6.21.2013

White Styrofoam Cup

The breakfast of champions!
I would much rather drink a cup of room temperature toilet water than orange-flavored liquid chalk, so I'm not going to complain about that tasty liter that has the flavor of very special water from a very special place. Not that I know, but I've heard from a few dogs and cats that toilet water is the best!

You can quote me on that. Toilet water is how I would sum up Omnipaque, but it taste delicious given the alternative. God bless the person who invented it, because this girl with her gag reflex does not do barium. I've never made it past a few sips before it kicks in.

Wednesday was my first CT scan since November, and my first scan since I started treatment in April. I've had 6 rounds of chemo, so this is a good point to see if it's actually working.

Scans are always a point of anxiety for we cancer folks. It leads us down that long hallway of waiting in the unknown. I recall blogging about "scanxiety" last year. On Wednesday, I was pretty relaxed given the circumstances. But I'm sure that's partly because I'm still dependent on my nausea drugs (that are technically anxiety drugs in the non-cancer world) on a daily basis, so I was not only nausea-free, but medically relaxed in a non-synthetic cannabis sort of way.

I also didn't have the feeling or fear that there might be something new. That's the good thing about actively being on the type of chemo I'm on now. I'm taking drugs that stop cancer from growing. As miserable as chemo is, I'll admit that it's almost like a security blanket for me. I know I was in the same position last year when cancer did grow, but the type of chemo I was on then wasn't meant to stop it from growing, it was mean to kill the microscopic cancer cells that were most likely drifting all over my body like dandelion seeds in the wind.

We have every reason to believe in a miracle and we have every reason to believe that the treatment is working; yet we have every reason to assume nothing. If that's the lesson I've learned in the last 18 months, it's to assume absolutely nothing when it comes to cancer.

Last November, I had every cocky reason to believe that I was just getting a baseline post-treatment scan and riding on my doctor's words that nothing new was expected. I was planning my return to normal and my new appreciation for every aspect of life. I was not planning on news that this journey wasn't quite over.

I'm sure my scan has been read by a radiologist by now, and his summary and my pictures have been emailed to my doctor. I'm sure we could call him for the results, but I don't feel the need right now. It's pure ignorant bliss. I've yet to actually get good news after any of my scans, so putting off finding out the results lets me live in my security blanket of chemo a little longer.

Don't stand on pins and needles just yet. I'll get the results next Wednesday, just as I'm slipping off into my Benadryl-induced slumber in the $16,000 chair. Yes, the price went up this time. Those chairs are just getting fancier and fancier and costing more and more to sit in. Blogging will be the last thing on my one-track mind next week, as my only concern will be for my bed and nausea pills.

I will update the results when I return to the land of the vertical again.


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