I haven’t given an update on my health in quite a
while. On July 20th, I
returned to work full time. It was an
amazing feeling to be sitting at my desk again, actually doing something. The number of people who stopped by and
welcomed me back was overwhelming. Several
people told me not to overdo it, but the constant flow of people coming by kept
me from getting too caught up in my work.
On July 28th, we headed back to the clinic for
some x-rays, a CT scan (with contrast, oh joy), and blood work. Then began the longest week I’ve experience
in some time. I wasn’t going to see my
oncologist until August 4th—a whole week away.
My wife tells me she was never worried about the
results. Perhaps her faith is stronger
than mine, because I spent quite a bit of time praying over these tests. Yes, I was trusting in the Lord for His
healing, but I was also remembering the fight we just came through.
On August 4th, I went to the oncologist’s office
alone. Laura opted to stay home with the
children so we wouldn’t have to try to arrange a babysitter. I got to my appointment a bit early. I talked with the very sweet lady at the
registration desk who asked how I was doing in a very unobtrusive way to keep
in line with all the privacy laws. The
ladies who work this particular registration desk are very sweet and very
compassionate when dealing with the whole insurance, co-pay, billing
issues.
I sat in the waiting room, thinking of all the possible
outcomes of this appointment. Would
there be more cancer? Would I need
additional chemo? Would those two
treatments I missed due to my low counts be coming back to haunt me? Finally, I was called back to the exam room.
The nurse took my blood pressure (normal), my oxygenation
rate (very good), and my temperature (normal) and said the doctor would be in
shortly. So I did what I have become
pretty good at doing: I waited.
The doctor came in the room with a quick knock on the
door. She smiled in greeting. The first thing I noticed was that she kept
smiling. She said “Mr. Otto, your blood
work came back normal. The number that
was way high, a 9? Today it is less than
0.01. The scans looked good. Right now, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” She started examining me to look for any
possible effects of the chemo like she has just said “it’s sunny outside, isn’t
that nice?” The joy in my soul was
bubbling up inside of me.
In November, I’ll go back for another set of blood tests and
scans to ensure that nothing has popped up.
I’m trusting that the results will be the same—nothing to worry
about.
There is one thing that I haven’t shared with anyone besides
my wife. Right after we finished chemo,
I had a regular eye exam. I, of course,
gave my health history to the doctor.
She gave me a very complete eye exam.
And then she dilated my eyes.
After waiting for about 30 minutes, I was called back for the rest of
the exam. If you are familiar with an
eye exam, you probably remember the great white light that they take great
pleasure in shining directly in your eyes.
She didn’t say much, just kind of grunted in surprise. You can imagine, at this point in my life, I
don’t like it much when doctors are surprised.
She found something on my retina to the immediate right of
my optic nerve in my right eye. The
doctor began to talk to me about it. She didn’t know what it was and given my
recent health history, she wanted to send me to a retina specialist. The words "unknown," and "spot" where not words I wanted to hear. I was referred to a doctor in Nashville, TN
that happens to see patients in Bowling Green, KY. A few days later, I’m going through the
process of a basic eye exam, pictures of my eyes, and oh yes, the dilation
drops—extra strength this time. My eyes
stayed dilated for 4 or 5 hours.
I was diagnosed with what is called a White Cotton
Spot. It’s a white spot on the retina
that looks like a cotton ball. It is
usually caused by a tiny blood vessel in the eye that stops working. Typically, this is caused by untreated high blood
pressure or untreated diabetes. In my
case, most likely it was caused by the chemo.
The vessel probably stopped working when my blood counts dropped so very
low. The retina doctor said that it did
not mean the cancer had spread or anything like that. His exact words were “we’re not going to get
excited just yet, but I do want to see you back in a month.”
So here we are a month later. We just got back from the retina
specialist. My eyes are seriously dilated;
my wife says I look like an alien.
Everything is blurry. It’s like
the whole world has been italicized. The
bad news is that the White Cotton Spot is still there. The good news is that it is shrinking. My doctor says that this means the blood vessel
has started working again and the tissue has started recovering. This is excellent news. He wants to see me in a year unless I have
any trouble.
All in all, life is returning to normal. I’m back to running and lifting weights at
the gym. I’ve started preaching
again. Just this last weekend, I mowed
my yard. The boys are about ready to
start school again. The wife and I are
planning a late anniversary trip. And
you know what? I can’t complain about
anything. Life is good.
