The doctor’s eyes shifted slightly when he looked at me during the meeting following my scan. I knew.
And I knew immediately.
In the scan following my initial surgery, there were tiny, tiny spots in my lungs, as well as one in the T-11 vertebra. Too tiny to biopsy. So tiny the first radiologist said nothing. Possibly just part of my body.
In a scan just before Christmas, the spots on my lungs had grown and changed.
To be or Not to be
The tilt-o-whirl ride started when I was referred to a surgeon. He spoke positively about resecting the lung spots, although we might have to wait since they are so tiny that there is a risk of not getting all of the cancer — don’t want two surgeries on the same lung. My surgeon wanted to get a closer look at the spot on the T-11 vertebra, so I went for a spine MRI.
The surgeon called the next day. “I think the spot on your spine is cancer. That means we will not do surgery, and I’ll be referring you back to your oncologist.”
Okay, so that afternoon in my office, I began thinking — endgame. What do I want the last year or so to look like?
At home in the early evening, my oncologist called and we talked as he looked at the new scan. He doesn’t think the spot on the spine is cancer. We have a long talk. A day later, after having multiple radiologists compare scans, they decide that it is not cancer since it has not changed in size or shape. It may be a bone island.
So. Now, I’m not dying. (Okay, we are all dying. But I don’t need to make immediate plans).
It’s the feeling of being handed the Death card. You hold it. You look at it. And this time, someone takes it back.
I then did the most logical thing in the world.
I got on a tall ship and headed to sea.
March 6, 2016: Great news! My CT scans are stable, so no treatment planned — instead, I get to travel this summer. Woohoo!
*** Image of the carnival at night is from Pixabay.