My Big Fat Greek Cancer: Part Seventeen – Good News . . . No, Really, I’m Not Kidding

This week's blog is short and sweet. But it's really, really good. So good, in fact, it has puppies AND kittens.

The saga continues . . . you will recall that last month’s episode found your intrepid blogger the recipient of disappointing news, in contrast to the sunnier results of the previous month. Dr. Lee delivered the grim verdict in his usual perfunctory manner before handing me off to the wizards of infusion who would take over the next stage of my treatment. The last few weeks featured three infusions of the miracle drug Avastin® and the installation of my brand new PowerPort^©.

On Tuesday I had another date with the MRI machine (definitely not for the claustrophobic), and was spared the usual suspense by meeting with my oncologist Dr. Lee the very next day. The history of our encounters might have provided a hint of what to expect (this was the “good news” week), but I felt a foreboding nonetheless. However, the mood instantly lightened when Dr. Lee entered the room. I've told you this guy has the worst poker face in the world, and his “tell” was like a flashing billboard.

As the good Dr. Lee whipped out scan after scan, I stared in growing disbelief as I witnessed The Amazing Disappearing Brain Tumor. Where there had been big white splotches spelling out evil tumor encroachment, there was now . . . nothing. Well, OK, not NOTHING, but compared to the ever-growing spider of death I’m used to seeing, it seemed like nothing. Now, this trip has been enough of a roller coaster ride that I am cautious about getting too excited about any promising developments. But Dr. Lee confirmed that, while perhaps not meriting a “go crazy folks” Jack Buck-type celebration, this is in fact some pretty damn good news; the best I've seen since I started this ride.

Well, all right! The cancer’s not gone, but the Avastin is performing as advertised and delivering some fairly eye-popping and ass-kicking results its first time in the starting lineup. (I described in Part 15 how Avastin works, by cutting off the blood supply of tumors and starving the little bastards.) Not arguing with results, so I'll be back in the infusion chair every two weeks for the foreseeable future. Instead of seeing me in four weeks, Dr. Lee thinks we can take an eight-week break until the next MRI.

So, what’s it all mean, Charlie Brown? This good news takes some getting used to. Maybe I can start looking at things a little more long-term. Start the down payment on those 2016 World Series tickets? OK, let’s not get silly . . . but watching a young lady pick up her diploma in a couple of years is something I consider worth sticking around for.

GOODBYE AMIGOS! SEE YOU SOON! HAHA!!