Well, that CT scan didn't go well. I didn't catch the exact form of cancer Dad has, but it's a particularly aggressive type found only in 1% of cases (I never caught the exact name), and it has already spread from the esophagus to the lymph nodes. This means surgery is, at least currently, not an option. The cancer would have to be shrunk to the point where it can be handled through surgery. In order to do this, he'll be on a steady diet of chemo and radiation treatment. First will be a PET scan tomorrow morning in order to determine the exact size of the cancer and if it's anywhere else they haven't seen it yet, so we'll know if it can be shrunk down and surgeried out. Then comes the first round of chemo; that will be done in three-day stretches every three weeks. Starting next week will be the radiation treatment; this will be done daily for the next several weeks from Monday-Friday. It's going to out and out kick Dad's ass in the process.
The good news- funny how low the bar gets set for 'good news' in these circumstances- is that according to both the doctors at the VA hospital and my main soccer-book partner, Paul Song (a radiation oncologist by day), chemo and radiation do work rather well for cancer of this type. So the ballgame isn't over yet.
We need to score a bunch of runs in the late innings. But the game's not over.