This week I have been full of anxiety. It was the last week before Spring Break, which officially started today. I kicked it off with a stent exchange surgery and my PET scan, both of which I get to do every three months. It seems like the scanxiety started a little earlier this time for me, I took a minute to reflect on my last PET scan day which I wrote about here.. It seems like the scanxiety is creeping in sooner and sooner each time I have a scan. I think that is because a PET scan used to mean that I could find out I was cancer free, that is not the case now. Without a curative plan in place, when I go in for a PET scan I don't have the luxury of thinking that my scan might show me the cancer is gone. A PET scan is just different now.
A PET scan when living life with cancer is not like a normal scan. I don't expect to get a call from my doctor saying "we are all clear". In fact the best I am hoping for as I wait for this scan is that when the Dr calls he will be able to tell me "you still only have seven spots and they haven't grown". That's right. Even when I get good news, I still have cancer.
I'm not in treatment to get rid of my cancer. I'm in treatment to keep it from spreading or growing. I'm in treatment to maintain my quality of life. I'm in treatment to live; living my life just includes having cancer.
When I hear from friends things like I hope this scan is clear or everything is going to be fine with this scan, I feel like I'm going to let them down. I know my scan won't be clear. I know I will still have cancer when I get the results call next week. I don't want to let people down, but I am realistic.
The best I can hope for is a call next week to hear that my cancer is stable and I can continue Avastin for another three months and do another scan in June. The worst I could hear is bad, I don't even want to think about the worst I could hear. As I lay here in a dark room with the radioactive dye running through my body I can't help but picture it slowly pooling around the areas I know I have cancer in, I just hope that it isn't going to light up any new areas.
When you think PET scan, you might think it's a scan to see if my cancer is gone; when I think PET scan I think of a scan to help map out the next three months of my life. The next three months of trying to contain cancer. Three more months of beating the odds. The next three months of living my life!
A PET scan when living life with cancer is not like a normal scan. I don't expect to get a call from my doctor saying "we are all clear". In fact the best I am hoping for as I wait for this scan is that when the Dr calls he will be able to tell me "you still only have seven spots and they haven't grown". That's right. Even when I get good news, I still have cancer.
I'm not in treatment to get rid of my cancer. I'm in treatment to keep it from spreading or growing. I'm in treatment to maintain my quality of life. I'm in treatment to live; living my life just includes having cancer.
When I hear from friends things like I hope this scan is clear or everything is going to be fine with this scan, I feel like I'm going to let them down. I know my scan won't be clear. I know I will still have cancer when I get the results call next week. I don't want to let people down, but I am realistic.
The best I can hope for is a call next week to hear that my cancer is stable and I can continue Avastin for another three months and do another scan in June. The worst I could hear is bad, I don't even want to think about the worst I could hear. As I lay here in a dark room with the radioactive dye running through my body I can't help but picture it slowly pooling around the areas I know I have cancer in, I just hope that it isn't going to light up any new areas.
When you think PET scan, you might think it's a scan to see if my cancer is gone; when I think PET scan I think of a scan to help map out the next three months of my life. The next three months of trying to contain cancer. Three more months of beating the odds. The next three months of living my life!
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