Day 9

So, here it is. The blog that will document our journey through testicular cancer. The story this far is:

On August 24th, Art and I were sitting beside each other, across the examing table from an infectious disease doctor. The words "It's serious," came out of his mouth followed by "testicular cancer." There were tears and oh my God's, an offer of tea and as well as sleeping aids. We left the doctor's office in a daze and headed straight to a urologist's office.

At the end of June, Art started complaining about joint pain, and his inability to squat completely, something he had previously been able to do. It felt to him similar to the symptoms of Lyme disease he had several years ago. He went to our primary care doctor who gave him a referral to an infectious disease doctor. The infectious disease guy ruled out Lyme's disease and ruled in a viral infection that was in his joints. His recommendation... take ibuprofen and wait it out.

So Art did. Only things got worse. At the beginning of August, Art started running low-grade fevers. Not often enough to worry us, but just enough to be annoying. His symptoms were flu-like, low energy, achiness, etc. On August 8th, Pallas was hit by a car outside our house. (See www.kimthamer.blogspot.com for the story) She was OK, but Art and I spent the rest of the week emotionally recovering from viewing the whole event and writing off his increasingly harsh flu-like symptoms. Art continued to get worse and spent many nights coughing despite the cough medicine. Night sweats came every evening and night, followed by the chills. He was on the maximum dose of ibuprofen. Over the weekend of the 19th, he started having trouble breathing. We thought bronchitis.

And so did our primary care physicians; she gave him a z-pack (high-powered antibiotics that you take in a course of 5 days) on Monday the 20th and sent us back to the infectious disease guy. On Thursday, August 24, we walked in. Spoke carefully about the symptoms. The infectious disease guy suggested he do an x-ray. We agreed. He came back, did a quick scrotum exam of Art, and then left for 15 minutes. When he returned, he started saying things like “serious” and “cancer.”

I wish that were the end of the story. 

More tests were ordered over 2 days. Unfortunately, there was a weekend in between the days. By Monday, Art would get winded just by walking slowly across the house. Through Windward School, where Art works, we got an appointment with Dr. Wolin, a germ cell cancer specialist. He was alarmed at the slow pace at which the HMO system and urologist were moving. He explained that germ cells grow as fast as embryos -- double their size every week. He told us to contact a pulmonologist immediately. His concern was that Art would need oxygen before he could have the surgery which would lead to a definitive diagnosis. (No one is 100% positive it's cancer until a biopsy is done.) There is a certain chemo treatment that most testicular cancer patients follow. It seems that extra oxygen combined with a drug called bleomycin (a cornerstone of the chemo) could cause lung failure. Dr. Wolin wanted to avoid that.

We got home, lost more sleep, and I went into high gear to get Art's help. It was too late. On Tuesday night, I took Art to the ER. He was admitted with an 88% saturation level. Normal numbers for us generally healthy people are around 98%. Of course, the ER nurses and Dr. quickly hooked Art up to O2. Art has been in the hospital ever since.

Yesterday, he had his surgery. Today he is mending, and we await word from the pathology lab. It's now four o'clock. I have given up hope of hearing anything today, which means chemo will start on Tuesday. I just hope the cells have lost a bit of their drive to destroy his lungs.

It feels like someone else's story. And then I wake up in the hospital room when he coughs and realize it is our story. It's hard to believe that nine days ago we were this normal couple trying to figure out what was making my husband sick.

I will write as often as I can.

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