Yep, cancer spots on the liver. I was really hoping to hear that things had been taken care of 100%, and now I’m not really sure how I feel. I guess I’ll find out as I type.To start from the beginning, before I knew my dad’s cancer spots on the liver had come back (he had one or two before that went away), we made our way down to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester on Monday. It’s taken me awhile to get up the energy to type this post, and I apologize for the wait. We were all a little exhausted coming home, and my travel anxiety didn’t help.

The Mayo Clinic, for those who have not visited, is HUGE. I can’t even imagine trying to find my way around the place without a tour guide. Not that they have tour guides. If not, they should.

Anyway, we were about 30 minutes late to the first appointment because… well, if you’ve ever traveled with my dad, you’ll know that you’ll never have to ask to stop for a potty break. He’ll do it for you. About twice an hour. I realize that this is due in part to the chemotherapy and its affect on the body, but he was this way long before he had cancer. Needless to say, my travel anxiety is aggravated even more when I’m late somewhere. I’m always on time. ALWAYS.

We took dad to the regular blood and urine tests, stopped for food in the cafeteria, took him to the CT scan appointment and then went over to the Gonda Building where my dad’s cancer treatment physician was. It was a couple hours between appointments, so I took the opportunity to nap in the sun on top of a heater vent.

We got to go in to the appointment a little early. My dad was excited to see his doctor. I think he thinks they’re best buddies or something. I do know he trusts him and looks up to him, so I’m glad he has the doctor he does. Any doctor that can give my dad the confidence to fight his cancer even at his lowest point has my vote.

The doctor went over the more concerning side effects my dad was experiencing from the chemo. He was taking a “maintenance” version of chemo, which is basically a lighter cocktail of  drugs that’s easier than the “full-blast” chemo. After what seemed like an hour of discussing side effects, the doctor finally got to the CT scan. He showed us that it the cancer appeared to be gone in the colon and that the lungs looked fine, but when he skimmed over the liver, he pointed them out.

Cancer spots on the liver.

I didn’t understand it. The cancer was supposed to be all gone. We were supposed to be done with treatment. Those spots on the liver had gone away. Why were they back? The chemotherapy was supposed to kill it all. It was supposed to save my dad. Where was God? Why didn’t he take the cancer away?

I realize I make it sound like there’s no light at the end of the tunnel, but that’s not the truth at all. Cancer spots on the liver are highly treatable if they’re smaller. You can take up to half the liver and it will regenerate. But tell that to someone with GAD. I almost passed out when they began to discuss treatment options.

The three options to treat the cancer spots on the liver were:

• Take “full-blast” chemotherapy again, which would make them go away for awhile but wouldn’t kill them
• Laparoscopic surgery where they would cut the normal tissue all around the spots to remove them without cutting into the cancer itself (thus helping to prevent spreading through surgery)
• Laser surgery or ‘ablation‘, where they would pretty much “microwave” the cancer spots into oblivion

I wasn’t thrilled about any of them, but I was pretty stuck on the fact that the cancer wasn’t just gone. I was doing the same thing my dad had been doing when the cancer was reduced 80%, and he was upset it wasn’t 100%.

My dad was taking all of this in stride while remaining hopeful, and here I was, being a Negative Nancy because he had cancer spots on the liver. Things could’ve been worse. The diagnosis was still a hopeful one. I’m not sure if even now I’ve fully accepted that the situation isn’t as dire as I feel like it is. I haven’t been able to breathe properly for the past few days, and I’m still not sure whether its the humidity (which hasn’t bothered me before) or if I’m having a days-long anxiety attack. All I know is, I need to talk this out in further detail, whether it be on here or with a friend or relative. I can’t do it now, though. I’m too tired.

One thing I do know is: I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I have doubts that the cancer will ever truly go away. I need to have a long talk with God on this one. I also need to rest. I need to find a way to sleep again so I can maintain the progress I’ve made with my own health. I don’t want to slide backwards.

My mom and dad are going back to the Mayo Clinic on Monday, June 8th to meet with the surgeon. I’ll be staying home, but I’ll give updates as soon as I receive them. Thank you all for your support and kind words. It’s a tough thing to go through, and I appreciate everyone’s understanding.

Thank you.