Tuesday, 30 March: As you know I had a meeting yesterday with the oncologist to hear more about the scan result.
I was aware from the hospital’s discharge summary the tumour had shrunk but didn’t really understand all that implied, especially as the CT scan had been done earlier than it would have been. Usually, the scan would be carried out 12 weeks after the end of the radiotherapy but because I’d become ill it was done to determine the cause of my cough and breathlessness – done, therefore, before the radiation had stopped working.
Although, it’s not definitive and nothing is ever certain in cancer, the oncologist said she is pleased with what the scan shows, saying it is as positive a scan as she would hope to see.
When I had the PET scan done back in July, the tumour was 7.5cm. It continued to grow between then and when I began chemotherapy. Although I didn’t write down its measurements then, it was large enough to cause a partial collapse of the upper right lung. Now, it is 3cm and the mediastinal lymph nodes have also reduced.
Other good news is that there’s no sign of metastatic lung disease or spread to other organs. Looking at the remaining lump in my lung she hopes it is all dead tissue but “it never goes away to nothing”. If they are all dead cells it will stay like that but there is a significant risk that there could still be some active cancer cells I’ve been told that tissue will remain which will contain the dead cells that over time could and would grow. No crystal ball to say if this will happen or when. As ever with cancer, there are no certainties.
I’ll have another scan in eight weeks when everything should have settled down. I know nothing is ever certain in cancer and I remember our short-lived jubilation when Sue’s tumours reduced from the size of doughnuts to walnuts but I’m cautiously optimistic about the result. That’s a pretty brave thing to say for the glass half empty kind of person I am!
I’m going to be on steroids for the next six weeks for the pneumonitis. Unfortunately, the cough and breathlessness are not much better but the oncologist thinks they will improve gradually as the inflammation in my lung subsides.
Absorbing all the information is quite difficult and I’m so glad we have the discussion recorded and can listen again. If I didn’t have the pneumonitis causing such debilitating breathlessness I’d be absolutely delighted with the results. I moan about how radiotherapy is the gift that keeps on giving in terms of horrendous side effucks – but it is also the gift which is smashing up the tumour in my lung.
Other good news – my mammogram came back clear. Being recalled would probably have finished me off. I’m booked for my second Covid vaccination on April 10.
And the oncologist says I can go ahead with my hair appointment on 23rd April – and should be able to hug my son soon after that.
In the midst of yesterday’s good news, my friend Sue passed away yesterday. She was diagnosed a couple of weeks after I was. In fact, she had thrown her bag in her car to drive up to meet me the day she had her scan result. Her tumours were in her left lung, mine in my right – “a right pair of bloody bookends” was the description we both thought of at the same time. Since then, we kept each other company on this very strange odyssey, sharing much laughter, frustration, tears, anger and love. Sue reached the end of the journey before I did and it is going to be hard to carry on without her.
But, perhaps she will always be my side.