In the midst of all this, my husband went to see the world maven of kidney cancer at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center in New York. The doc said it was rare, advanced, aggressive, no treatment. He wanted an immediate CT scan, and depending on what they saw, my husband could start an experimental clinical trial.
The first CT scan showed… nothing. No cancer! Take that Mr. Negative Doctor!
I didn’t understand why they didn’t put him on chemo now to prevent cancer growth in the future. It had to do with the terms of the clinical trial. There needed to be visible cancer. No standard treatment, remember?
We were in limbo, and so we just focused on being new parents for a bit. As I mentioned, Kella was keeping us busy.
Two months later, in the early fall, he had a second CT scan. I sat in the waiting room with his dad while he talked first to the doctor.
“You need to pump, don’t you,” my father-in-law said, kindly.
“How did you know?” I asked.
I glanced down at my soaked shirt. “Oh.”
My husband came back again, I assumed to bring us back for the big scary talk with the doctor.
“Let’s go,” he said, breezily. “The CT scan was clear.”
I felt like a large animal had been sitting on my chest, and it finally stood up. I could breathe normally again.
We walked out on the Manhattan sidewalk, squinting into the sun.
All the worries, anxiety, fear had suddenly lifted.
“Now we can worry about normal stuff, like jobs, saving money for a house. Stuff we’re supposed to think about,” I thought.
You never saw three sunnier smiles.