Turbo Cancer: Day 149 - November 7, 2022

Metastasis

On this this day, last year, I wrote:

We are at the doctor’s office, waiting for the chemo to start.

We got the results of the MRI and there is possible metastatic disease in four vertebrae. We will be going back to the radiation oncologist to see if radiation can help with the pain.

The plan is to continue with the chemo every other Monday. We will also be contacted by palliative care, to work on pain management.

There is usually a long wait for the chemo drugs to be mixed, so we should be home sometime this evening.

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The whole situation was absurd.

There we sat, waiting for the chemo. Waiting for more of the drug that was providing neither pain relief nor improved quality of life.

For my mom, chemotherapy was never meant to cure. We knew, from the beginning, that my mom’s cancer was terminal. We had been told, however, that the treatment would improve and prolong her life.

Why does the brain believe what has proven to be untrue?

Chemo was sold to us as a pain management solution and a disease progression reducer. The understanding was that the chemo drugs would shrink the existing tumors and drastically slow the spread of the cancer.

We had been told that the chemo was working. According to the tests, the tumors were shrinking, the spread was minimal, and the tumor markers were down.

Yet, somehow, without detection, the cancer had made its way out of Lumpy and into my mom’s spine. Four vertebrae? How was that possible?

Back in July, a surgeon told me about bone cancer. He had explained that type of pain to me. He had described tumors slowly breaking bones from the inside. He had said that fast growing tumors in bone cause the worst kind of pain.

My mom had cancerous tumors growing in three of her five lumbar vertebrae and in one of her seven cervical vertebrae. The lumbar vertebrae are in the lower back, and they support the weight of the entire body. The cervical vertebrae are in the neck, and they support the weight of the heavy skull, which protects the precious and vulnerable brain.

However, my mom had undergone a PET scan in July, and it hadn’t shown any indication of metastasis to the bone. Doctor T had said that there was “no sign whatsoever.”

So… sometime between July and November, while my mom was on chemo, which, according to the doctors, was successfully shrinking the tumors and slowing the spread, the cancer had quietly made its way into four vertebrae, where it had grown so rapidly that it was keeping my mom in bed.

Or had it been there all along?

Doctor T said that it was impossible to know. According to the PET scan, there was no cancer in the bone in July. While unlikely, it was possible that tumors had been there, but had been too tiny to detect.

It was also unlikely, but possible, that the cancer had spread more recently, at an extremely accelerated rate, despite the chemotherapy. 

Both unlikely. But one happened.

I asked: “Is this what cancer is usually like? Tumors just pop up and grow, overnight? I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

She answered: “Your mom’s cancer is unusual.  It is very aggressive.”

I asked: “How is it that the tests keep showing improvement? Shouldn’t the tumor markers have been going up if the cancer had been spreading?”

She said: “Your mom’s case is very unusual. Cancer acts differently in different people. It can be very difficult to predict or to understand.”

I asked: “Wasn’t the point of chemo to shrink the tumors and provide pain relief? My mom’s pain is worse than ever. She doesn’t even want to be around people anymore. How can you say that the chemo is working?”

She said: “I am sending you back to Doctor A, the radiation oncologist. Combined with radiation, the chemo will shrink the tumors and that will help with the pain. This is good news. Now that we know the source of your mom’s pain, we know how to treat it.”

So, once again, on this day, for two hours, my mom waited for the opportunity to be injected with poison. She would, once again, suffer the side effects of fatigue, nausea, dizziness and misery. She would do this with the hope of pain relief and improved quality of life.

Over and over, she had been promised pain relief and an improved quality of life.  That is all she wanted. 

It was beginning to be obvious that there wasn’t much point to any of it. My mom had done all the tests and treatments, but the cancer had been spreading at an accelerated rate. There was, however, a new promise.  We were told that with the addition of radiation (another form of poison), the treatments would finally be successful.

My mom was in so much pain that she was desperate.  She was willing to try anything.

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The Next Day:

To know the whole story, start at the beginning: