Nothing, like something, happens anywhere”

--Philip Larkin

On Wednesday I had a follow-up CT-scan, this time on my upper chest to check for any damage from six months of chemo and to give my new oncologist, Dr. Robin Obenchain, a more complete picture of what my dear ol’ Granny – Nellie Grimm Saylor – used to call “my innards.” I also had the usual telltale vials of blood removed from my body. On Friday San and I met with Dr. Obenchain to discuss the results. And the news was good, mostly and good … maybe.

That’s kind of how the news goes in the frontier territory called Remission. Yes, I am a “cancer survivor,” but at least with pancreatic cancer, the detour out of Cancerland means that I am never more than a few short sentences away from the longer, harder narrative, and that harder narrative is always lurking, forming, insisting, somewhere inside me no matter how I fight it – how we fight it – each and every day.

It also means that the ongoing storyline between these wild narrative territories is never exactly linear. As one of our oncology nurses and my personal “chemo wife” Monica puts it: “it’s more of a roller coaster ride.”

***

The truth is that I had hoped – we all had hoped and prayed – for a longer remission. But pancreatic cancer of the sort that is fond of my cells, a deadly cancer that turns otherwise perfectly ordinary, hard-working, and righteous proteins into mutant ninja cells, has a history of finding a way, even after a remission, to cause more trouble. So it is with undeniable sadness that I report that I am no longer in remission, no longer “cancer free.” The damned little mutant ninjas running amok in my vascular system are back, which is an empirical fact. My CA-19/9 marker is at 670 this week, after registering 500 the week before.

That’s not good.

That said, Dr. Robin also gave us some very good news. The tumor/scar tissue on my pancreas and lesions/scar tissue on my liver are stable, which means that whatever the mutant cells are doing is still at a formative stage and – here’s more good news – may be reduced by a timely return to what she calls “lightweight maintenance chemo.”

So beginning next week I reenter the Room of Orange Chairs.

***

“The scans show some new dark spot on your liver … and your marker is up to 1900.” Dr. Robin delivers the news in a clear and compassionate voice. The good news is there is no growth in the pancreas tumor, my lungs are clear and my heart is good. There are some questionable areas near my spine, but nothing active. And my newly found back pain may just be a muscle pull.

It’s the back pain that had San and me worried. For the past two nights I couldn’t sleep and despite taking one of those magical oxy painkillers, I still couldn’t lie on my back. So, at two a.m. I moved to the recliner. At four, to the couch. Which means that San also moved, didn’t sleep, and whereas I worried about what might be causing the pain and what might be done to alleviate it, San worried about all of it. She had done some reading. It could be that the mass on my pancreas was growing again, pressing against a group of nerves, radiating throughout my left side.

But it was not that, apparently.