The beginning of March. Another surgery. A more aggressive tumor. A true reality check.
It is March of 2016 (only five months after the most recent surgery) when we decided with our brain cancer team to perform surgery again. This time we were both nervous about the after effects of the operation. Since chemotherapy alone was not working, we felt it best to be very aggressive in treating the cancerous tumor. But being aggressive in the surgery had high risks of changing Tony's quality of life. His surgeon was very concerned that Tony's arm and even his speech would be impaired. There was a high possibility that he could lose all use of his left arm and hand (which already had very limited movement and strength) but this was nothing that worried Tony. The risk of his speech changing was what really worried us both. Slurring from facial weakness and drooping on the left side of his face could potentially cause Tony to have some difficulty in being understood. The surgeon hoped nothing would be changed but forewarned us of the high possibility. That week Tony began an audible journal by recording stories about himself and our children on his phone's recording capabilities. If something were to happen to his voice, all he wanted was for our kids to hear his own voice telling them how much he loved them each individually. Next to that, Tony deeply wanted them to know that he has a testimony of Jesus Christ and His atonement, and that this is the only and ultimate way to find peace. We all prayed fervently that Tony would be able to speak as usual and gave the rest of our worries to God.
Looking back to last month, I should have asked the surgeon if he had a "buy 2 get, 1 free" brain surgery package! ;) We are definitely keeping him in business.
As Tony was wheeled out of the room for surgery again, I wasn't too concerned about thoughts of Tony's skull be opened and people prodding in his brain like I was the first two surgeries. The thought of that didn't scare me anymore and I had full confidence in the surgical team. But what I had worries about was what Tony would be like after the surgery was over. Would he be able to talk as usual? How was our life going to change when we got the biospy results? What was our next step in treating his cancer? Did we finally hit a point in this journey where "getting better and back to normal" would no longer be a realistic possibility? Could I bear to see Tony in pain and frustration if he couldn't speak efficiently? We all know Tony is a talker, and losing this ability would be a very difficult loss for us. I wasn't ready to miss his voice and his laughter.
Sweet little Amelia came with me to the hospital the day of the surgery to keep me and other family members company. Kissing her soft chubby cheeks and holding her dimpled tiny hand eased my anxieties about the future. As she peacefully slept in my arms for most of the morning during the operation, her quiet sighs spoke to my worried heart, and I felt blessed to have her with me. Everything was going to be okay.
Tony's surgeon pulled me and family into a room as soon as the operation was over. My heart was pumping and my hands started sweating as I waited for him to tell us the news. First, he had great news! The tumor was efficiently removed, so much so that they feel "everything" bad was taken. And then he had even more great news. When Tony woke up from surgery, the first thing we said was "I can talk! And I can move my arm! And I can lift my leg!... (and again)... I can talk!" If doctors had the word "miracle" in their vocabulary, that would be exact word he would say to us. It was a miracle that Tony's speech was exactly the same. We were in awe. Not only could he speak with no problems but he also could move his arm up and down (with very little control, and there was now no movement in his hand and fingers) and he could walk (with assistance at first but he improved over time and can now walk slowly on his own). We were truly blessed. I was so happy to have my Tony still with me.
After being discharged from the hospital, we received a call from the surgeon with the biopsy results of the tumor. First off, Tony's tumor was the size of a tangerine (!), which was about double the size that it was before his second surgery in October, meaning despite surgery in October and four months of chemotherapy, it had still managed to "grow back" and double its size. And then he had the bad news. Tony's tumor had progressed from a grade III tumor into a grade IV tumor, called a glioblastoma, or also known as GBM. We were hoping and praying that this wasn't the case because this meant the cancer had turned much more aggressive. Glioblastomas are terminal. There is no cure. After seven years of treating his brain tumor, it had finally advanced to this state. We had prepared ourselves for this day since 2009 but now I couldn't believe it was here.
We were all glad to have Tony back home. The kids made a welcome home sign and I even checked Landon and Emma out of school early to greet him. Because of his new handicaps (his left arm had no control and his left hand had no more movement, his walking was very slow and unsteady because he had no control in his ankle) Tony had spent a couple of extra days in the hospital before they discharged him. I had cried a few times because I wanted all of us to be back home together again, I was homesick for our kids but wanted to be there with Tony as much as possible as well. I hate being torn between the two, and Tony is always very understanding that we take care of our kids' needs first. But as his wife I am very concerned about him as well. It's a terrible feeling. Being at home all together brought a special spirit of peace and completeness. The next couple of weeks Tony spent much of his time sleeping and resting. He was very exhausted and too much stimulation caused stress and anxiety so we have been working together with six little ones to try to promote a healing environment.
About two weeks after surgery we again met with Tony's neuro-oncologist to discuss the next step of treatment. We were all pleased with the results of the surgery and hopeful that further treatment would buy him more time. Radiation for six and a half weeks with simultaneous chemotherapy was our next plan of attack. We are now two weeks into treatment and Tony will finish on May 18th. We want to keep this tumor from growing back as long as possible! His tumor must get its stubborn traits from Tony ;) Both forms of treatment together would give us the best results-- more time. Time really is invaluable. It is precious. It can never be replaced or re-lived. Time has now become a serious of moments; moments filled with miracles and the beautiful things in life. I watch Tony as he lovingly and gently smiles at our children and kisses their cheeks. I see him taking in the beauty of the mountains and the sky. Life is slow and still for him. We have been blessed to have our eyes opened, our hearts enlarged, and our souls to sing. He lives! Because Jesus Christ is our Savior, we can live again. We can be bonded to our family for eternity. We can feel His perfect love and will one day be able to love perfectly. No matter what the future holds, our family will continue to find immense peace in these truths. It is the only way we grow stronger when we have difficult things placed on our shoulders. Only Christ can increase our strength to handle such pain and sorrow, and when we feel we can bear them no longer, He can lighten the load.
Today is April 18, 2016. According to the medical world, my husband is dying. But to me, Tony is living. He is here. And I believe that miracles do happen.
