He lay on the pre-op bed and absolutely knocked us over:
“I will do a good job and I will be fine because I’m a survivor, okay?”
The medicine kicked in and he asked me to text his home healthcare nurse and let her know he’d been brave for the needle in his arm. And then, with a sigh, he passed into oblivion again for yet another MRI. I wish I could tell you the number but I’ve lost track…his 30th? …40th? Yeah, there have been a lot.
Despite a brief meeting with Chase’s neurosurgeon on Monday afternoon, the final word came, as it always does, from neuro-oncology regarding the MRI. The cysts appear to have grown again, but Chase’s spine looks clear, his condition is beautifully stable, he isn’t having seizures, and so, we continue to wait. If the cysts continue to grow, he may need a biopsy or some other surgical intervention, but it is not the right time for those things. And so we wait some more…
This is bad because nothing should be growing.
This is good because nothing is growing fast or harmfully.
This is the same because everything is growing marginally as they has been all along and we’re pretty much exactly where we were three months ago: watching, waiting, and scheduling another MRI in a few more months.
And as I write these things and feel a little weary as we start the fourth year on this AT/RT road, I’m mentally checking myself for complaining about a living, breathing son who probably shouldn’t have survived more than six months, some three years ago. The scan results comes down to what they always do: perspective.
Stuck in the wait a little while longer and choosing joy… moment by moment.