Category Archives: cancer

the 5 year club

28 Tuesday Oct 2014

Posted by in cancer, change, friends, health & happiness, hope, hospitals

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pet tac

Today marked a very important milestone for me. I had my “5th anniversary” PET scan – which came back clear! – marking five cancer-free years (I finished my last chemo at the end of July 2009). I almost couldn’t believe it when Pilar texted me while I was out having coffee, saying that everything was okay. In fact, I burst into tears. This one is a game-changer. I won’t know exactly what they have in store for me now until I see the oncologist again next month, but today should be the last of the every-six-month PET scans (will switch to either once a year or possible every 10 months) and I will finally be able to get the chemo port out. That last one will be a relief and I won’t have to make my monthly visit to the hospital to get the thing cleaned out. So it’s all good.  I mean, I’m not “out of the woods” yet. The 5-year mark is kind of random and my case is more baffling than anything. Most stage-IV people don’t stay in remission for this long. But hey, I’ve made it this far and at least for now I am fine, so it really does feel like a fresh start.

As always I want to thank my amazing Nuclear Medicine team – Pilar and Isabel (Ricardo retired last year) – and also all of you for being there with me through all of this. You can all take the next year off.  😉

A side note: October 28th is the saint day of Santo Judas Tadeo (Jude the Apostle) patron saint of lost causes. Coincidence?

watery windows

23 Tuesday Sep 2014

Posted by in cancer, health & happiness, home, hope, hospitals

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water windows
The windows in the oncology waiting room are the one source of beauty there. I had to go see my oncologist to set up my next PET scan and was surprised to find out she wasn’t back yet. In fact, I haven’t seen her for about a year, but put that down to her being out of town or otherwise busy whenever my routine check-ups came around. Since I get my PET scan results in the same day as the test I don’t need that follow-up appointment afterwards.

Well, not only did I find out that Dr Ana wasn’t there, but I was also told she might not be coming back. Turns out she had cancer (!!!) and although she seems to be physically recovered now it looks like she isn’t psychologically well enough to resume her duties. So I had a chat with the new guy and was impressed that he’d read my file and seemed to know my whole story. I told him that both Dr Ana and Ricardo had recommended I do the PET scans every six months for 5 years (after finishing my last chemo) and this guy agreed that this was a good thing to do. Though he did surprise me – when I suggested I might also get the chemo port removed – by saying I could have had it taken out ages ago. When I asked him the obvious, he said if the cancer comes back they’d just put in another one. Well!

So I am now waiting to find out when the next PET scan will be. If all goes well I should be getting the port out soon and will be able to stop living within six-month segments of time. Meanwhile, I keep on working and playing as best I can.

back to school

08 Monday Sep 2014

Posted by in azahartravels, cancer, cats, change, chemo, hope, tapas tours, websites, work

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printingMorcilla overseeing the printing

I’ve often thought that September feels like the real “new year”, rather than the first of January. Summer holidays are (mostly) over, shops and bars have reopened, there are lots more people out and about. This week especially has a distinct “back to school” feel to it as I get things organised for the whack of Sevilla Tapas Tours booked over the next couple of months and settle back into a routine of getting chores done and going to the gym. Meanwhile I chip away at the iceberg of blog posts and articles that need to be written or updated, including editing the 3000 or more photos I took over the summer. Any spare time is being spent on putting together my new Trip Planning biz, which is pretty much ready to go but still needs fine tuning before I properly launch it.

It’s also a time for taking care of practical matters like tax stuff (ick) and finally seeing the dentist. I had planned to put the latter off until the next PET scan, but after having lost a fourth filling (plus much tooth) last month, another fell out over the weekend and, well, FIVE half-gone teeth seems like too much to ignore. I’ve got my oncology appointment on the 22nd, so blood work will have to be done before that, and then the quite possibly scariest PET scan of all will be sometime in October. So much hinges on this one coming back clean as it’ll mark five years since my last chemo and – if all is well – a change in how I’m monitored. Most likely I’ll switch to having annual PET scans instead of every six months and maybe they’ll even remove the chemo port. Both of these would be such much-needed positive changes in my life (I can’t even bear to consider the alternative) that I’m almost too scared to hope. I’ll let you guys do that for me. 😉

But at least so far, it’s all good this September. Lots to do, lots of new stuff coming up. Very exciting. How about you? How’s your “new year” coming along?

teeth

07 Thursday Aug 2014

Posted by in cancer, health & happiness, hope

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teeeethYou know that crumbling teeth anxiety dream? Well, it happened again – except I wasn’t asleep. There I was eating something totally innocuous (greek yoghurt) and suddenly half a molar fell out. Well, a filling that had previously been filling half a molar fell out. This makes the fourth one in the past 2-3 years, which is kind of getting ridiculous, as well as harder to ignore. Why ignore them you ask? Well, at the risk of sounding morbid, I just didn’t think that repairing teeth at great expense was a priority if I was going to end up back on chemo and/or dead in the next year or so. But with my (hopefully) final “six-month” PET scan coming up in September/October, I may have to start taking action. The deal is, if I get the all-clear next scan and they move me to annual PET scans – and remove that pesky chemo port – then I will finally feel less like I’m on death row and living between six-month reprieves, and more like, well, I don’t know anymore. But I will definitely get my teeth fixed! Or pulled. Whatever.

h is for happy

09 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by in cancer, health & happiness, hope, hospitals

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h for happy
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.