The Secret

Our meeting was both a scrub and a rip.  Dr. Hawkins presented us with some chemo options-- all were things that have shown promise in some, but did not have enough evidence or proof that it would do anything but make Caden sick.  We are not interested in going down the list of chemo options, checking off the ones we've tried, trying all that are available.  We just don't want what few remaining days we have with him to be sickness without cure.

One option that was presented, something we are calling our Last Stand, is radiation.  Here's the thing: words were spoken that we already understood from the Scan-- they do not believe we will ever find a cure for Caden.  Dr. Hawkins said it would have to be a pretty big miracle.  We all see the evidence, we all know the equations.  Chemo does not equal cure, immunotherapy does not equal cure, tumor removal does not equal cure, so it stands to reason that there just isn't a cure.  Even when we thought we had a home run, when we were told that the first massive tumor had zero live cancer cells in it after resection, it never shrunk; it was still a massive, two-pound plus tumor.  There was evidence that the second batch of chemos he was given were killing the cancer, and may have done much more if we would have done more than just one Round, but it was not eating up that massive, 2-pound tumor either.  And, as we can all plainly see, nothing is really killing the cancer.  Radiation is an option not to cure him, but to stabilize the tumor growth, hold off the pain for as long as possible, and give us more time to say goodbye.  Our Caden is dying, and there is nothing we can do to stop it.

If we lived in Seattle, the radiation choice would be simple: Proton Therapy.  But, because there isn't strong evidence to show that Proton will cure him, because they don't know, really, which is best for Caden's Ultra Rare Circumstances (this is the first and only case that has gone anything like this in the world, ever) we are looking to go the Photon Therapy route, since we most likely will be able to do it closer to home.  There is no evidence to prove that we should take him from his home, his family, his dog, and move to Seattle.  Proton Therapy is very specific, targeting only the spaces they choose and nothing else.  Photon is also specific, but it can also touch around it, like the halo of light around the target.  But, again, words were spoken that we already understood: this will only help what we are targeting, not the other tumors that we all expect to grow elsewhere in his body.  Tumors that may actually be growing now.  Tumors may grow as we are trying to stabilize growth of the known ones.  Radiation is not a cure.  There is no cure.  We are hopefully choosing to give him a better quality of life while he is here, buying more time as we sprint hand-in-hand to his finish line.

We will find out more tomorrow from the Radiation Specialist.  He is reaching out to colleagues here in the Tri-Cities and in Yakima, telling them of our "case," hoping that someone will say yes.  Treatment would be 5-6 week, Monday through Friday.  They expect that he will be fatigued and don't expect him to be too nauseous.  But, because he is the most nauseous kid Sue has ever seen in her 20 years experience, we were told that if it becomes too much, he can always stop.  Because there is no reason for him to be sick when we know the end result of all of this.  Our Caden is dying, and there is nothing we can do to stop it.

Because Finals are so important to him, we are choosing not to tell him the whole truth until tomorrow.  We found out today that he has one more tomorrow, so we are waiting.  It may just kill us, this waiting.  We want to get it over with.  We want to start grieving.  Together.  We want him to have all the time he needs to accept it all and die on his own terms, as he wishes.  It is hard to keep this "secret."  It is confusing to want to give him what he desperately desires- this normal high school experience of Finals- but know that what you have to tell him is much more important.  But, it matters to him, so it matters to us.  So we keep him young just one day more.  Tomorrow, after his final day as a Sophomore, everything changes.  Our sixteen year old son will hear the words, "You're dying, and we can't do anything to stop it."

UPDATE:
We gave him the option of hearing the details of our appointment today, or we could wait. He wanted them today.

He knows. And it was just as heinous as you can imagine.