Before I went into the chemo room, we met with my oncologist. It went something like this-
The doctor walked into the exam room and said that he had the results from my CT scan. He told us that I have numerous small spots in both my lungs, one large and one smaller spot on my liver, and a spot on the bone of my back.
Then he paused.
He went on to say that if I wasn’t emotionally up to having chemo today that we could reschedule. He paused again.
I remember thinking, “That’s weird”…. He had just told me that the cancer was by far worse than we had all expected. And yet he asked me if I want to go home and think about it? Once I got out of my head the only thing I could think to ask was about our previous chemo discussion. Is the treatment changing with all the new results?
He said cancer had already progressed and the treatment would be aggressive. I had planned for chemo today so I wasn’t leaving without it.
The oncologist asked if I had any other questions. I just looked at Steve, and he asked the hard question, “What is the prognosis?”. “The short answer? Two-ten years.” And that was pretty much the entire conversation.
I was just told “you are going to die from cancer”.
I remember a few minutes later sitting in the chemo room. Looking at Steve, I realized that my 80+ year-old parents may outlive me. In that moment all I could think to do was cry, but I looked around the room at the other patients and thought it didn’t look like their day was going too great either, so I held it in. Six hours later I had finished that first chemo treatment. The Oncologist never even came back to the chemo room. Left in complete shock, we headed home.