The news we’ve been praying for

Thank you to everyone for your thoughts, prayers and concern during and after my surgery earlier this month. I had a wonderful support team in Josh, my sister Laurie and dear friend Amy while I was at Stanford, and even more help from my sisters Donna and Wendy as well as my parents once I returned home. It’s been a slow road to recovery, but each day I feel more like my old self as my body heals and I find it easier to move around.

We had a tremendous visit with Dr. Whyte at my post-op appointment last Thursday to discuss the results of my surgery. When we first heard the news it truly felt like a MIRACLE, something so out-of-this world amazing that I needed a few days to let the reality of its goodness sink in before sharing publicly. (So thanks for your patience.)

First of all, the pathology report indicated (as Josh shared previously on the blog) that my chest tumor was encapsulated. This means the tumor was self-contained in its own capsule rather than having arms, legs, tentacles, etc. (Hopefully, you get the picture.) We’d been told all along that this was the best possible scenario, since it would allow the surgeon to easily remove the entire tumor at once. Otherwise, there was risk of it being attached to other organs so the surgeon might have to leave some behind -- a sure risk for reoccurrence. No one knew what the tumor would look like until I was on the operating table and they saw it with their own eyes.

So, first and foremost, thank God it was encapsulated!

Secondly -- and even more amazing -- was news from the pathology report that they found NO ACTIVE CANCER CELLS remaining in the tumor! Dr. Whyte said this means that the four rounds of chemo worked. (Personally, I believe there was more involved than just the chemo to get such a wonderful outcome. But more on that later.)

With this finding, my actual diagnosis has now changed. This is because the tumor is no longer classified as Type C thymic carcinoma, the aggressive (and rare) cancer it presented as in the initial needle biopsy last October. Instead, it is now classified as a less rare Type B1 thymoma. This very detail improves my long-term odds significantly! According to Stanford, 83 percent of patients with a Type B1 thymoma have no reoccurrence 10 years later. Isn’t that great?

Again, thank God.

The last bit of news was not necessarily bad, but could possibly result in some additional treatment. According to the pathology report, there was evidence that some of the original cancer cells had entered into -- but not through -- the capsule that held the tumor. But since those cells are no longer considered cancerous, the risk is not likely significant. I may need radiation therapy, just in case, but Dr. Whyte said definitely NO MORE CHEMO! This particular finding will be addressed when my case is presented to Stanford’s tumor board on Tuesday, so I should know more later in the week.

In case I was concerned about what the future holds, Dr. Whyte informed me that Stanford is not done with me yet. He said they will monitor me closely from now on, and I’ll go back to the Cancer Center for my first recheck this summer. In the meantime, he told me to continue focusing on healing from surgery -- since I’ll need to be in the best shape possible for my next surgery to remove the pituitary tumor. Josh and I offered our most sincere thanks, as well as some Girl Scout cookies, to both Dr. Whyte and his amazing staff. In retrospect, it seemed like an awfully small gesture. But how exactly do you thank a renowned surgeon for helping to save your life?

After my appointment was over, Josh and I left the Cancer Center on a cloud. We then celebrated over a nice lunch with our friend Ali and enjoyed the beautiful sunshine. With a huge weight off my shoulders (and out of my chest), I felt like I was seeing the gorgeous Stanford campus for the very first time. It made me also think how nice it would be to have one (or even both) of our children attend college there. (Note to self: get to work on that college fund!)

Finally, we dropped by the hospital’s cardiac recovery ward to say hello and offer our thanks (and more cookies) to all the wonderful nurses and staff. It was an emotional homecoming, to say the least. I felt like an entirely different person than when I last saw them, along with the strange realization that Room 224 belonged to someone else now. I said a quick prayer that the next occupant might experience the same positive outcomes I had.

Even though it’s been days now since I got this phenomenal news, I still feel like pinching myself. Did all of this really happen?

The giant scar running down my chest says yes.

But the giant smile on my face says even more.

With love and gratitude,
Angela