Ema and I are feeling the weight of the reality that is 'living with cancer.' After a terrifying first month we came into a period of relative relief as test results showed no signs of metastasis. Then the meeting with the sarcoma specialist at UCLA confirmed the gravity of our situation. No bad news, per say, just nothing real positive to hang our hopes on. Further meetings of the sarcoma team brought a confirmation on the tumor type - a high grade, undifferentiated, malignant pleomorphic sarcoma. I plugged that tongue twister into Wikipedia, and it came back with an error message stating that three server farms exploded while trying to find information on it. Don't bother looking it up on Google either. It's so rare that you'll be lucky to find a few scattered, obscure clinical trials dating back to sometime before the death of disco.
Ema is still in pain. The surgery site is healing great, but her calf muscle is extremely sore. I can't imagine why. Slicing 1/3rd of my calf muscle away from the connecting tissue then folding it 180 degrees back upon itself and stuffing it into a crater below my knee the size of a baseball sounds like a walk in the park for me. But remember folks, I'm the one who underwent voluntary throat surgery last March just to get good material for the podcast. Ema is behind me on the bed, reading. She just said "hey - add this into the blog - Pain is your body's way of letting you know you're still alive." "Okay honey - I'll add it. Now let's get some rest; you're gonna need it next week when the radiation treatments start."
G'night folks,
Tom
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