The scan results were good. My oncologist was very pleased. Everything has shrunken, or stayed the same. And there isn't much there, total. Considering the fact that I've had to cut back on my chemo at times in the last few months, sometimes missing parts of my doses due to reactions, that's a good result. It could have gone the other way, but it didn't. Also, he's adding back Avastan, which should help even more. I haven't gotten that drug in months.
THE ANXIETY OF IT ALL! Good Lord. How much can a human handle? Eleanor Roosevelt said, (aren't I always quoting her?):
"A woman is like a tea bag. You can't tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water."
I often live my life inside a burning hot thermos, so I get to test this idea often. I'm usually fairly steely, reinforced by something inside I can't really identify. But today, my tea bag ripped open, with loose tea floating everywhere. As I waited in that beige room for my doctor to deliver the results, the anxiety was difficult for me to handle. Rapid breathing. Pulse racing. Uncontrollable fidgeting. Then I started to cry. A bad result would have crushed me, and the anticipation of hearing the news was doing me in.
But I got good news. P-H-E-W.
So now I'm sitting in the hospital room with Neil, waiting for my chemo to start. He wants to watch a show with me, so I've gotta end this now. Let's hope for a drama-free chemo.