The two words that I’d least hoped to post here.
At least, certainly not so soon—we were just starting to get used to the idea of Gina being healthy.
But at the end of last week, we got a call that a CT scan showed two new suspicious lesions on her liver; and we learned last night that a PET scan confirmed they were active cancer. Gina will likely start 8 weeks of chemo on Monday morning. Then we’ll have another scan to inform how we will proceed.
It’s scary that it’s back, but it’s also oddly familiar territory. While it’s easier to wrap our heads around because we know better what lies ahead, it’s also clear that it won’t be quite like last time.
On the plus side, there are only two tumors—both smaller than two centimeters in diameter—a much better situation than when we started. But the current COVID-19 concerns will make for a more isolated and potentially trickier treatment regime for Gina. Northwestern Memorial, where Gina will get all of her chemo this time around, isn’t letting anyone except patients above the lobby level. No visitors. Not even me.
But in the everything happens for a reason category...
When Gina finally got her drains out in January, she was still having trouble breathing comfortably. The plan had been to have 4-6 months of mop-up chemo, but because her scans stayed clean across her extended recovery time, her oncologist opted to forgo the usual chemo.
If everything had gone to plan, Gina would now be at the tail-end of her chemo: at her weakest, dangerously immunocompromised, and at the worst possible time.
Instead she’ll be starting chemo feeling strong, and with a clear understanding of what we will need to do to keep her safe. ⭐️
Telling the kids sucked, but even that was easier than the first time around—for both them and us.
It’s back, but we know we can do this—and we know you’ll all be there for us...socially-distant but awesomely supportive. Kindly dust off your star-making machines...Gina’s gonna need them.