Somebody told your parent his tumour cannot be cut out, then said a long word you wrote down, almost certainly radioembolization. That one is mine.
Writing to me books nothing. And no, livers are not a line on a list here. I published my own liver patients in 2020, twenty three of them, treated in Beirut, free to read tonight, including the ones that went badly.
A liver tumour feeds itself. It takes a road of its own off the artery, which is the one useful thing about it. I go in through a vessel at the top of the leg, follow that road on a screen, and put the treatment into the tumour’s own supply instead of into all of him. It is written radioembolization.
Where it works best is narrow: one tumour, no bigger than about eight centimetres, still inside the liver. There, nearly nine of every ten shrank, and some of those people reached a surgery or a transplant they had been refused.
What I will not tell you
I am not going to tell you this buys them more time. It does not, and anyone who tells you it turns months into years is not telling you the truth.
What it changes is how those months go, with fewer of them spent ill than on chemotherapy. Send me his scan report and I will tell you whether they are a candidate before you book anything.
Two, a few days apart. The first to map the vessels of their liver, the second to treat.
One night in hospital, then a week or two of tiredness at home. For you that is a week here, not a month of leave.
MTV Lebanon put me on air, live, and I explained this treatment to the country. You can watch me do it.
Ask me about the liver on WhatsAppIt comes to my phone. I read it myself.
