Meeting With OHSU

We were back at OHSU today. Another MRI, another blood draw and another appointment with the neuro-oncologist. I was able to navigate to and around OHSU today without any map or GPS assistance (we forgot the phone) which was a minor miracle. The neuro-oncologist was very brief today. He held both of Jordan's hands looked us both in the eye and shared that Jordan's tumor is growing despite the intense treatment. The doctor then shared that it is time to stop treatment. Stop treatment. Two words that didn't even begin to shock Jordan or myself in the moment. The doctor also shared that based on Jordan's diagnosis that she has between two and three months left to live. I asked a few awkward questions but mostly we just sat in silence. The doctors sat in silence. After some more awkward silence, I asked if we could have the room to ourselves for a bit before we left. The team said their goodbyes and moved on to their next appointment. I think they were waiting for some kind of crazy reaction from us. It never came. Like true professionals, we waited until they left before breaking down.

It felt weird to hear something said aloud that Jordan and I have been bracing for. Something that has lingered around in my head at night when I couldn't sleep or crept out from the shadows of the orchards when I am out running. It was hard to speak the phrase "stop treatment" and the word "hospice" out loud. But today I've spoken it several times. Sometimes while avoiding eye contact with friends that were present but mostly just awkwardly over the phone. My presentation was lacking and the responses were varied. Some shock, some tears, some deflection and lots of questions. Mostly you could hear that people didn't know what to say. It's ok. No one knows what to say lately. Including us.

Brack