Searching for the Black and White in the Grey of Cancer

Some things are black and white. One day it doesn't really seem possible that you, or the one you love the most, could possibly have cancer. Then you get the phone call. It's cancer. It's black and white. One day you don't know, the next day your life changes. The day they tell you that the surgery didn't get all of the cancer....it's black and white. The day they tell you it has come back. The day they tell you it has spread into your fucking bones. It's black and white.

Now we seem to be moving into the period of time in which everything is all grey. We saw the oncologist yesterday and the pain Ernie's having MAY be from the cancer spreading into his spine, and yet it's not where it seems most likely that it has spread.....so there's no black and white statement. Instead, he will get a Zoladex injection once the insurance company approves it and we'll SEE if the pain lessens. His PSA, which although still low, has continued to rise, will go down. He has some pain pills for now.....we'll see if the Zoladex helps...in the mean time he got another infusion of Zometa (which inhibits bone growth). It's all kind of 'wait and see.' And what I want is a black and white fucking solution. I want him to say "yes, it's cancer and we're going to get that motherfucker OUT of there" and then they do it, they zap it or kill it or just scrape it OUT of him. Or conversely "the pain isn't from cancer, take some ibuprofen, relax and think about how old you are." 

I want black and white. And it's only grey. And it really will only be grey from now on. I remember dealing with my sister's treatments and realizing that all the chemo protocols in the world are just like me cooking without a recipe. There's no absolute...there's no 'A will fix B." It's all grey.

Ernie used to tell me that when he imagined me it was as though I was in color in a black and white world. And now I want my baby to be black and white.