The right kind of dying

 The number of drafts that I have unpublished between the last episode of The Cancer Show and now is fairly ridiculous.  I'm not without millions of little and big updates, but also, the update that I really want hasn't happened yet.  The cancer free update remains elusive.  I've talked to a lot of new doctors who have their own thoughts about what to do and what not to do, and also not to forget, what they can legally talk about and what they can't.  It all boiled down to a wicked case of cancer fatigue.  

Ask 10 doctors about how to treat/therapize/blast into orbit a few sarcomas and you'll get 50 answers.  At least.  While I've never felt the need to vilify cancer, I can say, it does suck because no one (NO ONE) knows how to cure it.  Some things work beautifully for some people and those same things are completely ineffective (or worse) in someone else.  Meanwhile, time goes by and friends are rediagnosed, some are lost to cancer, and new ones are diagnosed.  It's maddening, exhausting, makes me want to yell rude things into the void, and still that isn't enough to make me lose hope for myself and everyone else.

Quick updates from last time: another round of PDT completed in March.  Definitely not as easy as the Mexico version that also had a lot of IV support.  This round started off innocently enough, but got more intense with each appointment--more discomfort/pain and fatigue.  Liver specialist at UW says surgery isn't an option right now.  There are still just 3 lesions on my liver, but they're spread apart in a way that would make swiss cheese out of my liver.  Livers don't like being cheese.  Fair enough.  Y90 is a no-go because the vascularity is very minimal to the tumors.  Good because that keeps growth slow, bad because any vascular treatment is going to have minimal effect.  This includes Y90 and chemo.

There is good news.  

Sometimes hope looks like planting sticks and getting flowers.

The largest lesion on my liver has a significant area of necrosis that is 2.5x bigger from February to May.  Meaning, 2.5xs more dead than the amount of dead it was in February.  Something I didn't know until I did is that necrosis can be a bad sign.  As a tumor gets larger, it's not unusual for the the interior to die because the nutrients are focused towards the surface to grow more.  We want it to die, but oh no, not THAT kind of dying.  Who knew, but there's a preferred kind of dying.  Sigh.  BUT, here's why I'm chalking it up to victory and not the wrong kind of dying.  On the images, the area of necrosis is on the edge, not the center, and there's a little lollypop stick of dying tissue going to it--likely the microwave probe and then the area treated.  Victory, dammit!  (To be confirmed by the clinic in Mexico, but I've seen enough scans that I'm goin' with it....)

Meanwhile, my body has become like one of those car brands that everyone says, "oh those are awesome cars *pregnant pause* until something breaks, then it's a huge pain in the butt to get parts to fix it."  To be waiting for something to come from Germany, India, Mexico or Canada isn't unusual.  My car parts are scattered hither and yon, my check engine light has been on so long that it burned out, and yet, the journey continues.

*BEEP BEEP!*

And sometimes hope is your friend liking dance competitions as much as you do.  (She does.)

Hope in a human is Andrea Gibson.  She was recently on Glennon Doyle's podcast, and there aren't words to describe the conversation.  Find it and tell your ears to give it to your heart.