On one quadrant of the golf-ball-sized chunk the doctor took out, there was less of a margin between the cancerous cells and the other ones. In fact, in that area, the cells were “precancerous.” He wants to take a little more out in that area. The good news is that it’s a quick, in-office procedure without the MRI (tough for my claustrophobic mom) and without the tattoo and dye thing, since the lymph node was clear.
In the next few days, my mom needs to see a radiation oncologist to discuss her options. One newer technology involves a balloon and radioactive seeds inserted over four days. (I swear. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.) Then there is the traditional six weeks of treatment. I haven’t done my little web surfing thing to figure out the implications and such. I expect that my mom will want to do the newer method, at least in part because six weeks of treatment in the desert puts them there into the real heat when most of their friends are gone and there is not a whole lot to do except worship the air conditioning.
After I hear more, I’ll know whether I need to go back again to do my comedy routines, my slave-driving encouragement for fitness, and my magic trick of turning ingredients into meals. So for the moment, I’m trying to rest up to be ready for the next steps.