so that it’s difficult to tell whether I need to have a bowel movement, need to urinate, or am simply hungry.  Those three feelings are becoming somewhat difficult to differentiate between.  Then one day I got a call from the colon screening centre.  They told me my appointment was coming up.  Apparently the queue for routine screening is nearly two years long!  For me it felt like God was in the timing.

When the time for the colonoscopy arrived, they gave me a choice about whether or not to be sedated.  If I took the sedation, I’d be “legally impaired” for twenty-four hours.  Since I was headed to Toronto that night and would need to drive a car, I chose to go without the sedation.  I’m glad I did, because the pain/discomfort wasn’t that serious (in fact, it wasn’t as bad as the stuff I had to drink beforehand!) and I wouldn’t have heard the doctor talking to me as he proceeded.  When he saw it, he said something to the effect of “yep, there’s the cancer.  Looks like it’s been there a while.”  Also, it was bleeding and there was enough obstruction that he couldn’t continue further down my colon.  Given that we’d already been told that “early detection is key”, and that the doctor said “it’s been there a while”, and the fact that it was bleeding, and the fact that I’d had some abdominal discomfort already, we took away the impression that this was, indeed, very serious.  However, it was all speculative, so I didn’t include it in the previous email – I wanted more details before I began inviting people to my funeral.  J

I met with a surgeon today and he seemed quite calm about the whole thing.  This is not to say it’s not serious, but he certainly gave the impression it wasn’t the death sentence we thought.  In fact, the way he talked he made it sound like it might be nothing more than surgery – an oncologist might not even need to get involved.  The bottom line, really, is that we’ll take it one step at a time.  So, here are the next few steps.

1.       Within the next week or so (don’t have a date/time yet), I’ll be having a CT scan.  It is meant to provide more detail on the extent of the problem, including how much of my colon is affected, and whether or not it has spread to the liver, abdomen, or pelvis.

2.       July 26 I go in for surgery at Peter Lougheed Hospital.  It will be done laparoscopically (i.e. small, minimally invasive incisions), and they will remove a section of my colon, with its blood supply and lymph nodes.  I expect to be in the hospital 3-5 days, and probably off work for about two weeks.  Only about 3% of these surgeries end up with the need to have a colostomy bag for a few months after.

3.       The piece of colon that gets removed will be sent for pathology, where they will try to determine if the cancer has spread.  This typically takes about two weeks.

4.       If it is determined from steps 1 or 3 that the cancer has spread, then an oncologist gets involved.  It is at this point that the possibility of chemotherapy enters the picture.

Some of you have asked about how I’m doing/feeling.  The truth is that, whereas I continue to have some abdominal discomfort, it’s not that serious – after all, I can still play hockey!  J  The worst symptom I’ve experienced so far is a decrease in energy and an increase in the sleep I seem to need.  My appetite has gone down, too, but not precipitously.  So far I haven’t lost any weight (I keep hoping, but… J).  Psychologically I think I’m in a very good place, and I attribute that to God gifting me with a generally positive, optimistic view of life.

OK, I think that’s about it.  I think I’ve provided pretty much as much information as I have, but if you have questions, let me know and I’ll respond as best I can.

Thanks again!
Brad.

P.S. (for those who share my faith):  God is good!  It has touched me how much prayer support I’ve been receiving during this time.  In fact, I’ve been saying that if it went by quantity, I’d already be healed!  J  It is great to know that the Great Physician is guiding the physicians here, and if all else fails, has a place prepared for me!  That certainly doesn’t mean I’ll give up the fight down here – I certainly want to grow old with Sue and watch my kids grow up, but the thought of meeting my Redeemer and reuniting with my parents isn’t exactly a bad one either.  I simply have to quote Philippians 1:18b-26:

Yes, and I will continue to rejoice, for I know that through your prayers and God’s provision of the Spirit of Jesus Christ what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance. I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, so that through my being with you again your boasting in Christ Jesus will abound on account of me.

I feel very much like Paul did when he wrote that, even if our circumstances are somewhat different.  J

Yep, I'm mortal!

I’ve just returned from a colonoscopy in which the doctor called what he found cancer.  Apparently I’m to expect a call from a surgeon later this week.  More news as it becomes available...

Brad.