I drove home today from my latest chemo infusion in the snow and put my scanxiety to bed for another 3 months.
This morning we got the results from a scan I had on Friday and heard my favorite post-scan words from my oncologist: "nothing new." Glorious words, always.
I sigh just typing it.
It's all I wanted to hear today. I wanted to know that the cancer continues to be contained and hasn't decided to start growing anywhere else. And anywhere else could be anywhere, but I tend to think it would be in my abdominal area given colon cancer's fairly predictable track record.
The party in my lungs rages on, but it's still "stable" as stable can be. There are still of plenty of kids hanging out. "Innumerable" as they like to say, but they haven't done anything drastic. They haven't started to thrash the house in a drunken rage, and for this we are grateful. I like to think of them as the nerdy kids who are having more of a subdued get together and less of a full on frat party complete with beer pong.
Across the board, everything increased in size by 2 mm. Or as I like to think, the tumors just had to put on their yoga pants after Thanksgiving. And I've suggested this before, but get out a ruler and look at 2mm. In terms of cancer, that's not really worth writing home about, especially given a few variables:
1. I had a 5 week break in treatment during the move. There was a little window when mom and dad were out of town and the kids might have thrown a little party given the lack of supervision. But mom and dad are back and the kids are possibly back to being on their best behavior.
2. Until I have my next scan, there isn't really a way to know if my little "chemo-lite" is doing its job by keeping everything stable. My previous scan was pre-maintenance, so this scan will need to be compared to my next scan to see if this maintenance business is really keeping things stable or if the big guns need to be brought back into the picture.
3. Apparently being scanned in a different facility with a different machine should be taken into consideration when we're talking about 2 mm. I'm not putting any faith in this, but I'm sure any doctor would throw out minor variables to soften the blow.
So maintenance chemo continues, the pump is clipped to my hip and I'm sitting here watching the peaceful snow fall on the lovely Twin Cities. It's all just glorious.