Last week I went in for a CT on my chest/abdomen/pelvis. I’m still on the every-six-months schedule for post-cancer treatment, and was actually a little overdue on getting it done. Didn’t matter, though—everything looks great! We got the radiologist’s report that same day because I’m sleeping with someone in the CT department (don’t tell my husband).
Yesterday I had a couple gallons of blood drawn and we met with my oncologist to review the CT and blood tests. Again, everything looks great. The first couple years after diagnosis are when the risk of recurrence is highest, and she said what they are really watching for is cancer that comes back with a vengeance—that’s the nasty stuff that proves it doesn’t respond so well to chemotherapy. My past three CT scans have shown no new growth and, in fact, a slight decrease in the fibrous stuff left from where O.J. once lived, which is fabulous news. While Dr. O was excited to tell me what my test results meant, she still said all those “BUT” things like “there are no guarantees” and “this is why we test so often.” She’s encouraging but honest. It’s a fine line. Very fine.
Ugh, I just wrote three long paragraphs on coping and cancer recurrence and reacting to good news and jackasses. It was all just too damn depressing, so I deleted them. Let me simplify my thoughts and close with this:
Good news from the oncologist! I’m officially one year cancer-free! Yay!