What does the future hold? None of us really knows the answer to that question. All our life we spend planning for our future and anticipating that first driver’s license at 16, sip of alcohol at 21 (ok, I know many of you started before 21), buying a car, buying a house, having children and eventually retiring. Along the way, we imagine the joys that each of these feats will hold. We don’t think about the potential car accident, the agonizing hangover, sleepless nights with a newborn or broken pipes in the home. When we look to the future, we generally anticipate happiness, not sorrow. It is with hopeful anticipation that we approach each day.
After 14 hours of limited carbs (only from my spinach and broccoli) followed by a 12 hour fast, I eagerly guzzled my 450 ml (approximately 15 ounces) of fruity-flavored, but gritty barium. 15 minutes later, I was escorted to a brightly lit, small dressing room warmed to 76 degrees by a space heater. It pleased me to see the familiar 30-year old technician that had performed my previous 2 PET scans. After the usual confirmatory data, he updated me about his 16 month old child and goals for him and his wife to move to New Mexico (where his family resides). I pointed out my bulging veins from which to draw blood, but of course, talking about veins always scares them away. Although the first attempt failed, leaving a small bruise in its place, switching to the other arm provided good venous return to obtain my blood sugar and then place an IV for my radioactive tagged glucose to look at metabolic activity in my body.
About 50 minutes after injection of the radiotracer, I am transferred to the scanning room where I must lay on my back with my arms above my head for nearly 20 minutes. Similar to the no carbohydrate diet, this is the most painful part (for me) of obtaining a PET scan. Roughly 3 months ago, I started experiencing shoulder and arm pain, so I didn’t have this pain with my first PET scan. We performed an ultrasound of my arm at that time, to assess for a blood clot. Since the pain was intermittent and often associated with shooting nerve pain and hand/arm swelling, we assumed the pain originated from the port pushing on the nerve, vein and artery bundle (particularly since it often worsened while laying down to sleep at night). Fortunately, the nerve pain has subsided since removing the port, but I suspect my ligaments partially calcified, due to decreasing my use of the arm, which in turn, created more pain with certain movements. At least this is fixable with exercises and physical therapy.
Twenty minutes later, the whirring of the CT scanner machine ceased and the table slid me out of the tube. Thankful to finally be able to move my arm, I gathered my purse and belongings and sauntered to the lobby to drink coffee, which the imaging center thankfully supplies, and my Reeses peanut butter sticks hidden in my purse. Later, the tech returned to the lobby with a CD loaded with my images and I headed to the car to enjoy my hot bacon laying on the dashboard (in a Ziploc bag). It tasted so flavorful.
Knowing my future plans were pending the results of this scan, I was eager to hear the results. But, PET scans are not easy to read and I would await the professional opinion of the radiologist before making any interpretations of my own. Although I received the dictated report later that evening, they never say, “everything is clear of cancer” or “no abnormal findings found.” Unfortunately, once you’ve had bulky disease and surgery, there’s bound to be residual debris and scarring, making subsequent scan readings more difficult. I would have to await my appointment the following day to learn my fate.
Chris came with me to my appointment with the oncologist. As usual, she came in with a smile on her face and asked if I had seen the report. “Of course,” I answered, “but I’m interested in your opinion.” Luckily, she had reviewed the images with one of our favorite, meticulous radiologists who felt that the scan looked good and similar to the scan taken mid-treatment. The remaining lymph nodes were much smaller, less active and likely just residual frames of their cancer-filled shells. There were a couple of “new spots” or nodes but they were small and considered likely inflammatory. Given their small size, we will just keep an eye on them and recheck a CT scan in 3 months (NOT A PET SCAN!) Of course, if they are bigger, then I’ll probably have to get a PET scan (but, if possible, I’ll vote for a biopsy instead).
In a nutshell, results were good and I will not be undergoing any further lymphoma treatment between now and October. My goal will be to gradually increase my stamina to a full-time schedule at work and regain the strength in my muscles, eradicate or learn to tolerate the hot flashes, and rehabilitate my right arm to full functional capacity. All of this, while maintaining my sanity, wit, perspective and hopefully, blog! I can’t thank you all enough for all the positive thoughts and prayers. I truly believe that God listens, and the abundance of support certainly lifted my spirits, making this journey more of a blessing than a curse.
Stop waiting for Friday, for summer, for someone to fall in love with you, for life. Happiness is achieved when you stop waiting and make the most of the moment you're in right now.
It is good to have an end to journey towards, but it is the journey that matters, in the end. ~ Ursula LeGuin
Bacon sizzling on the dash (to eat after the scan) & chalky barium to drink, for the PET scan.
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