The very last step was to get Vic a PET scan that would show the cancer had been eradicated and she would be awarded with a clean bill of health. (I say that, but I should mention the frequent visit to the doctor for the rest of her life to make sure the bastard stays gone) That is exactly what we did two Tuesdays ago. Vic got in a large machine and it took pictures of her insides after swallowing glowy stuff and presto! A week later Vic went to her doctors appointment and got me on the phone as she was called in to meet with the doctor. I clocked out of work and waited with her in a quiet room as we waited for the doctor to arrive. He didn't for some time, so we made idle chit chat about nothing in particular until the doctor burst I and said "it's not good news" to which Vic said to me "it's not good, I'll call you back!" Now I don't know if you've had the pleasure of a loved one hanging up on you as a doctor has told them to pucker up because this isn't going to feel good, but it's like having your testicles jump up through your nostrils and hang there like a fleshy and sadistic clacker toy.
It was so long until she called me back that I clocked back in and went back to work. It wasn't until I was on my way home, which wasn't that long really, when I got a call back from her. It wasn't good. The cancer traveled from the left side of her lymph nodes in her neck to the right. The black mass was small still but we were back at square one. We didn't know if it was cancer (it probably is,) what treatment there would be (most likely chemotherapy,) and how long that treatment would be (enough to cry like a little girl.) The doctor did give a few treatment options since he was sure the mass was cancer. It's some chemotherapy with radiation or straight up chemotherapy for a longer time, as in 6 months. Yay.
Vic didn't react the way they wanted her to. She didn't break down and heave sobs into her hands or punch through the walls of the doctors office. She didn't even wince. That troubled the nurses and they sent for the social worker, because we just need to make sure our "feelings" are in check now. The real reason she didn't cry was because she didn't want to show at level of emotion to acquaintances, strangers really. She wanted to go home and have a good cry on her pillow or on my shoulder (ugh) or whatever. They basically made her cry there so that they knew she was 'coping' correctly and purely by the book.
At this time I was at home waiting patiently (heh yeah, right) until I got a call about what was happening. The next thing I know is my mother-in-law calls me to say she's in town so they are coming to get the kids and that needed to get to Victoria right away. Uh, okay. So I get the kids ready, probably a bit more rough than usual as I'm more panicky by now, and go outside to await my in-laws to arrive. After the trade off I race to the doctors to find my wife being consoled by a social worker wearing an outfit she borrowed from the wardrobe department of "A Different World."
"It's okay to feel a little down but that's why we're here. We can get you antidepressants. Zoloft has a nice buzz to it but I think it makes my teeth itchy. Celexa is great if you don't mind fighting the large spider that lives in your brain. Prozac is old school, but it's so unhip. Oh, oh, oh Paxil will be perfect! Not too heavy and goes down really smooth with a couple of fingers of Jack. And if you're not into that we can easily get some OxyContin, weed, or even heroin, whatever it takes"
That conversation may or may not have happened exactly like that, but drugs were being pushed quite heavily. I mean, the reason I felt I had to get to the cancer center with such a furor was because, I thought, Vic was dying right then and there (I mean more quickly than right now) but they just wanted me to drive her home because she was possibly not capable to drive after getting the news. That her brain was just too feeble to take in the information, make any reasonable decisions and quite possibly swerve her car violently to the left into oncoming traffic, thus ending the whole sordid ordeal in a flash. What a load of horse shit. I wish our society didn't think that the collective herd was entirely too pussy to process bad news.
Now, I was distraught for sure. Not because the cancer wasn't gone or because we had to go through more treatments. We have done that before, it's not that hard, just time consuming and you do have to give up a lot of your time for it, especially with kids. Which is quite terrible, if you don't like your kids, luckily my kids are rad. No, that wasn't my ailment. I had the next six months planned, things we were going to accomplish and it was incredibly hopeful. Just a few months of medical bills left then we would start looking for an apartment and get out of my parents attic. All was right in the world. The thing that really took us down (more me than than her) was to take that hope, which we now know it was one that was filled with lies, and throw it against the wall like it was a puppy in a burlap sack.
Before we can get the fun of treatment, we need to know what the hell is in her neck. Unfortunately, there's only one way to find out and that is more surgery to remove a lymph node and test it up. That's what happened a week ago. Last Friday afternoon she went under the knife, again, and now has a scar on her neck, again. This time it looked like she was roughed up a bit more. It took her longer to come to, she looked like she was in a lot more pain and she wasn't as responsive as I would have liked. But she was fine. She got home and drooled her way through the afternoon. I'm kidding. She got home to bed and tried to get the knock out drugs out of her system. She really is way more resilient and incredibly tough than I ever think she is. It's nice to be married to a cool chick who looks good made up and can also kick my ass at Mario Kart. (You know what I'm saying, fellas) And now we wait. It's been a week and we still don't know what is in her neck. Inconclusive they tell us, need to take it to a specialist in New Mexico we were informed. So now we try and become more patient. Which is getting really tiresome to be honest.
"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?"
Edgar Allan Poe
