Negative Margins all around. No invasion of the bone or the bladder. “An excellent pathology report,” according to Dr. Raut. As far as the tumor, it was 99% dead- go radiation- and they are sticking with their original diagnosis: “Malignant Nerve Sheath Tumor with Rhabdomyosarcomatous Differentiations”- otherwise known as a Malignant Triton Tumor. “The sea god,” nodded my man approvingly. I immediately googled it saw “poorer prognosis’ and decided to shelve the research for another day (or never)- and gave my man a celebratory kiss instead.
So here we are: surgery is done, margins are negative, my man is on the road to recovery- we have one more ‘check up’ in Boston and then my husband begins two years of close surveillance. We live our lives and wait- just like everyone else. And it is strange. There is a sense of having narrowly escaped some horrible accident: I am looking back through the rear view mirror and it suddenly doesn’t look so bad. We round the bend and loose sight of the carnage and there is disbelief that we are unscathed. In fact- and I can’t believe I am going to write this- but—there is even some sense of disappointment, “I just went through that and nothing has changed!?!” Coming back from the hospital to mundane chores and daily routines depressed me. My pre-cancer lens somehow ended up on the magnifying glass I use to analyze my life and it freaked me out. It made me a bit ‘mean and terrible.’
My husband’s cancer has been a thrill! It shook us up, helped us bond together as a family, connected us as a couple- I don’t want more cancer, but I do want more of that. Cancer has made it easy – it is an external force screaming: hello look at these people, they are yours and they are amazing- so stop your bitching. Now, I have to stop my own bitching and find a new normal.