No guarantees

Over two months have passed since I last added to this blog. During those two months I have been the most active I have been since pre-cancer. I walked, ran and hiked. I enjoyed my family and fully participated in my children's lives again. I socialized and attended events with friends. I worked on our garden and landscaping. I honestly enjoyed the monotony of a standard work week. I did not take pain pills. I was not nauseous. I did not have medical appointments. I tried to enjoy life to the best of my abilities because I know there are no guarantees.

I of course was not without some struggle. I am less than six months out from the Mayo Clinic surgery. I have developed a parastomal hernia. There is no pain associated with this but the old ostomy supplies I was using were no longer lasting. Add in running and lots of summer sweat and  my equipment was coming off after less than a day of use. Ideally, I would get 2 to 3 days out of my supplies. This meant leaks and smells and a lot of dealing with poop. However, I felt good that this was my worst problem. Honestly I felt much worse for Carrie. She has endured some mighty awful odors for me. All things considered, an intestine sticking out of my abdomen is a piece of cake (gross!) compared to cancer treatments and surgeries. I visited an ostomy nurse and ordered samples online eventually settling on some supplies that last as long as I would like, even with a more active life.

Last week I had a follow-up with my radiation oncologist. This appointment would just be me checking in with her, telling her how great I feel, thanking her and shaking hands hopefully to never interact in a medical capacity again. Cancer treatment is interesting in that we have met so many wonderful people that we hope to never have to see again. The appointment went essentially as planned. However, before I left they took blood for some tests. I was not expecting to do this until next month but it certainly was not going to hurt to check. I left before the results were in and would check them on my phone later.

Well later, as I drove down I-25 at top speeds I might have looked at my phone. I know you are all horrified. My metabolic panel looked healthy. So did my CBC. One more test was left to view. The dreaded carcinoembryonic antigen or CEA for short. CEA is a type of protein secreted in gastro-intestinal cells that all of us have at a very low level. These level can increase with some cancers such as colon cancer. It cannot be used to for diagnosis one way or the other but is often a good marker in certain individuals. So far I have proved to be one of these individuals. Every time I've had cancer growing inside my CEA has gone up. Every time I've received treatment or surgery it has gone down. A normal non-smoking adult will have a level usually below 3. I've never had a number below 5 but I also never had it tested before cancer. It's not something measured on healthy people. Before my first surgery in the spring of 2017 it was around 20. A day or two after surgery it was around 5. When I was having major pain last December and it was around 40. After my 5 weeks of radiation treatment it was around 5. Just before my Mayo Clinic surgery it was creeping up to around 8 which made sense to me since the cancer wasn't out yet and I was two months past radiation. This July at my first post surgery oncology check in it was 5.

Now that you know a little about CEA lets return to me barreling down a highway. I clicked on the test, viewed the results and let out a string of curse words so powerful that I swerved off a bridge, rolled down a ravine, collided a bus full of the most kind, peaceful nuns and both vehicle exploded; an event which resulted in the Colorado State Legislature making it illegal to check medical results while driving. At least, that is sort of how it felt. My CEA number was 27.  What actually resulted was the pushing up of my scheduled October CT scan and my next appointment with my medical oncologist.  The CT scan shows something. A mystery spot on my small intestine. There are many uncertainties with this one. First, colon cancer rarely if ever metastasizes to the small intestine. Second, it doesn't look like a tumor to the doctors that have reviewed it. Finally, those doctors don't seem so sure what it looks like.

The initial plan was to watch it for two months and see if it grew. However, my mystery spot was then presented to the hospital's surgical oncologists who seemed to have convinced my oncologist that it is probably not worth the risk to wait especially since my CEA has so far been a good indicator of what is going on inside. I tend to agree with their sentiment. Next week I will meet with a surgical oncologist in Denver and if I chose to move forward will likely have a surgery sometime in the coming weeks. I am also going to consult with my Mayo Clinic surgeon to see if he has thoughts on the scan results.

This certainly is a surprise to us but we are more equipped than ever to roll with the punches. I know very little about the surgery at this point (basically nothing). I will provide another update before it happens. I hope it won't be as intensive as the two previous ones.  I hope my downtime is short. I hope this is the last one but there are no guarantees.