CEA Results

It was a beautiful morning here in Chattanooga, perfect weather for the final session of radiation therapy. With the weekend before us, and a long visit with the oncologist scheduled for Monday, we couldn't wait to take a peek at the results of the blood work from earlier in the week. The CT scans will have to have some professional evaluation (even the oncologist doesn't look at them, only at another doctor's remarks about them) so we didn't ask to see those.

There's no feeling quite like asking for the results of a test like this. My future literally hangs in the balance, here. Having "failed" it one time already I was especially nervous. I pasted on a smile anyway and waltzed into the oncologist's office to ask the receptionist for the results of the CEA test. She said "No problem!" and brought up the appropriate screen on her computer. Then, with a little bit of a frown, she said "I'll be right back" and stepped into the rear office.

My smile turned into what must have been a sick-looking grimace as I felt ready to throw up on the floor there at the desk. Dammit! We went through this before: asking for the result, then getting the shuffle as they located someone appropriate to bring the bad news. If I thought I could move without being sick and falling down I would have run out the door right then. Pam was trying not to show it if she had similar thoughts--she's a trooper even when the going gets tough.

The receptionist came back with a sheet of paper, saying "The printer in the back works better for me." With her same beautiful, inscrutable smile, she passed along a sheet with only a couple of lines on it.

Desperately trying to make sense of the numbers there, we read that the results of my test are 3.4.

I experience that moment that lottery winners must feel, when the ground seems to fall out from under their feet. My goal is any number less than five. Three point four is WAY less than five--ohmygod that's the right answer! Pam and I are both holding back tears (unsuccessfully, in my case) and doing the happy dance in lieu of backflips down the aisle. The receptionist comments "We need a little happy dancing around here." I can't really do more than shuffle to the door. It's too big for one moment. Maybe on Monday we'll bring in a marching band with elephants on parade to do better justice to the moment.

Walking on clouds, we feel the lovely sunshine all the brighter, the crisp autumn air all the fresher, every-every-everything all the sweeter for this beautiful reprieve. From here on out, every day is a special gift. We resolve not to waste a single one.

Clem