So we received confirmation that Annie’s cancer has returned on the same day I find water all over the place in the basement from the tiniest of holes in the copper piping leading off the hot water heater. And I mean tiny…it was so small, I couldn’t find it at first, searching all around until I suddenly felt a light mist on my face. A flashlight showed the aerosolized water and light steam coming from this tiny hole.

Seriously, some days life really sucks.

Ok, let me back up a little. For those who don’t know the backstory, when my wife became pregnant ten years ago, our joy turned pretty rapidly to terror when she was diagnosed with a soft-tissue cancer; malignant fibrous histiocytoma to be specific, or MFH for short (I rapidly referred to it as, “Motherf***er From Hell”). Please note on the linked page the line, “Rare signs and symptoms include episodic hypoglycemia and rapid tumor enlargement during pregnancy.” That was not well-established ten years ago, and her cancer was considered an anomaly - her oncologist was then convinced there was only a temporal relationship between her pregnancy and her tumor. While it’s nice to be proven right about something in the fullness of time (I maintained there was no way the relationship was merely temporal because of the anomalous tumor growth - it had to be a reaction to the changing hormones), it didn’t really mean much back then…it was odd that someone so young would present with this, and odder still that she would present while pregnant. (Hum…you know, I just realized it’s likely that she was one of the case studies that proved the rare but clear relationship between this ugly thing and pregnancy… More after the jump.)

Anyway, consider the problem; she was pregnant, with a tumor…treatment options were limited, since there really isn’t much functional difference between a fetus and a cancer tumor (they both grow like crazy and suck the life out of you, but you don’t have to pay for college for the tumor) so anything that kills one can kill the other. Fortunately, we lucked into a team of seriously-dedicated medical professionals at the Penn State Hershey Medical Center - and no, I don’t say that to suck up to anyone, it’s true. The ortho guy is one of a handful considered at the top of this game on the east coast (hard to get a second opinion, though, when the guy you see is who everyone else goes to for a second opinion), the OBGYN was determined to get both of them through come hell or high water, and the oncologist would eventually bring her to the brink of death to make sure the damned tumor was toast. It is solely thanks to this team of pros who absolutely refused to consider failure as an option that Annie is alive and kicking today, and Katie the beautiful yet rascally creature she is now - you do not want to know the five-year survival rates I was quoted back then. The regimen was ugly, starting with radiation while Katie was still inside, followed by chemotherapy, resection, and more chemotherapy. I have no idea how Annie survived 1998, but she did.

(*sigh*) Problem is…it’s back. After ten years, a pain in her leg and an MRI requested primarily to put our minds at ease has started this race all over again. Again the fear, hell the horror of having this thing inside her again. The endless waits between having the biopsy, receiving the results, then consulting with an oncological radiologist (radiation oncologist? can’t keep this straight), then waiting for results from tests for metastases (this, at least looks good), then waiting for the consult with her oncologist, then waiting for them all to get together on a treatment plan, then getting the treatment plan and knowing the entire year is blowing up in our faces.

We’re a little less frightened about imminent death than we were the first time (at least I am), but a little more frightened that some of the cancer actually survived the onslaught they threw at it the first time. The recurrence site is near the original site, at least near enough that radiation side effects are an issue. So much information is whirling around that it’s dizzying…while this time there’s no baby-on-board to deal with, there is a nine-year-old facing her first conscious battle with the cancer that defined her birth. And knowing we’re not completely out-of-debt from the first go-round doesn’t inspire a whole lot of stress-free days, either.

We’ll make it through, of course. While scattered now, she still has most of the same team she had the first time, people who really hate to lose and for some reason have blessed us by taking a special interest in making sure she sticks around into old age. But it means some serious re-planning for the year, including not making it to the Cincinnati Nostalgia Convention the way we promised and planned (as of this writing, even the FOTR Convention in October is no longer a given). I’ll do what I do best, trying to knock down every barrier I can ahead of her, so she can put one foot in front of the other to deal with the horrors the physicians will inflict on her body to kill this thing dead. I’ll worry about Katie, Annie will worry about hanging on. I’ll worry about money, she’ll worry about surviving. Hell, looking at it that way, I got the easy part.

But it’s gonna be another long year.

I’ve done something with this post I rarely do…I’ve shut down comments. C’mon, everyone feels that they have to say something to comfort us, yet it’s hard to come up with anything when someone drops something as unpleasant as this in your lap. It’s ok, really…we know how you feel, and we appreciate it, honest we do.

Oh, about the plumbing…I took my father’s advice and temporarily fixed the pipe by applying a saddle valve, the same device you’d use if you were hooking up an ice maker. It’s working like a charm, and will allow me the time to deal with some of the other stuff before I cut-and-replace that section of pipe permanently. So at least one thing was easy to handle…