I had the heavily awaited scan today. I got to the place, was given a big old nasty drink to drink and sat waiting a bit. The waiting room was pretty full and they were an amusing chatty bunch (total surprise, but a nice one!). So the wait was pretty short. They all got called and I was left with a very fat man, a man in a wheelchair and a couple of middle years, where the wife was frequently belching and issuing orders to her husband in her Scottish drawl. Amused me.
I was called in, had to put on one of the hospital gowns, you know, the ones where your arse hangs out the back. Lovely.
They put me on the scanner and zing, zong, it's job done. The table you are on gets slid inside and pull out again a couple of times. A voice tells you when to breathe and when to hold your breath and it takes about 5 minutes.
My lift arrives (good old ma-in-law) and we set off and I get a call from the nurse who manages my notes etc and my alarm bells ring. She says can I come back in for my results at 3.30, rather than just have them on the phone as they shouldn't really do that. Now, the only other time I have been called in for results was when it was bad news. I pushed it out of my mind, got home, had a brief snooze and got dropped back. As I sounded a bit worried my wife joined me (we have been very confident that this scan would be good).
No sooner had I sat down than my consultant said, "I'm afraid it's bad news. Very bad".
Whoopee! I thought. I bet the bloody tumour has not responded and is the same as before.
"I'm sorry to say that the tumour has grown considerably through this last chemo cycle".
This really shook me. I was so certain it was shrinking but no, the bastard was getting bigger, much bigger. It had grown in a new direction and wasn't pressing on anything and so not causing symptoms. But there was more. He pointed on the scan a teeny tiny new node, inside my lung. The cheeky bastard!
So my world changed. Not more high strength chemo lined up. The plan to try and cure me is canned and the plan now is to try and manage it (and keep me alive!). He said there are still some options left but they are not far from having to say, "there's nothing more we can do". I guess at that point it becomes terminal. I hate that word.
Anyway, next treatment will be Friday as an outpatient using some new drugs I haven't encountered before, in the hope of getting a shrinking response.
Quite a lot of news and even though I am calm, I know there is an emotion storm on the way.
The questions are building up, e.g. will I get to see my kids grow up. Hmmm, not the best news, but we'll see what we can do with it. Got to keep fighting this thing, despite it being a good player.
