What a day...

Yesterday my parents came to Portland to meet with a doctor at OHSU to get a second opinion and see what kind of therapies they had going for treatment of glioblastoma. OHSU is impressive as a campus, the brick buildings, lawns and shade trees, at least until you go to the doctor's office where the smells, colors, and general medicinal qualties of sterility and blandness remind you that a hospital is a hospital is a hospital. Coming into the appointment, my parents had questions and ideas about what kind of treatment options they had read about and wanted to connect with a doctor who despite the seriousness of this type of cancer was open to being hopeful. Hope, potent and illusive, and something that doctor's are afraid of offering. Oh, the nature of our American lives, riddled with fear and skepticism, beyond religious indoctrination we could use some faith. Faith in the unknown, isn't that the definition of hope? We all feel the limitations of our rational side, the point at which the physical melts into something you can't quite pinpoint.

Back to the doctor's office: After the usual questions about the leadup to the tumor being diagnosed and what has happened since, we were shown the results of the latest MRI. Shocking to us all, was that the image on the computer showed a change, something was different from the MRI from June. It looked so small, like a smudge, I actually asked if there was a chance that it wasn't really anything, a mistake, a paperclip left on the imaging screen perhaps? Despite its insignificance to the laymen's eye, its something. It could be inflammation, it could be tumor progression, it could be both. Scary and too soon, way, way too soon. If it is tumor, then all of the treatment my mom has endured and researched has not been working against this harsh cancer. However, we don't know yet and in the meantime, how to be both realistic and hopeful without being grim or delusional. At this point, I question so much of what appears to be real, as nothing is as secure or static as it appears, were all made of jostling atoms that give us a semblace of solidity that isn't really true. Beautiful if you let go of the need for security.

Sidenote: My main gripe with neurologists, they are a literal and cool hearted lot. I understand the demands of working in such an exacting field, with crises around every corner of the cranium. That said, condescension and cavalier statements about no silver bullet, cure or new treatments need to be tempered with respect and care for the humanity of the patient.

Last note, fingers crossed, I have to have the confidence that the blip on the screen is just a reaction to the chemo.