Tomorrow. Option A? Option B? OptionC?

Tomorrow morning is what we've been working towards since the chemo began in March. At 8:00 we'll be at DH Lebanon, where I'll have yet another CAT scan, followed immediately by a meeting with the surgeon. Presumably, he'll be able to tell us just what has happened to the pancreas and whether the Whipple Procedure will be possible. In February, when we first met with the surgeon, he said that while the cancer was localized (ie hadn't metastasized to other organs) it was touching two of the major blood vessels in the area and was at the time inoperable.
What I heard last week was that the chemo and radiation had shrunk the tumor greatly, but I didn't get any info on the blood vessels. Other good news was that, as Jerry reported, the C19 markers in my blood had gone way down. My local oncologist keeps smiling when he sees me, which I take as a very good sign. But we don't know yet.
So here are the options as I see them at the moment. Option A is that the Whipple is possible and will be able to get everything. As I understand it, the surgery would happen within a few weeks. They want me to be recovered from the chemo and radiation as much as possible without losing the advantage of having had them. Also, I'm building my strength up as much as possible (whey protein and yogurt smoothies are definitely the way to go), and Jerry is gently encouraging me to take walks every day.
Option B is the worst. In that one, the surgeon would say that the cancer is not only still inoperable but has spread, and I should go home and make sure my affairs are in order. This option seems impossible to me, except at 3:00 am, and I'm taking pills to make sure I'm not awake at 3:00 am. (Our mantra is: get through this and deal with the addictions later.)
I hadn't become aware of Option C until recently. In this one, surgery might or might not happen but in any case wouldn't solve the problem completely. The challenge would be to keep the cancer at bay as long as possible while keeping quality of life as good as possible. Cancer in that case becomes a serious chronic illness, but not something immediately life-threatening. We have a neighbor with another type of cancer who has survived for seven years so far, with ups and downs, changes in types, amounts, and timing of chemo, and times of feeling fine or others of feeling low. He continues gardening, playing golf, and making wine, and he and his wife have taken several trips over the years. I talked with him recently while we were both getting chemo, and he said that generally life is good, though the present chemo seems not to be working as well as it had. But there are still three other types he hasn't tried, and more on the horizon.
Where does that leave me? Generally optimistic, though I crashed the other day for a while. All I could think of was how much I love my life and how wonderful it has been up till now. There is nothing more I could want -- except for it to continue as it has.