Wed May 6th, 2015, and I'm sitting in the exam room at the Cancer Centre, waiting for my oncologist once again. It's a routine experience, but there's been an underlying disquiet during my recent visits that something was not right. My most recent CT scan was three weeks prior, and I had blood work earlier this morning. My doctor has arrived, and after the preliminaries, the news I didn't think I would hear for some time has rendered me shocked and helpless once more.
Shadows in my lung are indeed cancer. Cancer that has grown since January to the point where it is not considered viable for surgery. The emphasis, gently expressed by my oncologist, is that chemo is not a cure. I am stunned, unable to think coherently. For all my years as partner in this deadly dance with cancer, I have never stumbled. Now the balance has shifted, and I am being inexorably pulled into the vortex where my only options are to hang on for the ride, as I don't think I'll escape.
As it happened to me over five years ago, I'm only dimly hearing my doctor telling me about my treatment options. I can feel the sadness well up, my throat cracking as I ask questions I forget, then hearing answers I can't remember. I have another appointment card being handed to me, the session is over. On autopilot alone I keep my composure. We leave the cancer center, but stop at a nearby park. Tears are the only way I know how to express myself. When I return to work, the conversation with my manager an echo of the one five years prior.
The toughest conversation is at home later that night, when I call my sister. It breaks my heart to hear her voice, full of shock and anger at what I will be going through yet again. I have no answer for her why this keeps happening to me. That night, exhausted, I'm in bed by 10:30pm, but sleep is filled with tears and despair. I awake at 5:00am, for I still have another test: a Bone Scan for my shin.
I've done two bone scans already in my life, and they've shown that I'm shot through with arthritis. This one is to find out why my shin is in so much pain. The doctors and physiotherapist agree it's not a shin split. The chronic pain of the past few months has abated however, and I'm walking much better. I wonder if I've been walking on a fractured bone all this time.
The technician reviews my medical history, and I matter-of-factly mention the latest findings of cancer in my lungs. It seems so surreal now, lying on this platform, hands and feet strapped in so you don't move during the procedure. The scan is in multiple parts, and I receive a mild radioactive injection. For the bulk of the test I am required to lie on my back, motionless, for the better part of an hour. Curiously I feel relaxed, and if I didn't fall into a deep sleep, I felt..better.
After the scan I'm taken for more X-rays of my shin. By noon I'm done and the rest of the day is mine, as I have no desire to return to work. Still dealing with the aftermath of yesterday, I resolve to contact the cancer clinic to meet with the oncologist again: I need hard answers, and this time I'm ready to hear them.
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