The Waiting Game

How much of our lives are made up of waiting? Waiting for a letter, waiting for someone to call, waiting for the kettle to boil, waiting in line-ups at banks or supermarkets, waiting for summer, for birthdays, for someone in your family to come home. It is Sunday night and a warm December rain is hitting the windows. Julie is playing the piano and singing while we wait again, wait for tomorrow when we will hear what the doctor has to say about my further treatment. Last week, in the 'waiting' room of the hospital, what did we do? We waited for the new oncologist to appear and beckon us into his office for my latest CT Scan report. I'm pretty sure we bullied the last oncologist out with our persistent positivity and proactive approach.

As it happened, the report was quite good with the cancer in the liver completely gone, the lungs clear, blood levels almost normal and all systems in top form. However, there is still some cancer caking in the omentum and it appears to have grown while it was reducing in all other areas. The oncologist said he was unsure where to go from here because most people don't live this long with this type of cancer and he has never had to go to plan B, let alone Plan C, D and E. He said it in a complementary way, such as, you have already beat the odds. Julie once more got on the warpath, researching, e-mailing, calling and borderline-stalking physicians for action. She contacted Dr.Öberg at the Centre for Excellence in Endocrine Cancer in Uppsala, Sweden. Dr. Öberg is on our team as we were there in the spring for testing and consultation. He suggested a regime that would have me on three more cycles of the chemo that I just finished along with the drug, Avastin. Now, Avastin comes with its own challenges, too lengthy to describe here, but none we can't conquer. My oncologist will take the advice of Dr. Öberg. Hopefully the two oncologists will talk tomorrow and make a plan for me, so we are waiting. Waiting, waiting waiting.

So, what do you do when you are waiting for something that could mean your life? Well, you go tobogganing. That's right, tobogganing. Take that cancer!!!! You make bread and a crock of beans. You pace. You pour a glass of wine. You flit from task to task, accomplishing nothing. You pour a bath that is too hot and get right out again. You do mundane things as if they are the most important tasks in the world. (Julie vacuumed the woodpile with the new shop vac). You talk to your sons on the phone for hours. You take calls from family and friends who reassure you. You pour more wine. You call up your healing gurus and make appointments...acupuncture, reiki, reflexology, energy healing, therapeutic massage, qi gong classes, meditation. You go for drives on old country roads that have no end. You wake up in the middle of the night and look out at the stars, knowing everything will be alright.

And so we wait.