"I'm sorry, but I have bad news for you". That was how it all started, just 2 1/2 weeks ago. One small sentence and our worlds forever changed.
The story started back in mid April. Tom was having pain deep in his left tibia and attributed it to running. He eased up on the running (eventually stopping all together) but the pain didn't subside. By late May he developed a chronic cough and was severely fatigued. I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Swan, an amazing sports orthopedic doctor here in New Jersey. We went to see in June and after x-raying the bone he noticed a lesion on the tibia. He sent Tom for an MRI and wasn't happy with the outcome. Next came a series of blood work followed by a CAT scan and an full body bone scan.
The day after the scans we were scheduled to visit with Dr. Swan to hear the results. He walked into the room and paused. I knew by the look on his face he was deeply concerned. "First, how is your leg feeling", he asked. "Well it still hurts but Advil seems to knock the pain down", hubby Tom responded. Dr. Swan took a deep breath and said "I'm sorry, but I have bad news for you". And so we discovered at that very moment, on a random Friday morning in June, the reality of what was going on. "You have a very large mass on your left kidney and two masses on your left lung. The kidney is where this whole thing started".
Tom was diagnosed with stage 4 Renal Cell Carcinoma. The tumor in the tibia was the least of the problems at the moment. It felt as if someone punched me right in the gut. Dr. Swan had prepared and spoken with an oncologist from Robert Wood Johnson hospital. The kidney needed to be removed. "What about Sloan Kettering" I asked? He recommended we consider all options including Sloan Kettering.
On the ride home Tom insisted on going to Robert Wood Johnson hospital, simply because it close to our house. I told him we needed to consider Sloan Kettering. The commute was obviously longer, but people travel from around the world to go to MSK. Keep every option open.
We spent the weekend trying to act normal around the kids and trying to continue life as normal as possible. I even did the Philly Tri Rock Triathlon the day after the diagnosis, but it was the worst slog imaginable. Moments of sleep gave us a brief respite from thinking about it, but the second we woke up it was right there waiting for us again. There is no escaping the realities of cancer. For the next couple of days it felt as if someone had dumped us in the middle of the ocean and left for us for dead. It felt like Tom and I were bobbing against the tide trying to figure out which direction to go in, trying to figure out simply how to survive.
We sat our kids down and explained what was going on. All I can tell you is that we have the most wonderful, caring kids in the whole wide world. This is a lot for them to take in.
Tom didn't want to tell any of our extended family or friends of his diagnosis until we had an idea as to which direction things were heading in. That Monday morning I contacted MSK (Memorial Sloan Kettering) and asked to meet with Dr. Paul Russo. Dr. Russo is a top kidney surgeon specializing in Renal Cell Carcinoma, or RCC. He read Tom's report and agreed to meet with us Tuesday evening. Of course, the 4 of July weekend was upon us and it seemed as if every doctor was leaving town. Dr. Russo stayed late and agreed to do the surgery the following Wednesday, July 8th. Tom would have a Radical Nephrectomy meaning the entire left kidney would be removed.
The next day, we met with a wonderful oncologist, Dr. Ellen Ronnen, at Robert Wood Johnson for a second opinion. She spent a lot of time discussing Tom's diagnosis but we felt that MSK was where Tom needed to be. Since the disease has spread, there is no cure. The best we can hope for is a treatment plan that will put the disease into remission. And for that task, we will be meeting with Dr. Motzer at MSK at the end of July.
So one day we were living a normal life, working, raising a family, running, enjoying the weekends together, then suddenly it felt as if someone ripped it all away. I lost my mother to cancer when I was 18 years old, I already knew life held no guarantees. Over the years I had re-establish that false sense of security, but that security is forever stripped away. I have strong feeling of anger right now. I'm not angry at anyone in particular, I'm just angry at life itself. This shouldn't happen to someone as kind, , gentle, good and loving as my husband. But I know life is life, and that's how life goes.
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