Blood tests, tumor markers, biopsy report, oncology visit

Christmas was on a Friday. By the weekend we knew the additional blood tests showing the tumor markers should be available. Jim and I agree that we will go to the office, pull anything with my name off of the fax and go upstairs to review it. There it is, kicking us in the gut. The CA 19-9 tumor marker for pancreatic cancer is over 2700, should be zero. Not much more room for denial or hope of an alternate diagnosis. We’ll need to wait for the biopsy report for more definitive information. Michele calls pathology at Lewis Gale on Monday and has a verbal report by Tuesday. Pathology has also called and spoke to the Oncologist I am scheduled to see on Wednesday. We hear that it is moderately differentiated pancreatic cancer. All the horrible statistics related to this cancer pound away at us. We explain it again to my parents and to the kids. Seems like each time we update them, the news gets worse. We decide to wait to tell others until Wed the 30th when we see the Oncologist and have all of the information put together for us.

Dr. K is very kind but the news is unbearable. “You have Stage 4 pancreatic cancer with mets to your liver” We ask many questions and discuss treatment options. “Average life expectancy with no treatment is 6 months”, 6 months?? June?? “ I do have a patient who is here 6 years later” I do not have the words to describe how devastated we are. Then the conversation turns to other options. “You’re young and healthy. Your lab work – there is nothing else wrong with you. You are who the experimental studies are looking for”. OK so time to go looking for a fight. He is going to work on his contacts and essentially “shop me out” to his colleagues and asks to give him a few days.

We go to the surgery office to schedule my port. As we walk around the hospital, some folks know and many are finding out from us as we get to the various departments needed to schedule the surgery. It is heart wrenching. So much support, prayer and comfort is offered to us.

We go home, give everyone the horrible update and the phone calls begin. I had decided that I wanted to make the calls myself. I certainly did not want my parents to do this when they return to Buffalo. Hearing the pain and questions over the phone seemed endless but I am grateful to hear the voices of friends and family. I try to remember to say, “my doctor is looking into treatment options” and “don’t look this stuff up, the statistics are horrific”