MD Anderson and Houston – Wade’s thoughts

Everything is bigger, and worse, in Houston. No, that’s not fair. As Deb and I drove into the medical center that houses MD Anderson and other hospitals, we passed the cathedral where we were married and where Debra was christened “Debra, child of God”. The lawns all around are lush. The gardens look beautiful and well planned. The fountains cascade with crystal water. And the light rail (!!!!) runs quietly and swiftly past us on the tree-lined road. We will be returning to this place over the coming months to visit Dr. Milind Javle, a recognized national expert on bile duct cancer. I am so happy to have a beautiful environment to welcome us with museums and aquariums. We will find ways to make these visits about more than bile duct cancer.

(As an aside, I need a name for my bile duct cancer that gives it less respect. In doing some very limited research on the information super-highway, I discovered that it is quite a sarcastic little sob. Get this. Bile duct cancer is typically reserved for 1) ladies, 2) who are over 65, 3) live somewhat sedentary lives, 4) and are Asian. In case you don’t know, I am none of those. My little buddy is lodged in a young(ish), active(ish), healthy(ish), non-Asian(no -ish), man(no -ish). So what to call it? I am open to suggestions because my names for it thus far are not fit to print. For now, we’ll call it cockroach.)

So, cockroach, Deb and I visited Dr. Milind Javle yesterday here in beautiful Houston. I am so very grateful to the close loved ones who opened this door for us. Dr. Javle is among the Illuminati of cancer researchers. He is at the very top, and the pinnacle for bile duct cancer. It would be hard to think of a more qualified, knowledgeable doctor to counsel us. We would literally NEVER have gotten an appointment with him. But yesterday, he took extra rounds to come sit with Deb and me and answer our questions and share his knowledge with us. As we are finding with every passing hour, the generosity of our family and friends is beyond our ability to say thank you. But, Thank You.

The short form of our findings is that cockroach is living up to his character. He is not typically able to be sampled for tissue. So oncologists treat him with chemotherapy and radiation without ever actually getting a verified biopsy. This is a very rare tumor indeed for doctors, who are gun-shy from mal-practice threats, and yet shoot their patients with poison to kill something that may in fact not be what they think it is. Talk about liability. This is one reason that my Austin doctors were so hell-bent to get a sample. But the sad fact is that if they would have been successful, it might have jeopardized the scope of my treatments by allowing cockroach to spread within my liver and bile duct more effectively. We have yet to see if in fact cockroach was compromised or not, and therefore if my treatment options are still wide open. For another day and another set of keystrokes.

I won’t dwell on the discussion with Dr. Javle except to say that I am 1) not a lady, 2) not Asian, 3) not over 65, 4) not sedentary, and 5) ready to smash cockroach’s foul guts out on the floor.

One last moment of the day---After all the dust settled from CT scans and blood drawings and visits with experts, Debra and I went to Sparrow, a restaurant run by Monica Pope who is well-known in Houston. Debra worked for Monica as a young waitress back when I was in France and she was spending time in Houston prior to coming to see me, where I would strategically ask her to marry me. Debra and I had a beautiful dinner of avocados, scallops and snapper, with Monica’s special margaritas to soothe the day’s bumps and scrapes. The air was skin temperature. There were no mosquitos. There were no loud-talkers. And the company was delightful.

Deb at Sparrow. Yeoowza!

Wade at Sparrow. Drinking a Margie! Take that cockroach.

And there was a very funny dog named Fergus. Fergus is Irish, of course. He is literally the shape of a large loaf of bread with short legs and long, grey hair. He is exactly like Beau, my own dear friend, except with an Irish accent and fuzzy hair. Deb and I loved him.

Fergus at Sparrow, eating a free bone.

We finished the day with sleep, in a Heavenly Bed™ at the Westin Galleria, paid for by Papa and Gigi. We are so fortunate.