It's been weeks since my last post and for those following more closely,
I’m sorry. It’s a classic case of life taking over. Mostly in a good way—including
new and exciting training at work, a week away from home helping the ASPCA care
for dog victims of our nation’s second largest dog-fighting bust, and searching
for, buying, and moving into a new house (which in itself felt like a second
job). Those are some time-eating things!
Sprinkle in Thanksgiving and a few not-so-good things and here we are
three months since my last post.
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| I prefer the term 'companion animal scan'. |
Enough
about me, let’s keep talking about other parts of me. Amid all that craziness,
I had to deal with the MRI’s (from September) questionable results. After a
small tug-o-war with the doctor’s office, I was able to get them to order one
of the scans recommended by the radiologist who read that MRI. They ordered a PET (Positron Emissions Tomography) scan.
This was an interesting procedure, to say the least. From start to finish it
was over two hours which included an injection of radioactive iodine in my
veins. Thankfully I had an amazing nurse who was an expert in nuclear medicine
and a master at putting someone facing this scary scan at ease. At least he
laughed at my jokes.
I
tried to get out of an actual face-to-face doctor visit to get the PET scan results
but after he threatened to bill me for a phone consultation (whatever happened
to caring more about the patient than the fee?), I conceded and went in to
discuss my results.
All-in-all
it was a positive visit. Most importantly, my scan showed NO
SIGN OF CANCER
masses. That message was muffled among the medical mumbo jumbo in the report
but once we got to the heart of it, my husband and I made the doctor actually say
it. With a small grin, he finally muttered, “As of now, you’re cancer free”. It
was like music to my ears. A tiny party erupted inside my head with Dr.
Do-Everything-I-Say at the center of a Mardi Gras style parade rolling through
a cheering crowd from atop a white convertible.
Yes,
exciting news indeed. But after the party in my head died down and the little
bald man was sweeping up confetti, Dr. Buzz-kill went on to insert warnings,
concerns, and repeat scan requests into this otherwise joyous visit. According
to statistics and considering the aggressive nature of my cancer, I have a
somewhat significant chance of recurrence in the next year. Gulp. The risk goes down
as time goes on—there is a 50% chance it will recur in the next two years, 40%
in the next three years, and at five years, only a 10-20% chance of recurrence.
Not so hopeful for the first couple years so getting too comfy now is foolish.
But, his words play over and over in my mind….you’re cancer free….you’re
cancer free.
When
I refused (again—for the hundredth time) his offer/request/push to take
anti-estrogen pills we settled on an agreed plan of action for the near future:
take daily Vitamin D and turmeric, continue taking nightly melatonin, and
submit to a mammogram in February and repeat MRI in April.
I’m
aware of the recurrence risks and the doctor’s warnings stay with me, but for
now I’m living as if it never even happened. I am happy.
