The plane ride to Houston was the hardest one that we have had yet. We couldn't sleep, constantly fidgeted, and worried the whole time. Nothing helped, not even our anxiety medicine. We arrived at Houston Hobby at 11:25 pm and caught the shuttle to the Rotary House (hospital hotel). We were both very anxious and couldn't sleep. We decided to go on a walk around the hospital to get tired. We went to Cafe 24/7 and got some chocolate milk and pasta salad (great combo, I know). We went back to our room and finally fell asleep. We both tossed and turned and gave up on sleeping in at about 7:30 am. Dusty's appointment for his MRI was not until 10:00. My dad arrived at 9:30. We walked over to the hospital and met my dad and signed Dusty in. His MRI would take about an hour so Dad and I walked around MD Anderson. I showed dad the MD Anderson Universe. He was amazed at how large it is, and how much walking was required! At 11:15 dad and I arrived back at the waiting room in the MRI center. Dusty texted me as we walked through the door that he was still in the waiting room in the back and hadn't started. Ugh, more waiting. Dad and I decided to go get lunch and then went back to the room to relax. Dusty called me around 1:30 and was done. We rushed to him. We went straight to the surgeon's office for our next appointment, pre-op and the reading the results of the MRI. We were so nervous. Dad was doing what he always does and trying to make us feel good by joking around. They called us back. The PA came in and talked with us about what the typical protocol is for the pre-op. She also said that there was a spot that showed up on the PET Scan, and that she and the surgeon looked it over and didn't think much of it but knows that our oncologist likes to be thorough. She said she feels it is just precaution. Dusty, Dad, and I felt a huge sense of relief. We started to feel positive about the entire situation. Just then, the PA said the results posted and she left the room to read them. Dusty was shaking. He just kept rocking back and forth and shaking his legs. I could see that he was about to come unglued. I wasn't feeling this way. For some reason, I had a lot of hope and pressure lift from me. I wasn't nervous. I knew we were going to get good news. I was pumped! I told Dusty, "It's going to be okay!" The PA came in with a grimace look on her face but a perky voice. She said, "Well unfortunately..." I thought she was going to say, "You're having surgery Thursday." But she didn't. She said, "Well, unfortunately there were two spots that showed up on your liver and an enlarged lymph node." Silence hit the room. We were at a lost. I thought is was a joke from the tone of her voice. It took minutes to settle in. Dusty just looked lost. I've never seen such defeat in someone's face. Dusty just kept looking at the floor and had his hands over his head. He asked the dreaded question, "How long am I going to live?" She said that is not the question to ask but that is for the doctors to answer. The odds against esophageal cancer are so low. But, she remained positive. She sent the surgeon in. He said that there are a lot of treatment plans out there and hopefully Dusty can be treated with chemo and it get rid of the tumors in his liver and lymph nodes and then he will qualify for the surgery again. I said, "He is young and the liver regenerates, why can't you do the surgery and cut out the section of the liver?" He said, "Because there are cancer seeds now that are spreading and if you only try cutting them out you will not get the micro cells that you can't see. You must treat with chemo to get rid of them and then possibly do radiation again if in the end there is only one tumor left." I was losing it. I tried so hard to be strong for Dusty. I held everything in that I could when all I wanted to do was get on my knees and scream and curse to God, Why, Why WHY???? We have done everything right, Dusty lives such a wholesome life. He is a good person and does not deserve this. Cancer sucks. The surgeon and Dusty had a heart to heart on what we can do. He said he sees miracles all the time and that are unexplained. Does this mean the odds are that bad that it will only be a miracle? I'm a math person so I follow stats and odds, but I'm also a spiritual person and I believe in God and miracles. I just wish this didn't have to be such a miracle and more about odds. Dusty is a scientists and believes in the science, which is not necessarily a good thing. He knows the biology behind a lot of it and, let's face it, the biology behind stage 4 esophageal cancer sucks, but he also has faith. He has to, or we won't win. I need everyone to help lift Dusty's spirits and help him have faith and see that he can make this. This entire process has been like a grown up game of Chutes and Ladders. We almost make it up and then we slip and fall down. I just want to make it to the "winners squares".
Leaving the hospital we were back to the awkward silence. Dad didn't know what to say. He has not been with us to experience such let down. We on the other hand are used to it. But, not news like this. I mean, the surgeon actually gave the "5% survival rate" words. What do you say to that? You would think by now I would have the words but I don't. Dusty knows. We just look at each other and know what we are thinking. Silence is awkward but common. Dad did the best he could but nothing could cheer us up. Dad said, "we just keep going, we fight." But, after sliding down the ladder so many times it is hard. AGAIN, I'm giving Dusty a few days to sulk (and myself) and then it is back to the "kick ass" attitude that I have carried with me this entire time.
