
I don’t know why yesterday’s PET scan felt more – what? – meaningful, stressful, TERRIFYING. I mean, since I was first diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer in May 2008 I’ve had more than a dozen of the fuckers, so why did this one feel so important? Maybe it’s because I’m nearing the all-important 5-YEAR mark, when I will “graduate” to having the scans less frequently and may also get the pesky chemo port removed. Or perhaps it’s because I’ve not actually been feeling very well lately, especially with abdominal issues. In any case, I was really feeling like this time I was about to get Bad News.
And then I didn’t.
I had arrived at the hospital bright and early yesterday, having opted to go on my own mostly because I don’t know anyone here who would really be of help if the worst thing happened. The best people I know for this are the friends who are actually working at the hospital. And with my trusty iPhone I can be in touch with all of you guys via Twitter. Believe me when I say that this is the biggest comfort I have when going through these tests. Knowing you’re all there. It means everything to me.
In a way it’s become quite routine, though things have changed a bit since Ricardo retired and Pilar has only been working part time. But at least Isabel is still there and, as always, she took care of me very well. This also means that I get my test results before leaving the hospital and don’t have to wait until whenever my next appointment with oncology happens. Anyhow, the routine is that I get injected with the radioactive isotope and have to wait awhile for it to be circulating before I get put into the machine. Then I have to lie still for about half an hour (which is ALWAYS the time I get an itchy nose or something similar). After that I am sent off to have some much needed coffee and some brekky while they have a look at the images. When I get back I either have to go through the machine a second time or else am told I can go. But not before I get my results.
After Isabel gave me the good news yesterday (all clear but I still have inflammation around the scar tissue) I walked home in the sunshine with happy tears streaming down my cheeks. Why on earth have I been so lucky? And why do I feel like this time is so different? Why do I still feel different since yesterday (and in a good way)? I really don’t know why or even how to explain this difference. All I know is that I’m Happy. With a capital H.
Wow. That is such unblievably good news! I hope you had a few cavas to celebrate. Xx
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The Tapas gods are on your side! Brilliant!
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damn right! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZLLPaX4SS4 big squeeze gorgeous one -xxx
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this is a good happy medley too! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_4fLO0WnDo
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I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been going through this, but happy to know for you that you’re cancer free! Definitely a reason to do a happy dance! ❤
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Woohoo! It makes me happy to read about your happiness.
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This is such good news. I’m having my annual CT scan on Tuesday for my lungs. Am feeling a little trepidationous – – -.
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Yep, scanxiety. It sucks. But I look forward to hearing your good news. xx
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Congrats. Strong thoughts from this side of the pond! Pat welcomed our other sister Linda last month. She was also 56. Passed from complications from Leukemia. Linda’s motto was “No one fights alone.”
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Scott, I’m so sorry to hear about Linda. I thought of Pat while I was walking home from the hospital with the warm sun on my back… she would have loved it here. Virtual visits are all well and good, but the best would have been the two of us going out for tapas, making some food together at my place to eat up on the rooftop terrace, and of course introducing Pat to my cats.
Linda was right. No one fights alone. xx
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8-D
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Good news, Az!! Hugs!
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