Monday, August 24, 1998

Friday I saw my surgeon briefly. When I said "But we still don't even know where the tumor is," he said "Yes, we do know; it's on the liver." When I said I was worried because the tumor is so huge, he said "It's not so huge. The liver's as big as a football. It's the biggest organ in the body, except for the head." I thought "The head is an organ?" but didn't say anything. He said he had called my chemotherapist--a member of his research team--and was turning me over to him while he, my surgeon, went on a month's vacation. That wasn't bad news. My chemotherapist is a young man with a Ph.D. in chemistry as well as an M.D., and I trust him.

Early this morning Flo and I saw him and he seemed reluctant to take any responsibility at first. When I said "Dr. Wanebo told me he was turning me over to you," he was surprised and, I think, not pleased. Inexplicably, he didn't have the results of last Thursday's test, a thorough mapping of my liver, so instead of telling me what treatment he was going to prescribe, and when it would begin, which I had heavily counted on, he said "I'll consult with some of the other doctors. If I haven't called you by Thursday, call me." "Thursday!" I thought. "Holy smokes! This thing is growing!"

Later, in his office, I made a plea for faster action, but I couldn't tell whether it registered. If he's reluctant to take my life in his hands by choosing the usual treatment instead of the more aggressive treatment, both of which he described, then of course he wants to delay things--he needs to talk it all over with colleagues, and assure himself he's making the right decisions. So that's where we stand: we'll talk on the phone, and perhaps start treatment, and we're to see him a week from today. It's not the way I hoped things would come out, but it's not so bad. Meanwhile, my constant pain of the last fourteen weeks continues, pain not horrible but bad enough so that I hate getting up out of my reclining chair and doing anything. I drink as much water as I can stand. My nourishment comes from cans of Ensure, and I keep trying to get my weight back up. O my! I've seen better days.

• How I Learned of Dad's Illness

Beginning of Remembering Dad Pages

• Goodbye Mr Magic Man! John Francis Butler 6 Jan 1927 - 11 Sep 1998

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