Winter wonderland. . .

Thought I'd start this blog on a feel-good note, with a pic of our sweet snow dog, Gaia, that I just snapped tonight . . . we're getting the most beautiful snowfall, a soft but steady powder that's been falling since mid-afternoon and hasn't let up. Gaia went outside after eating tonight and hasn't been inside since. She's truly in her element. . . I've got candles in the fireplace, a cup o' tea, Rocco has finally settled down on the recliner, peeking at me occasionally with one eye. . .

Bob had an appointment with the urology clinic at the U this afternoon, the first in a parade of post-surgery follow-up appointments his doc at Bethesda lined up for the next few weeks. It's been three months since his surgery, and we weren't given any sort of game plan from the U, upon discharge to Bethesda, no check-in or follow up from anyone, not even Bob's primary at the U. We did had a few follow-up appointments that had to be rescheduled due to the extended stay at Bethesda, and his cardiologist's nurse called a few weeks ago, just to check in and see how we were doing and to let them know if there's anything they can do for us (the only department from the U that's done that, btw), but no one from the U has picked the ball back up and gotten the game going again. That's now become the job of Bob's primary doc at Bethesda, whether or not it's the way it was supposed to have been done. I do have to give kudos to that man; he is definitely a get-things-done kind of guy. No wonder he's chief of staff of the joint—maybe they could give the U a few lessons in patient care management . . .

Anyhoodles, a hospital van transported Bob in his wheelchair, and I got to ride shotgun. It wasn't snowing when we got to the U at around quarter to two, but when we emerged from the basement-level clinic an hour and a half later, the snow was falling fast, turning the outside view into a gauzy, almost black and white scene. Just in time for Friday rush hour. We waited nearly an hour and a half for the van to return for us, and had nearly as long a ride back to Bethesda, traffic was so thick, in all directions, all roads. The freeways had turned into parking lots, so our driver took University back to Bethesda, which was also painfully slow, but he was an entertaining guy, which helped pass the time.

We didn't get back to the hospital until after 6 pm, which made for a long afternoon, and meant Bob missed dinner. Well, it was still waiting for him on his bedside table, but had been sitting there for a good hour or so. At least the sandwich was salvageable, along with some cheese and crackers Penny and Jim had brought up and left with Bob. Dinner of champions. Or not. We split the sammie, sliced some cheese, just as we were sitting down to eat, a brand-new doc walked in, introducing himself as an oncologist with HealthEast.

He was sent by Bob's primary to see what he could do for us from an oncology standpoint while Bob is still at Bethesda. I jumped right in (see, I've developed this nasty li'l habit over the past year, of taking on the role of Bob's Official Spokesperson, even though he's now very well capable of doing so himself. I try to catch myself and allow Bob to speak first, but the trouble is, much of what these doctors ask about are of events and details of which Bob remembers very little . . .), and tell him that we have yet to have any sort of followup with so many teams of Bob's, particularly the oncology team. Part of that is due to the nature of the situation—Bob had to definitely get stronger and more stable, and have some good healing under way before most of the specialists involved with his situation could even start assessing where to go from here.

We already know that the chemo had done nothing to shrink the tumor, and my biggest concern/fear is the fact that in the time that Bob's surgery had been postponed due to the heart attacks and junk, the tumor had grown into a major vessel that leads to the lungs. This is primarily how sarcomas spread, via the blood, to the lungs. That has been the big black cloud hanging over our heads for months now, that we don't know anything about that. Has it spread? is the million dollar question . . .

The doc tells us that scans can be done, but even if something is found in the lungs, there's no way Bob could undergo any chemo at this point, with the open wound he has. It would never heal, would likely become severely infected (chemo lowers the body's resistance to infection by lowering white blood cell counts), and other complications would ensue. He was already aware that Bob had very severe reactions to chemo in January/February . . . But there may be other things that could be done, if lesions were found in the lungs or elsewhere, he said.

"Well, I think it'd be better to know than to not know," I said. "Time keeps passing by, it's been three months since the surgery, and many months since Bob last had chemo. It did nothing to the tumor, but I'd like to believe it at least did what it was supposed to elsewhere in the body, to keep the cancer from spreading. I mean, it's hard to be here, doing all the therapies, trying so hard to recover from the surgery, and to not know this very critical piece of information. For peace of mind, if for no other reason" Doc said he can order a CT scan and a bone scan, both tests would tell us what we need to know. He asked Bob what he thought, and Bob nodded definitely, that he wanted the tests done, to fill in that piece of the puzzle. Doc said he'll put the order in, the tests might be able to be done over the weekend, but if not, early next week, at the latest.

Next week, appointments with colorectal team (and possibly plastic surgery as well as orthopedic surgeon), another urology follow-up, and a few tests ordered by the oncologist at Bethesda, a CT scan of Bob's chest, abdomen and pelvis and a bone scan. Busy, busy, busy . . .