The Long Awaited Surgery

Looking back to when we first learned of Derek's pancreatic cancer diagnosis and heard about the grim statistics for a positive outcome, my brother, Jeffrey, reminded us that we had every reason to be hopeful. We chose to ignore the statistics and focus on the fact that Derek was an outlier. His age, overall health, stage of diagnosis and treatment regimen put him in a new category of patients. We told Derek over and over again: "It's not a 0% chance. Someone has to beat this thing. It might as well be you."

Yesterday went better than anyone could have possibly imagined. Despite a treacherous storm that passed through the city as our family and dearest friends traveled down to U of C to join me in the hospital waiting room, the sky brightened and the sun began to shine just as we got the call that the surgeon had moved beyond the initial scope to proceed with the full surgery. One of Derek's biggest fears was that he would awaken to the news that the surgery could not be completed, and so we cheered for this small victory.

Just a few hours after that call, when the doctor paged me from the operating room and said he was coming up to speak with me, my heart dropped. It had only been about four hours, and we were expecting the surgery to last much longer. Preparing myself for news of a partial resection, we found a quiet corner of the waiting room for us to talk. I steadied myself and leaned in closely to hear the doctor explain what had happened.

The doctor began by sharing that Derek's surgery had gone "better than expected." Though a small part of the colon had to be removed and there was considerable blood loss, the tumor was "nowhere near the celiac axis." What had made Derek's case so complicated all along was not even an issue during surgery. After he described the details of the full procedure, he finished with the four words that all families in this situation pray to hear spoken aloud: we got it all.

Although the pathology report will take a full week to receive, we remain hopeful that yesterday's surgery yielded an R0 resection with clean margins. The preliminary results look very good, so they say we should consider the surgery "a win."

My oldest, dearest friend, Becca wrote a beautiful blog post last night about what it was like to be with us to witness the news that the surgery was a success. She captured the emotion far better than I ever could because I was in such a state of disbelief.

We are not out of the woods yet and may never be able to use the term cured, but we feel extremely fortunate to know that Derek's overall prognosis improves now that surgery is behind us. We are humbled by the outpouring of love and support for our family and grateful to have so many of you following along as our journey unfolds. Thank you for lifting us up and helping us believe that Derek will win this battle. After all, someone has to beat this thing. It might as well be him.

Denial and Hope

I recently heard a TED Talk given by a woman named Amanda Bennett, who sadly lost her husband to a rare form of cancer. Something struck me about part of her message. She suggested that we need to think more constructively about a very common, profound and powerful human emotion that often presents itself as denial but turns out to actually be hope.

For weeks, I have been saying that I am living in a state of denial about the next monumental step in our journey. Up until this week, I barely acknowledged that Derek's surgery date was quickly approaching. Friends, family members, and co-workers gently broached the subject by asking us about the details: How much work would we be missing? Would Marcie spend the night at the hospital with Derek or stay at a hotel or go home? What would we tell our children?

The truth is that we still don't have answers to all of those questions yet. Instead of using any of our emotional or mental capacity to wonder or waver or worry, we choose to wait. We will figure out what is right when the time is right.

Is this denial? I don't think it is. I think it's a deep sense of hope and belief that everything will be ok, because there are absolutely no indications that it won't be.

Derek was diagnosed with Stage 3 pancreatic cancer, without any signs of metastasis. He courageously battled through 12 rounds of grueling chemotherapy. His CA19-9 plummeted from 273 to 128 all the way down to 12.8, a number well within the range of normal. His tumor shrunk enough so that it went from unresectable to resectable. All of this while Derek's appetite and digestion improved, his weight normalized, and his energy returned. Tell me, how can one not have hope with results like that?

This summer, we have had a marvelous month filled with joy, spontaneity, laughter, and most importantly, food! In fact, this summer was as good, if not better, than any other summer we have spent together. Living each day with so much hope that it turned our fear into fortitude, our stress into strength. We are ready for whatever lies in the days ahead. We are not in denial; we are just filled with hope.

Anyone who is reading who wants to be updated on the day of surgery and the days that follow, please join our private text group by texting @BigDFaust to 81010. Our family has also asked that their friends and colleagues join so that all communication comes directly from us.

Thank you to our incredible support system. To our parents, siblings, relatives, dearest friends, and trusted colleagues, we are grateful to all of you. We look forward to sharing an update after Derek's surgery has been completed.