Part two, My Cancer Journey

My Johns Hopkins surgeon, Dr. Jin He said the tumor was big, 3.7cm by 3.5cm, about an inch wide and long. He called it “advanced localized.” He said it might have been there for a while. The pancreas is about the size of my hand. I had pain because the tumor was putting pressure on surrounding tissue and organs. The fact that it was localized was a good thing. His plan was to do the surgery to cut out as much of the pancreas as was affected, and the whole spleen, because the tumor was wrapphed around the splenic artery. Then he recommended twelve rounds of chemo. I have always thought and said that I would not do chemo, because chemo itself is poison. My personal plan was to have the surgery and refuse the later chemo. I would seek other natural ways to ensure the cancer didn’t return.

Bruce and I left for Johns Hopkins in downtown Baltimore on August 9. We had to be in the surgical ward by 5:30 the following morning to prepare for a 7:30 start time for surgery. We were spending the night with friends who lived an hour from the hospital.

Our friends organized a surprise sendoff. They gathered inside the gate to wish us well as we drove out. I don’t know how they got so many to show up at the last minute on a Sunday afternoon. When we approached the group of about 25 friends, I wondered why people were standing alongside the road. As I recognized friends and heard their greetings, my eyes overflowed with tears. Bruce’s did too. They came to show us their love.

Video credit: Melissa W

We drove to Frederick, about three hours away, feeling loved and prayed for.

The next morning, August 10, we drove the last hour and arrived just before 5:30. Dr He came and greeted us as they prepped me for surgery. He warned me that if anything had changed since my last scan on July 21, he couldn’t operate. I understood.

Promptly at 7:30, they wheeled me into surgery. I woke about noon. I was groggy and asked Bruce if they were able to remove that tumor. He said no. After two hours of surgery, Bruce got a regular update text message at 9:48 “patient is doing well, the procedure is still in progress.” About four hours into the planned five hour surgery, Bruce got a call that Dr. He was looking for him. The surgery was robotic as well as laproscopic. The team cut five small incesions around the belly for the instruments to access the tumor. Dr. He explained that the pancreas is tucked deeply in the upper abdomen and fits snugly behind the stomach and in front of the spine. Once the instruments got there, Dr. He discovered the duadenum was affected by the tumor and it was too risky to cut into the area and likely cause the contained tumor to spread.

I wasn’t surprised. I had an uncomfortable feeling this journey wouldn’t be as fast or as easy as I would like, but God still had a plan. I’ve never felt abandoned or unloved by God.

Later Dr He came around to talk about immediate chemo to shrink the tumor before surgery. That was not I wanted to hear. Everything was so fast and urgent. Everyone was planning the chemo port implantation before I left the hospital so the chemo I did not want could begin at the earliest possible time. The upside was that Dr He said I could have chemo infusions in Oakland, Maryland, a half hour from our home inWest Virginia, where I would need to find an oncologist so I would not have to drive to Baltimore every other week.

We spent two nights at Johns Hopkins vast medical complex. It’s like a city within a hospital, with its many additions to the original building that was dedicated in1889.  On the second night, Bruce asked for a wheelchair and took me on an adventure. It would have been impossible for me not to get lost, but Bruce is always aware of his surroundings. We went down elevators and into other departments, and up other elevators, into wide, bright corridors, and catacomb-like dark underground passages. Finally, we arrived at the landmark Bruce knew I would want to see and touch the hem of His garment. Known as Christ the Consoler, or the Divine Healer, the 10.5 statue was installed in 1896.

Apparently, we were not supposed to leave our floor. A nurse chased us down and sent us back. Heaven only knows how she tracked us down.

When we got home, the real rush to start chemo began. I had an appointment with a new oncologist, chemo training day, and chemo infusion day started August 21.

My chemo protocol would be every other Wednesday, when I would spend six or seven hours in the chemo chair at the clinic, and go home with a canister of more chemo with a pump in a fanny pack, and tubes taped to my body that would infuse three different kinds of chemo for another 43 hours. But doctors explained they were giving me a strong chemo cocktail, and they thought I was strong enough to tolerate it. The worst side effect the optimistic doctors thought I would experience would be fatigue. Maybe extreme fatigue. The nurses at the cancer clinic would tell me a different story and warn me of the horrors of chemo. I would go back to the cancer clinic on Friday and have the contraption removed. Everything was so fast. I hardly had time to contemplate the idea that I had previously said no to chemo.

Was I confused? I was overwhelmed. My mind was spinning, and I could remember nothing. I never doubted that God had a plan. He would never leave me in this state of mental exhaustion. I thanked Him for being with me on this reluctant journey. The only thing I could control was my attitude and gratitude. I had to choose gratitude. Over and over. And again and again.