July 3, 2012
In the immortal words of the venerable Jon Bon Jovi: “Whoa! we’re halfway thay-yer!”
Six months down, six to go.
My MRI yesterday showed continued progress. If I say a “modicum” of progress, you won’t think me too pessimistic will you? The problem with my flavor of tumor (oligodendroglioma) is (as I’ve said before but not like this) that it is a chameleo-contortionist. By “chameleo-contortionist” I obviously do not mean that it lacks the ability to make-up terms in the blink of an eye. I mean that the tumor is both gray and noodly—it mimics its host in both form and color so it is difficult to calculate its surface area. There are distinctions, yes. Mostly visible to the trained-eye. The MRI contrast dye is useful in lightening the tumor as a few minutes heat will begin to make ashen the charcoal briquette. But the perimeter of the tumor is smudged into the darker grays in much the same manner as Bob Ross gently drags his brush from a cozy rock into a happy stream—you know the difference between stone and water, but the closer you look, the more you’re not so sure.
In addition to the chameleo-contortionality of the tumor itself, there is another gray area in the gray area that is the gray area of surface area. Scars. From my brain-burn. Radiation left its mark. What looks like (indistinguishably, I gather) tumor also looks like scarred tissue which means , in theory, some of what appears to be tumor on the scans could be scarring. So, in theory, I’m relieved. In practice . . . well . . . I could do without either.
Nonetheless . . . progress—jot, tittle, or not—it’s all I’ve got. And as the venerable wisdom prescribes:
“We gotta hold on to what we’ve got ” yea, even “hold on, ready or not” for verily “you live for the fight when it’s all that you’ve got” so dearly beloved, believe me when I say unto you . . . [skin-cinching, hair-prickling key-change] “WHOA, WE’RE HALFWAY THAY-YER!”