One of the downsides to military medicine is the inability to get a second opinion. You never really have that available to you as an option. The person treating you is a military doctor, at a military facility, and Tri-Care, the military medical system, is not going to pay for you to go out and get another doctor to look at it. Especially not on the civilian sector. If you are "lucky" enough to get a second military doc to look at it, odds are he's already seen YOUR CASE, because he was sitting in grand rounds discussing it with the other doctors.
(*Note: this applies to things like brain tumors, not sprained ankles. But who's going to seek a second opinion on a sprained ankle?)
On top of that, given the onset and severity of my case, I don't know that a second opinion would have ever even been an option in the "real world." I mean, think about it: if you're in a car wreck, ambulance picks you up, takes you to the hospital where the ER attending says you have a tension pneumothorax, are you going to ask him to hold off on the needle decompression until you can see an in-network specialist the next day? Not if you want to live, you don't.
So today I had my follow-up with my new doc, down here at Naval Medical Center Portsmouth (NMCP). It's actually the second time I've seen him, having had my first follow-up back in July. But he pretty much counts as an after-the-fact second opinion, a fresh set of eyes to review my case and give his thoughts.
"Walter Reed did an amazing job. They got the preliminary diagnosis right, and whoever did the resection did just an incredible job. They got as much of that tumor as is physically possible and didn't touch the rest of your brain. Having read the notes and the care plan, there's not a single thing they did that I would have done differently. They did a great job of taking care of you."
That's huge to hear. That's a weight off the shoulders, a confirmation that we're on the right track. That secondary, independent support and confirmation really makes me feel better.
My MRIs continue to be normal. And not only that, he did a review of all of them. So instead of just looking at the latest one and comparing it to the second-most recent one, he went back across the board. And my MRI from two weeks ago has NO appreciable change from my first MRI post-surgery. That is, there's not even a tiny slight change that didn't get noticed between 4 month-observations that then gets noticed going back a year and a half. No change. None. Zero.
So we're going to back down on the MRIs to every 6 months. Which is what I'd been promised in February 2014 at Walter Reed. A gradual stepping down and spreading out of the observations, because it doesn't need constant monitoring. Because we have proven, both short-term and now medium-term, Sylvia is dead.
Well, I say that, but I don't feel it. I put it in bold and italics to try and convince myself, more than you. If I exude confidence, it means I am confident, right? But I'm not. I don't know that I'll ever feel 100% free of this bitch. I don't know what's up ahead. Maybe years from now I will declare victory, but not now. Not yet. My own Sword of Damolces, only it's inside my head literally, instead of hanging above it figuratively.
But today? Today was a good day. Today I am still free of any symptoms. Today I woke up next to a smart, beautiful, amazing wife. I played with two fun-loving little boys, and I went to a job I love that pays me well. Still here, alive and well.
In fact, doing great.
