Diagnosed on the 8th, we met our oncologist on the 13th.
Sitting in the waiting room is odd, numbing almost. The brain whirls wondering what to expect, what's next. We sat witing with my folder of research and as quick as that we were called in.
Our nurse Mel was in the room (very nice to put a face to the voice that had supported us so well this far) and our oncologist. A very well dressed, happy looking man.
Instant relief for both of us. Tony and I are both very highly in tune and hyper aware of body language and expressions. We introduced ourselves, shook everyone's hand and sat down. Tony took my hand and squeezed 3 times. I love you. This is positive, everyone is upbeat, no one is looking at the floor muttering.
Our doctor showed us the previous endoscopy tests, allowing us to see the changes inside Tony's pipes and look at the cancer. Literally face the enemy!
Dr Gikkas walked us through in detail what had been found so far, he explained that the CT scan showed the cancer hadn't spread to his lungs, heart or liver, but explained this would be confimed on the PET scan the following day.
Once that confirmation was received we were advised we'd go for chemo (Flot Chemotherapy. I'll write about this chemo regime in a different post), then surgery ( Ivor Lewis Oesophagectomy), then more chemo to ''mop up any left over cancer seeds''.
Our doctor constantly pushed home that this can be beaten and cured. He was very positive that tony's physical and mental health made him the perfect person to tackle this head on. ''If you're not a candidate for surgery, no one is''
Something we've said along this journey, it's Tony's new motto - Sometimes you have to go through things to prove to other people that it's possible.
Back story that's important to our plot going forward. Before all of the cancer malarkey, we'd booked a holiday for Christmas and my birthday. We'd had an utterly sh*te year, losing 2 grandmothers and a close friend within 12 weeks of eachother (2 of whom we lost to cancer!). We needed a break, it was something we'd held onto for months. Thanks to Mr Cancer, our oncologist said we'd need to cancel the break, treatment was likely to start around the same time. No dates could be confirmed though, kind of felt like swimming in custard!
Outwardly we both played it cool. Yeah no worries, we weren't THAT eager to get away anyway. Nah, of course we don't mind losing the money we've spent.
Internally we were devastated. You know when it just feels like you can't win and you're getting hit from all sides. That.
We both agreed that of course, if treatment starts we'd cancel the holiday. If the holiday would delay treatment or anything like that, we'd cancel it. A week in the sunshine isn't worth risking any damage to health. Secretly though, we hoped we could still go.
We left our first Oncology meeting in good spirits, postitive about what the doctor had said and the plan going forward. We'd been given lots of information from our nurse, booklets and things to read about the treatment plan, side effects and so on. It seemed that everything so far was person centered and mental health and wellbeing were at the forefront. We were offered a dietitian if we felt we wanted one too, just to help with any potential weight loss or eating issues as we moved through treatment.
Though it had been a rollercoaster few days, everyone seemed really positive, as did we.
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