Dad had a CT-guided biopsy on the spots in his good lung on Tuesday. Well...he didn't quite have it. When the doctor inserted the needle into his lung, it collapsed.
Specialists were called--I imagine the scene as something out of "Grey's Anatomy," with doctors calling for instruments and nurses scurrying to "get the cart." I hope that's my imagination running away with me. In any case, they inserted a chest tube and reinflated the lung.
Yesterday, they removed the chest tube, and Dad's doing well--considering everything. He's home, playing with his doggie and letting Mom fuss over him. He says he feels much better "now that they took the 6-inch spike out of my chest."
We don't yet know whether they are going to try the biopsy again. The radiologist told me he sees no reason to put Dad through the procedure again, considering his age and general health. Apparently, knowing Dad has one fatal disease is enough for this doc. He sees no reason to go searching for another. For one thing, their treatment options are very limited, so how would they act on the information? The radiology doc believes the growth is very slow growing and not likely to compromise Dad's health further than it's already compromised.
The group of doctors who gathered yesterday at the removal of the tube don't seem to share the radiologist's view. They're going to discuss the matter and get back to us. I guess we'll discuss their recommendations and get back to them. At length.
When I left the hospital Tuesday, a storm was gathering. By the time I got on the highway toward home, it was raining like nothing I've ever seen. Biblical rain. Rain that made you forget the sun exists. Rain that clogged the storm drains and ran like rivers in the streets.