These days...

So the final day in the mountain house was great. We watched the Super Bowl in a theater-like room. All hands were on deck to make loads of great food to eat during the game. I am so thankful that we were able to get away to a location like that. It served to really distract me and Karen from focusing on the scan that awaited us when we returned home.
         Today we took the baby to her school, ran some errands, and then we drove up to Jacksonville to get the scan taken care of at 1:45. The scan was complete in under 15 minutes and once we were back in the car the waiting, as anticipated, settled in. We have an appointment at 8:30 tomorrow morning to review the results. As we drove home to pick up Harper the anxious feelings that we have unfortunately become familiar with over the past two years creeped back in far too quickly and too easily. Just the thought that others would know the results before I did bothered me. That I would have to wait like 16 hours to get the results. Typically, when we are waiting to hear the news, as soon as the wait begins I start to over-analyze every word, facial expression, and tone that people communicate with me use. It goes into hyper-drive when we step foot in the doctors office.
          We picked up the baby on the way home. When we got home I went out into the backyard to pick up some trash that had flown in via the strong winds we had earlier. When I came back in the house, Karen was sobbing. Feeling panicked I asked her what was wrong (assuming it was just another dip into a valley) and she said, "They've all shrunk....BIGTIME". I didn't understand what she was saying at first. So I asked her to clarify. She did, "All of the cancer in your body has shrunk...BIGTIME". I understood, but did was not process the information as real. It took a few minutes of Karen crying and reading off the text from our oncologist. He basically said that the cancer that was widespread was responding very well to the chemo pills I have been on. It was working..."BIGTIME". We lost it, together. It felt surreal for about an hour. The same intensity that came with the conversation we had about a month ago with the neurosurgeons at UF came with the news we got today- It's just that the news today, while it brought tears as well, was filled with euphoria.
          The fear that had been present in all of our thoughts was replaced with hope and excitement. I should be clear...we have not scanned the brain. We do not know what is going on up there except I am still smarter than most of you. It's responsible to remember that chemo does not travel to the brain, so it's likely that there hasn't been much change for the better up there...but no new symptoms, likely is better news than news that accompanies new symptoms. We are super excited about the news, but we have to temper the news with a reminder that the cancer is still in my body and brain. It is responding very well to the treatment, but it isn't gone completely. We still have to meet with our oncologist tomorrow morning to go over everything. One thing I want to ask is whether or not he feels the cancer responded to the chemo or the immunotherapy we started back after brain surgery. We will get the answer to that and have a plan as to what we are going to treat next and what will we treat it with.
        So tonight and for the immediate future, me and my girls will enjoy our life together...with a little more hope and a little less fear. John Wayne once said, "Tomorrow is the most important thing in life. Comes into us at midnight very clean. It's perfect when it arrives and it puts itself in our hands. It hopes we've learned something from yesterday." We certainly learned a lot today.

"There's no need to hide...We're safe tonight"- Eddie Vedder,

With love,

Brian