two years because I had been lazy about making the trek to his new office, but he is the best dentist ever, very anal and very enthusiastic about teeth. He wasn’t going to see patients the next day, but for me he would make an exception. So I went in.
He told me based on my X-rays, he thought two of the teeth might need root canals. Root canals. He also said that the pattern of decay was consistent with someone who has chronic dry mouth brought on by chemo and other types of medications. The decay in those two teeth proved to be very deep, but it had not touched the roots, so no root canals. What a relief. Dr. D. said, “You are very lucky.” I would have laughed if I didn’t have a bunch of dental instruments in my mouth. The notion of me being lucky was ludicrous. And then as I lay there with Dr. D. diligently sculpting my new filling like he was Michelangelo, I realized that I was really lucky in a sense to have him and so many other people in my life who are there to take care of me and my family, from my oncologist to my internist to my construction team to my many friends and family. What did I ever do to deserve such good and kind people from all walks of my life?
Josh isn’t so into talking and sharing as I am, and so I don’t think he gives people a chance to offer him support. Typical guy. And sadly, I don’t think caregivers get as much attention or support as cancer patients, even though their suffering and loneliness are just as great.
34
Chipper
On May 20, I had my laparoscopic oophorectomy (which is a fun word to say). My left ovary was about two to three centimeters bigger than it should have been. An intraoperative biopsy was performed on it and confirmed that the growth (which was inside the ovary) was metastatic colon cancer. About one cubic centimeter of that cancerous tissue was immediately handed over to a courier for transport to a laboratory across the river in New Jersey where portions of it were successfully implanted into five mice, a very good number, I am told.
My mice have since been moved down to Baltimore, to the main laboratory. I will know in a couple weeks whether the graft of my cancer cells into these mice has taken hold and, if so, they will be cloned for personalized experimentation. While the right ovary looked normal, out of an abundance of caution, it was also removed, together with my fallopian tubes. I’m losing parts at a pretty good clip now. As the final pathology would later reveal, appearances were deceptive and the right ovary tested positive for metastatic colon cancer as well. All else looked normal in the abdomen, including all organs located therein as well as my peritoneum. Forty milliliters of ascites—fluid—were found, however. The word “ascites” terrifies me; I often hear it associated with end-stage cancer, where hundreds of milliliters can build up in the abdomen as the cancer overruns the body. Fortunately, the pathology report declared the ascites to be negative. The surgeon also flooded my abdominal cavity with saline, then withdrew it and had it tested for cancer, something that was also done during my post-HIPEC diagnostic laparoscopy. That saline was negative for cancer, as it was in October 2014. If indeed there is no cancer in my abdominal cavity, then it certainly indicates that the HIPEC surgical treatment from March 2014 has withstood the cancer assault well.
It was the best news I could have asked for under the circumstances, minus the cancerous right ovary. But then again, metastases to the ovaries are often bilateral, and besides, what is the difference really between having one cancerous ovary and two? That’s how you start to think when you’ve been living with metastatic cancer for a while: Oh, what’s the big deal with another tumor? Oh, what’s another affected organ?
My surgical recovery was about as uneventful and painless as they come. I don’t think I even took one Percocet. Surgery started around 1:00. I was home by eight that evening, and all I showed for those hours were a hunched-over stance when I stood and three tiny bandages covering three tiny holes. Oh, and I had trouble peeing for the first twelve hours, an aftereffect of the catheter used during surgery. I marvel at how they were