When Cancer Calls

The Uninvited Guest

Periwinkle blue: The American Cancer Society ribbon color for Esophageal Cancer

Transitions are a Part of Life

Life was hectic at the beginning of this year. We had just moved from Seattle to Pittsburgh in February of last year, and enjoyed discovering our new home. But, the lease on our apartment was quickly coming to an end and we desperately wanted a house before we had to sign a new one. Things often don’t work out as you wish, though. We signed a month-to-month lease and paid an additional $400 a month. Ugh! Right when we needed to embrace frugality for the purchase of this yet-undiscovered house.

We soon found a lovely home in our budget and, as it turns out, the same age as I am. I took it as a sign. We ran the gauntlet of the house-buying process and were handed the keys on March 28th, 2025. Just a week later, Scott was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. You know you’re in for a rough ride when your oncologist says, “Cancer is bad. Esophageal cancer is bad cancer.”

Esophageal Cancer is Bad Cancer

It is also rare, affecting about 16,000 people each year in the U.S., and accounting for only 1% of all cancers. We recognize the pink ribbon associated with breast cancer and there are many events to raise breast cancer awareness and raise money. Being a more rare form of cancer, there are not as many research dollars pushed toward esophageal cancer research—a thought that tugged at me at first.

In this instance, we found ourselves in the hands of a highly recognized team of radiologists, oncologists and surgeons that specialize precisely in esophageal cancer and are recognized as leaders in minimally invasive esophagectomy. In other words, we were in the right place at the right time.

I believe things happen for a reason. Although I’m not particularly religious, I’ve found throughout my life that one event seems to lay the groundwork for managing the next event that life tosses your way.

Chemo, Radiation and Surgery—Oh My!

It’s the first of September now—five months since we received the shocking news. To date, Scott has undergone six rounds of chemo, 28 radiation treatments, an additional round of triple-dose chemo, and one round of Neulasta®. Overall, he’s done well with the therapies and experienced relatively mild side effects. He even still has his hair (other than that bald spot)! The toughest seemed to be the six days following the Neulasta® treatment. He said he felt like he could feel his bones growing, it hurt so badly.

We finally had a visit with the surgeon. Scott thought it was just to check on his feeding tube. The doctor came in with a big smile and said, “Okay now. We’ve scheduled a date for your surgery. September 29th.” The color drained from Scott’s face. “I thought I had more time.”

We were under a couple of misguided impressions. One, that he would not be having surgery until mid-October or November. Two, that he had just a 50% chance of surviving the surgery. He’s been living with these assumptions for months. So, in his mind, there was a very good chance he would not live through the surgery.

The doctor left and the nurses came in to finish up and get his signature on the consent forms. I asked, “What is the survival rate for this surgery.” “Oh. I’ll have the doctor back in to discuss that with you,” she said. They couldn’t give a straight-forward answer because it’s based on a number of factors.

He returned with a printout and explained that they are now able to input the facts about Scott’s health and be delivered a fairly accurate estimate. No. He is not likely to die on the 29th of this month. In fact, he has more than an 85% chance of surviving the surgery, and should be eating soft foods within a week.

He left the office with a bounce to his step and he hasn’t stopped grinning since. Neither have I.