Meredith's Musings

My, how cancer treatments have changed

We took the trip up to Mayo Clinic last week.

My nerves were on high alert. I felt like I was walking on eggshells—the waiting for the appointment at Mayo, the wondering what the doctor would say (three months or six months of chemo?), and my own thoughts of not doing chemo.

I was mentally preparing myself to do chemo, I had been preparing for weeks. I was ready to get a port in as soon as possible and prepared to start chemo next week. The doctors were all telling me now, and five years ago, chemo is how you get rid of “microscopic cancer cells.” I don’t fully understand this new DNA testing. But I understand chemo.

Still, the chemo cocktails they mentioned were the same ones Mom had in the late stages of her fight. I couldn’t wrap my head around why doctors would suggest late-stage chemo for a tumor that wasn’t even 1 cm, no lymph node involvement, no metastasis, localized to the pancreas—which I don’t even have anymore.

I know the side effects of these drugs—neuropathy, nausea, diarrhea, constipation, and the crushing toll on organs that are already doing double duty healing right now. Why such major chemo?

Then we went to Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville. I was bracing myself for the words, “Yes, let’s do chemo for three months.”

But that didn’t happen.

This doctor spent a full hour with us— calmly, logically—going through all the reasons not to do chemo:

1. We have better testing tools now—real DNA tracking (five years later, an actual test that can detect minimal residual disease).
2. I don’t have a pancreas anymore.
3. No spread to other organs or lymph nodes.
4. IPMN cyst tumors, in cases like mine, have better odds than standard adenocarcinoma.
5. We would never do chemo for only 3 months. The amount of time is no less than 4 months.
6. Let’s save the chemo for another time—because if we ever need it, I’ll still have it available. Why use the heavy guns now?

Justin and I sat there in shock. I couldn’t talk for twenty minutes. Just absorbing it: no chemo.

I emailed my original surgeon, Dr. Simeone. Within an hour, she replied and she agreed.

No chemo.

The plan: DNA blood tests every three months, plus CT scans and labs. If anything changes, we’ll act fast. But for now—three out of five doctors agree: no chemo.

Next week, I start the blood and DNA testing.

I start my life again.

I start breathing again.

And I finally get to focus fully on healing from the Whipple, enjoying my new home and moving forward.

I (and Justin) are still in a state of shock. The happiest, blissful shock we’ve ever experienced. I fluctuate between shock and being grateful. There are so many others that would only hope to have my outcome. It’s overwhelming. Perhaps the feeling is both – shock and grateful, mixed together. Whatever it is, I’m still reeling from it.

This is what happens when you’re an advocate for your own health, and you request… no, demand early detection. You get results. Period.