We visited with the most interesting of doctors yesterday. His name is Dr. David Victor, III and he is on the Methodist Hospital liver board. He must be between 38 and 44, although he had that odd complexion that made it impossible to know. He could have been 30 or he could have been 50. He wore low cut wingtips with blue laces and sole highlights. His pants were skinny pants like a top-flight golfer’s. His tie was the knit kind from the late 80s, although I think his was more Beiber than Back Street. And his general approach was to tell us the glass-half-empty angle on everything. That said, everything about him was gentle and kind. The only thing that was distracting was his “half-empty” spin doctoring.
He talked to us for forty-five minutes. We know more about liver boards and statistics than we ever wanted to know. The liver board’s one guiding principle is that they will not provide a candidate with a liver if they believe that candidate has a better chance of survival without a replacement. That is to say they may live longer with the normal cancer treatment than if they got a liver. According to Dr. Victor, getting a liver transplant is the most difficult operation the human body can undergo. It’s challenging, and I must say, it’s frightening. And the board wants its candidates to know. That was Dr. Victor’s half-empty angle.
The bright spot is that the Houston liver board is the most aggressive board in the country about giving its patients livers. This means they will give livers to patients that other hospitals would not. This is where I fit at this time. And that is the second part of the story. The second part is not surprising at all. It’s exactly what Dr. Javle said would happen: the liver board wants me to undergo six more months of chemotherapy and then reapply.
The new chemotherapy will be administered via IV here in Austin. I don’t like getting stuck with needles, but by taking this option I only get chemo once every two weeks versus taking pills twice a day that make me feel bad and require hour-long walks to avoid chemo sores. I anticipate I will feel bad after the injection, but better shortly thereafter. This is my hope, and it is what Dr. Javle has lead me to believe.
The road we travel reveals itself slowly, but true to the form its experts predicted. I will walk the road with a smile and determined steps. It will not be easy for anyone that I love and I appreciate your thoughts and support for all of us. I am facing the journey with optimism and an ever deeper patience and appreciation for my family. They are struggling through this with me because of how this disease affects me. Thank you for supporting them. They need you.
Speaking of your support, yesterday when Debra and I pulled up from a long trip our home was decorated with not one but two Christmas trees, bedazzled with ornaments. There were also logs in the fireplace, wreaths on the door which was flanked with two poinsettias, candles, orchids, santas, hot chocolate, cookies, soups, peppermint chocolates, roses and a tangible remainder of love. It was an emotional day and this welcome home was deeply and personally felt. Thank you to everyone who had a hand in this, and thank you to everyone who has thought of us these past few days. My family is happier this Holiday Season because of your selflessness.
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