Let's cut to the chase. . .

So, I've told you about my unexpected jaunt to the Emergency Room late one Saturday while my poor dog stayed home awaiting my return.  I've explained in general terms the process of removing a brain tumor.  Now let me briefly explain what else this means.  Brain tumors are either benign or malignant (as is the case with most if not all tumors).  Often neurosurgeons and other specialists will suspect what a tumor is by considering factors such as the patient's history, symptoms and imaging studies such as MRI and CT scans but to be truly sure, they have to examine tissue from the tumor under a microscope.  This was true in my case.  The neurosurgeon had an idea what we were facing but wanted to see the pathology reports to be sure she had it right.  During the procedure, slices of tissue are frozen and examined for initial or "cold" pathology reports.  While it is true that on occasions these reports are inaccurate, in my case thankfully they coincided with the final pathology report.  In no uncertain terms, I have cancer.  That awful word (and yes, it is just a word after all) that sends shivers down our spines and makes us lose touch, even if just momentarily, with reality.  Specifically, I have what is known in the trade as an Anaplastic Astrocytoma.  This nasty type of tumor (not that any tumor is "nice") is a stage III malignant neoplasm with the very real potential to kill mercilessly and quickly--often in a matter of six months to a year if you believe some of the statistics posted on the internet.  That's just it, though.  I don't.  Or rather, I refuse to.  Not because I am in denial or because I can't bare to face reality but simply because of logic.  Statistics are, by their very nature, representative of entire sets of numbers drawn from all types of people both in terms of age and in terms of the amount of tumor that is removed or "resected" during surgery.  In my case, I've been assured that I am young, otherwise healthy and that my surgeon was able to perform a "Gross Total Resection" (in other words, she got almost all of the damned thing out).  I'm scheduled to begin Image Guided Radiation (5 days a week for 7 weeks) next Tuesday and will begin taking 3 chemotherapy pills at the same time.  As my mother told me shortly after my diagnosis--"Failure is not an option."  I'm now a person living with cancer who may have a hard road ahead but I will get there by placing one foot in front of the other and moving forward.  I will be keeping this blog as a record of that journey so that I can look back in several months and see how far I've come.  I will remember, many years from now, how short a period my battle with cancer truly was in the broad swath of time that will be my life.