It occurs to me that it surely must have occurred to you that I must be one hard-hearted field marshall, given the way I'm endlessly going on and on about logistics of P.'s treatment (insurance, appointments, planes, places to stay....) and not saying much at all about the state of this cancer patient's well being. Maybe you've even imagined me tapping away here while he's been writhing in misery in the background.
Let me assure you, there's been no writhing going on here, well, except for all the fussing about the inevitable disruption in our routines demanded by our move 400 miles from home.
H'mm. I don't mean to sound flippant about this. I know all about writhing, having been a long-standing, unwilling owner of this not-so-fun disorder and the temporary owner of one of these bad boys. (Note: the latter made giving birth without medication--yup, I've done this, too--seem like stubbing one's toe.)
So, no, I'm not glib or off-hand about pain at all. In fact, I have buckets full of respect for it. All the more reason why I'm happy to report that we caught P.'s skull-base chondrosarcoma before we were in the lightening-bolt headache (and seizure) zone.
As for the proton therapy treatments, he's got five under his belt now and is absolutely fine. The doctor tells us that he may end up with some sunburn-like effects eventually on the back of his head, in his ear canal, and in his throat. That doesn't sound like a day at the beach, but, in the scheme of things, these possible side effects don't sound like a bad trade-off for the chance to rid of that brain tumor.
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