purgatory

Well, we’re officially in purgatory, and let me tell you, I don’t like it here. On Monday, we spoke with Dr. Taylor again, and UCSF’s tumor board has a significantly different take on last week’s scan than my team at UCLA. In short, UCSF believes the swelling that was present on my 4/9 scan is most likely a result of delayed-onset radiation injury (other terms for this are radiation infarct and radiation necrosis). Dr. Taylor believes that the significant reduction in swelling seen between the scans on 4/9 and 5/18 — along with the notable lack of tumor growth over that period — supports this explanation.

Dr. Nghiemphu and the UCLA team, upon additional follow-up, has indicated that their reading of the scans doesn’t support this explanation for a couple of reasons: the 4/9 scans (which showed significant swelling) looks different to them than the scans immediately following my course of radiation treatment last summer, when radiation necrosis was very apparent (and eventually went away, following a course of steroids). They are also interpreting what they’re seeing on the 4/9 and 5/18 scans as tumor growth and attributing the swelling seen on the 4/9 scan as related to that growth.

It seems to be a case of two respected institutions with good reasons for two substantially different interpretations of what they are seeing in two snapshots in time. 

Thus, purgatory. 

There is literally nothing we can do between now and my next MRI on 6/29 except wait to see which of these explanations is borne out by the next data set. Even my symptom progression is a relatively poor yardstick for determining what’s going on in my brain: Since we’re tapering the steroids in an attempt to find the minimum effective dose, there’s a chance we’ll go too low, which would allow the swelling — and symptoms — to return.

My state of mind is the most perturbed it’s been since receiving the initial news in April — maybe even more. I’d been prepared for the worst; it’s something I’d been preparing myself for for a long time. But I wasn’t prepared for this level of uncertainty. In the USCF scenario, we manage the swelling, and I continue to live with the same progonsis I had before April’s scan ever happened (which is to say, potentially for many years). In the UCLA scenario, we manage the swelling, but the tumor continues to grow at an unknown pace and I have anywhere between six months and a couple of years to live. (Of course, after a number of months have gone by, if I’m feeling much better, maybe additional treatment options would be back on the table, opening up more new cans of worms.)

My mind is spitting out what-if scenarios in rapid succession, unable to find a comfortable place to land. When I was definitely dying, I was okay with that. I was living in the moments and was grateful for each one. But now, I’m getting greedy. If more moments are available, I want them. How am I going to straddle this chasm between life and death for six weeks? How far into the future should we make plans? There are practical matters to be considered: the care I’ll need, health insurance, disability, student loans, cars, work, taxes.

Against this backdrop, we’re heading into our little Memorial Day weekend staycation. Friends have generously offered use of their home in Pasadena, and Mike and I will head up there tomorrow afternoon with Tim and Jen, who are already in town. I’m hoping the peaceful, nature-filled setting and beautiful home will help calm my spirits and return me to the moment.

In the meantime, I’m attempting to place myself in the spirit of this wonderful poem my social worker, Tom, shared with Mike and me from a recent mindfulness workshop he presented. Apparently, I have more learning and growing to do!

The Guest House

by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

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4 thoughts on “purgatory

  1. Naomi, I hope your get away to Pasadena is everything you and Mike are wanting and needing it to be. You both are in our prayers for the healing and peace you are seeking. We sang a hymn today that might touch your poetic nature, it is called “Eye of the Storm” by Ryan Stevenson. (This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls. It leads us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary. Hebrews 6:19.)

    May you, Mike, Tim & Jen have a beautiful day!

    Love,
    Aunt Yvonne & Family

  2. I love this poem. The analogy is so perfect in framing how to accept all emotions that come our way. Thank you for sharing this — and all of your insights and experiences along your journey.

    Love you,
    Ali

  3. I love this. The analogy is so perfect. A great reminder to welcome all emotions and have faith in their purpose. Thank you for sharing this — and all your insights and experiences from your journey with such openness and grace. Love you.

    Love,
    Ali

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