Update on Dad--2

I have never before been so glad for my family's slightly ribald and overly-earthy sense of humor.  It's really a shame that some of my dad's quips in relation to his permanently attached "gunney sack" (Dad's term) and how things work now that it's there can not be shared here--for reasons of propriety.  We'll have to settle for more refined subjects.

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Nurse:  I'd like to take your blood pressure.

Dad:  You keep taking it, but I've still got it.

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Dad (to Marvin, the businessman):  What do you think about wholesale company?

Marvin realizes after a moment that this is a question about visitor volume--not a business question.

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Shane stopped in to see Dad on Tuesday.  He had taken Tristan to town because Dorcas was in a grueling 3 1/2 hour stint at the dentist's office.  I wondered ahead of time if this was a good idea--to take Tristan into the hospital, although Dad is very fond of him and would be glad to see him.  "I don't think there's any danger that Tristan will catch colon cancer," was Shane's way of confidently dismissing my reservations.

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Word from the hospital this morning is that Dad looks better and is more comfortable than he has been at any time since the surgery.   The nasal-gastric tube is gone, as are some of the other tubes that have been attached since before the surgery.  He's eager to cooperate with the plan the doctor has for him to walk four times a day, although getting out of bed and upright are not easy or pain-free.  A dry mouth (because of not being able to take even fluids by mouth.  Now he can have ice chips.) and pain from frequent bouts of hiccups which probably pulled suddenly and painfully on his incision, were major discomforts the past few days.

Yesterday, in conversations with both the surgeon and an oncologist, we learned that Dad has Stage 3 cancer.  During surgery it became apparent that the cancer had, in fact, spread to some of the soft tissue outside the colon.  It had also spread to some lymph nodes, as revealed in the pathology report--to six out of eleven that were removed.  This was disappointing news.

There was also some good news, however.  Stage 3 cancer is considered curable; stage 4 is not.  Right now Dad is considered cancer-free, since the surgeon and the oncologist both believe all cancerous tissue was removed.  Our earlier impression that the cancer had not spread beyond the colon (now proven wrong) was based on what the doctor said after the C-T scan.    The C-T scan simply cannot show all the detail that is available with surgery and lab testing of tissue.  Everyone is still confident that the liver and lungs are cancer-free.

The five-year benchmark is the cancer-cure standard.  In other words, anyone who survives at least five years after a cancer diagnosis is considered cured--even if they die the day after that, from cancer.  By this standard, Dad has a 51% chance of a cure with no further treatment.  With treatment, his chances rise to 69%.  The only treatment being considered is oral chemotherapy for 8 months, with a 2 weeks on, 1 week off sequence.  Anti-nausea meds should take care of that common side effect, but fatigue is still likely.

The oncologist was refreshingly willing to leave treatment decisions in the family's hands.  We have not reached a decision.  I think it's likely that if Dad expresses a preference, we will find it easy to support that.  So far, he is interested in getting all the good information he can, and the doctor says there's no hurry on deciding what should be done.