It's an infinitesimal number, really. Teeny. One would think, inconsequential.
Except when that number is supposed to be 0.00, or "undetectable", as it has been for the last 2 1/2 years.
Yesterday Brad found out his PSA level was 0.22. An elevated hormone showing up in his blood from a piece of his body that's no longer there. Which means one thing.
Cancer is back.
His urologist is out of town until Monday and so we won't know his opinion or next steps until at least then (which is also the date we're throwing Cate's 5th birthday party, so that won't be surreal at all). We suspect another blood draw to re-test and a bone scan to start. The hope is radiation to the surrounding prostate tissue and that will be it. Done. Onto gymnastics lessons and hockey and plays and all those ordinary moments that make life extraordinary.
Last night I felt like I was sputtering and in danger of drowning on oxygen, very nearly sending out a cut-to-the-chase email to our tribe. That knee jerk response of wanting to know you've got people holding onto your hand just enough that you can keep your face above water. But maybe in a show of slight personal development, I didn't and decided to write here instead, as those who read this are the ones who can probably handle me at this early stage and throughout whatever is next.
Shit, you guys. Just...all the swear words.