Clean

Deb and I just got back from a visit to my E/N/T doc. After discussing the outstanding issues we came to discuss with him, he left the examination room to see if he could locate the results report from Monday's PET/CT scan on the internet.

He found it.

He came back into the room, waving a copy of the report.

He said, "You're okay."

Now, this "okay" business could mean several things -- especially when so much was riding on one particular "okay" and you're talking to a pair of word freaks like Deb and me. And I guess he saw in my face and Deb's face that the message wasn't perfectly clear. So he followed "You're okay" up with "You're clean." Which, in this context, really could have only one meaning. No chance to misinterpret.

There's no sign of cancer. Not locally, where the cancer started (he felt around my neck and inside my cheek shortly after we sat down). Not distantly, to where the cancer might have spread.

The report says I'm clean.

The doc then asked me if I wanted a copy of the report. Since he's Canadian, it's difficult sometimes to determine if he's kidding or serious. Yes, I want a copy of the report -- thank you very much, Doctor!! Whew.

So there's some medical gobbledygook on the report that I'll Google some time soon, but none of it sounds in the least bit serious or disturbing.

I've been trying hard for several weeks to be as neutral about this scan and the results report as I could: to take the good news or bad news as simply being news. A Buddhist kind of thing. But sitting here at the computer right now, I can still feel the anxiety draining away. I guess you need to practice that Buddhist thing...

One of the pleasant facets of this "clean" report is that I can have my PEG food tube removed. (We had left it in place just in case it might be needed again -- if the results report were not so favorable.) While it has been really only a minor annoyance (it adds 10 minutes to the process of taking a shower and needs to be flushed at least once a day), it has been a constant reminder that I am not perfectly healthy and might become dependent on the tube again. This is no longer a near-term issue and the tube will disappear in a few days.

My E/N/T doc stated clearly at the start of this process that I will likely be scanned every three months or so -- probably for the rest of my life -- checking for a reocurrence. But there are several possible breakthroughs in cancer treatment -- some for cancers like mine and some for cancers in general -- that may drastically change the landscape of cancer treatment for the better. So if my cancer should reappear later, these breakthroughs will have had more time to be tested, proven and brought into general use.

And I find that my time horizon has been extended dramatically. Yes, I know that tomorrow is not guaranteed for anyone, but I have found that I had not been thinking of planning (much less actually planning!) anything more than six months or so into the future. But now, dinosaur hunting next summer feels like a real possibility again. As is a vacation for Deb and me. And kayaking next spring. And doing yardwork again.

And being deeply grateful for every day, for every breath.