Persistent tumor growth

The scheduled MRI and oncology visit this week brought disappointing news that Susan’s brain tumor has continued to grow. We could see cysts on the scan that are larger than in November. We could see the how the tumor is encroaching into surrounding tissue, claiming more space in her brain and compressing her left ventricle.

The Carboplatin chemotherapy she’s had since last fall may have slowed the tumor’s progress, but not enough to satisfy Dr. Nghiemphu. Susan will begin her fifth chemo regimen as early as this week if her platelet counts improve. A person’s normal platelet range is 140-415. Susan’s count was 125 two weeks ago and 82 on Wednesday, well below the minimum of 100 needed for chemo. We’ll repeat her lab tests this week and be prepared to start Temodar plus Accutane orally at home.

The good news is the tumor has not been growing more quickly; and Susan is feeling and functioning pretty well.

We were understandably discouraged after our latest door-closed, here-are-the-facts chat with the doctor about brain tumor growth. The old questions started to voice themselves silently to me as we waited in the exam room: What if this treatment doesn’t work? How many other treatments are there? What if her tumor starts growing uncontrollably? How much time does Susan have?

These questions are futile, unanswerable, and useless to entertain. I changed the subject in my mind, asking Susan how she’s feeling with the not-so-good news. Just then our friend Daisy walked by our room and reversed her steps when she saw us. She’s the oncology tech who’s loved us well since 2007, who shares our faith, and who’s always encouraging. She stepped into the room, greeted us warmly and asked Susan how she’s doing. Susan said she’s doing well. I spoke up about our not-so-good news.

Daisy instantly dispelled our gloom with words that spoke into our souls. “God will help you,” she said. “You are not alone. People who know you are keeping you in their prayers.” While I heard a sister in Christ speak, I think I blinked my eyes a few times as I became aware of encouragement from the Holy Spirit. “I pray for you every day. I pray for all our patients every day, for their care and their quality of life.”

“You have today,” she said. “Tomorrow you have tomorrow. Hug and kiss, say ‘I love you’ each day. Take one day at a time.” We finished with hugs and thanks and blessings. As the atmosphere changed in my mind, Susan and I were thankful – for the gift of life, for each day we have, and for our loving God who met us in an exam room at UCLA. He reminded us of his constant support by ordering the steps of his servant Daisy to bring us words of life. Susan is ready for Heaven. We both want Heaven; but I’m not so sure about what happens in between. We’ll take one day at a time.