It’s standard practice to wait two full weeks to see the surgeon, review the pathology report, and discuss a path forward…
Two more weeks of anxiety, most of it preventable (if only the medical professionals could feel what it’s like to be a patient).
Fast forward to the follow up with the surgeon, fully expecting to be told that I was end-stage and there was nothing more they can do.
Diagnosis: high-grade invasive prostate cancer in my bladder—the size of a medium-sized pickle. By the way, five centimeters, not five inches long, as I was told immediately post-op. Just imagine the shock of relief and anger.
At least it wasn’t a new cancer. Yay!
And then I was floored again: No further action required. Just stay the course with my oncologist: Keep doing my Lynch surveillance, taking Calquence for my CLL, doing my ADT for my prostate cancer, and getting Keytruda infusions for all the above as well as for the metastatic GI cancer lesion in my liver.
I walked into the exam room expecting—not merely preparing for—but expecting to be told I was done for and I left feeling better than I had in weeks.
Another reprieve on the gallows.
My cancer journey wasn’t over, but at least it wasn’t OVER.