I know, you are asking yourself, "What?! Remission on the fourth post? What kind of cancer blog is this? I feel totally gypped. I thought this girl was hard core. She's done already?"
Allow me to explain...
This past Monday I had my PET/CT Scan. The way the regimen works for people with the Hodge (that's what the cool cats over on the Hodgkin's Lymphoma online message board call it) is that after two rounds of treatment (four chemotherapy sessions, each two weeks apart) they do a PET/CT scan and compare it to the one they did during the staging workup.
After I was diagnosed, which happened as a result of my lymph node biopsy, they did a skull to mid-thigh PET/CT scan to see how far the cancer had progressed.
What they do, is an hour before the scan they inject you with a radioactive sugar tracer, then put you into the machine. Cancer love sugar, so everyplace there is cancer lights up on the resulting images.
My first scan lit up all over the place.
The first scan showed the cancer had progressed pretty darn far. It was in the biopsied lymph node in my neck (Stage 1) and on one side of my chest (Stage 2) and on the other side of my chest (Stage 3) and worst of all, it had crossed over my diaphragm into my spleen. Boom. Stage 4. Stage freakin' four. "Multiple avid spleenic lesions" the report read. Translation: my spleen was riddled with it. Just chock flipping full of cancer.
My second scan was beautifully dark. Nothing lit up at all!
Nothing in my neck, nothing in my chest and most of all nothing in my spleen. There are still a couple nodules in my chest, but they aren't lighting up as cancerous any longer.
I had a feeling the treatments must have been working because after the first one my symptoms disappeared almost immediately. The tightness in my throat, the cough after I ate, drank or laughed, the inability to make it up a flight of stairs without pausing for breath, all gone.
After the second treatment, my spleen hurt like crazy. I was so scared it was going to rupture. I think it was the drugs vs. the cancer battling it out in there. I was picturing little cellular sized cannons and spears being hurled back and forth.
All these were positive signs, and I did truly feel like it was working. But, my God, reading that second scan report, what an opportunity, what a blessing.
It is rare indeed in this world that even the most steadfast and unwavering faith is rewarded by proof.
For me to receive such a gift of Grace, despite my imperfect constancy is beyond humbling. He must have heard more prayers than my own to render me deserving of so speedy a reward.
I shall never find words, or expressions or actions to convey the depth of gratitude I feel toward everyone who supported me, encouraged me and prayed for me during this time leading up to the scan. The words of encouragement I received both leading up to it, and after I shared the results were overwhelming. It took me some time to even read them all, I just felt so surrounded by support, and caring and love. I just don't know how to express the indescribable feeling of comfort that gave me.
If I didn't write everyone back individually, if I didn't mention one event specifically, know that I noticed, and I cared. I saw that smile from the other end of the hallway, freely and involuntarily given, I saw the trace of fear that floated over a pair of dark eyes I didn't expect to be so effected that was quickly forced away behind a typical sentence of encouragement, I heard every thought that flowed through the five seconds of phone silence when I told you the bad news, and I read every word, every syllable, every letter of encouragement and joy when I told you the good. I read it more than once.
Every word mattered. Every emoticon mattered. Every hug, both real and virtual. Every prayer.
The journey continues. Though I am in remission, I still have to complete the six cycle regimen of chemo, with all its delightful side effects, including nausea, fatigue, missing Halloween, constipation, being chronically immuno-compromised, missing Halloween, mouth sores, insomnia, missing Halloween, hair loss, oh, yeah, and did I mention Freaking Missing Halloween!!?!?
You know what though? It's working. It's working and so far despite it's best efforts, all cancer has managed to do to me is show me that loads more people love me than I ever realized.
Love is greater than cancer.
I don't have much hair left at the moment (future blog post coming soon devoted to this enchanting topic) so I've been wearing a lot of hats. Usually I go all out for Halloween costuming, but I had Chemo two days ago and my immune system is down so I have to stay in, so I thought I'd just put this Halloween headband on instead. I kinda think I look like figure skater Johnny Weir in this so, I'm calling it my costume. 2015 - the year I officially dressed up as Johnny Weir for Halloween. Full disclosure, I think I have it on backwards. I feel Johnny would approve of this bold fashion choice.
Happy Halloween, my friends, my family. I love you all.
PS: If you're on Twitter, I totally recommend following @JohnnyGWeir. It'll make your life happier, I promise. If you want to make your life lifeier, or just want to know when I've updated this blog, you can also follow me @DeannaPostles.
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