The wait is the worst part

 

The day started early. I woke at 6 a.m. and tiptoed into the kitchen to have my devotional. My sweet husband had taken the day off work so he could accompany me to the hospital for the test. I didn't want to disturb him. He'd set his alarm for 7 a.m. and that extra hour of sleep would be good for him. 

The kitchen was dark when I entered. The red light from my head lamp made things take on an eery glow. Pulling out my devotional book and my Bible, I sat down at the table and began to read. 

The time went by quickly and before I knew it, I heard hubby's alarm going off and a few minutes later, the shower running. While he got ready, I went back in the room to make the bed and get dressed myself. We needed to leave the house as close to 8 a.m. as possible so we could arrive at the hospital in time to find a parking space, get registered, and pay our co-pay. 

As I busied myself with small details, I tried to keep my thoughts in check. Of course, I was worried, but I did my best not to show it. 

When we arrived at the hospital, the parking lot was already pretty full. We couldn't find a space up close, so we parked a good distance away. Thankfully, as soon as we cut off the car engine, a hospital volunteer, an elderly man, pulled up in a golf cart. He asked if we wanted a ride to the front door. We took him up on it and were amazed at how quickly he drove. 

At the registration desk, I gave my name and other information. The receptionist printed a hospital bracelet and attached it to my arm. Another volunteer, a very white-haired gentleman, escorted us to the radiology department. I wanted to tell him I knew the way already, but I didn't. 

We checked in at the radiology desk and about 2 minutes after I'd sat down, a technician called my name. Rising, I turned to Phil and said, "I love you," as I followed the young man through double doors. 

I was asked to take a seat in the blood draw chair, a large, vinyl chair with a pull-down arm. I sat down and proceeded to tell the tech about my lymphedema and my arm restrictions. He didn't balk when I said my only option was the left hand. Taking my hand in his, he began to slap the top of my wrist and hand. I knew he was trying to coax veins to stand up so he could find them better, but he explained to me anyway. After finding what he thought would be a good vein, He pulled out a syringe and proceeded to jab me working the needle side to side hoping for flash - blood flow back into the needle indicating a vein had been hit. There was none. He apologized and moved the needle to another site. I watched as the sight of the first prick swelled and turned blue. Once again, he couldn't find a vein. I laughed and told him 5 tries was his limit. He said, "No. I won't try again, but I'll call a nurse in." The nurse came and hit the vein on the first try. I was glad. I hate getting stuck over and over again. 

When the needle was in, she threaded an IV and the tech injected the radioactive tracer. It only took a few minutes. I was told we could go home but would need to return around 11:30 a.m.

Phil and I left the hospital and went home. I did a couple of loads of laundry and tried to guzzle water as I'd been instructed by the tech. 

When it came time to head back to the hospital, I began to feel anxious. I knew this was going to determine my future. 

We checked back in and my tech, Doyle, met me at the double doors. As we walked down the cold corridor, he said the test would be about an hour. 

Doyle helped me climb onto the scanner table and covered me with a warm blanket. I'd had this type of test several times before, so I was familiar with what was going to happen. The table underneath me began to vibrate slowly as the machine came to life. Doyle's cell phone went off and he left to answer it. He came right back and we got started. 

The machine moved very slowly over my face, down my sides, over my chest and trunk, then down my legs. After the first set of scans was complete, Doyle ran extra scans of my hips, spine, knees, and ankles. He said he could see degenerative changes in those areas, which my last scan had revealed. 

Finally, it was over. Doyle reminded me to drink a lot of water to flush out the radioactive tracer and we left. 

We ran by a local restaurant to pick up lunch, then headed the Cancer Treatment Center. There was a nice covered pavilion there and we planned to use it. 

It was so quiet and breezy beneath the pavilion. I talked with Phil about our future asking him if he thought I should do chemo this time if the cancer was back. He told me he didn't think I was going to need it. Secretly, I hoped he was right. 

We sat and talked for about an hour, then went home. The doctor's office told us we wouldn't get a call until later that day or perhaps the following day. 

At exactly 4:30 p.m., I got the phone call from the oncologist's office. When the phone ran, my caller I.D. did not indicate who was calling, but I answered it anyway. The nurse said, "Hi, this is Kelly, Dr. P's nurse. He asked me to tell you what your scan showed." At that very moment, I felt my heart begin to race and I held my breath. I was so scared! She said, "The news is good, there's no evidence of cancer!" It was all I could do not to drop the phone. Tears welled up in my eyes. Phil came running over and I had to motion to him that everything was okay. 

I don't remember how the conversation with the nurse ended, but I do remember, as I hung up the phone, I gasped for air. I'd been holding my breath the entire time. 

Phil and I both began to cry and hug each other. We were so very grateful for the good news and immediately began to praise and thank God. 

Waiting on test results is such a hard thing to do, especially when those results could change your life forever, in a split second. 

I have no idea why God, in His mercy, has given me another chance at living life cancer free, but I am so very grateful. I haven't taken a second of life for granted since my initial diagnosis and I'm not about to start now. 

I group messaged all of the kids with the good news. Their texts of gratitude started to pour in. 

It was such an emotionally stressful day and I was so glad it was over, but even more glad that it ended on a good note. 

The fear of recurrence is a horrible thing. None of us like to live in wonder. 

I really want to learn to thrive this year instead of merely surviving. Hopefully,  this will be the year I do that. 

God is teaching me to number my days. I don't want to waste one of them. I hope you don't either. 

Accepting Results Gracefully

Yesterday was the big day. I was to receive the results of my bone scan. It had been a year since my last one, and I was nervous. I’d been having a lot of spinal pain and was concerned. I didn’t want to admit my worst fear – the fear of recurrence. After a lot of prayer, I finally resigned myself to the fact that the news was either going to be good or bad and there was nothing much I could do about it. I was determined to accept the outcome gracefully.

Seated in front of the oncologist, we went through the customary formalities of greeting one another. When that was out of the way, I sat on the edge of my seat. I wanted the test results. The doctor could tell I was eager and said she wouldn’t beat around the bush. I braced. I was prepared for the worst but expecting the best. Thankfully, I received the latter. As Dr. N shared the good news that there was no evidence of active disease, I was filled with joy. She could tell by the look of relief on my face that she’d given me a huge blessing. I thanked her and we moved on to the next subject, the one I knew was coming…Arimidex.

Dr. N asked if I was going to take the anti-hormone therapy. Since my specific cancer had been fed by estrogen and progesterone, she explained that I needed to do whatever I could to prohibit the production of those hormones. I listened as she explained the cancer could come back at any time if those hormones were not in check. I mustered up the courage to ask her a question. “Since I’m three years out and I’ve been doing everything naturally with wonderful results, is it necessary for me to take this drug?” She looked at me and said she wanted to show me something. Pulling her laptop onto her lap, she began to type. As she typed, I waited and wondered what she was going to show me. It only took her a few minutes to pull up the website. She entered some data and flipped the computer around for me to see. Pointing to the screen, she explained that she’d entered my age, the type cancer I had, the stage of my cancer, and the hormones that fed my tumor. After she’d entered that information, she’d clicked enter and the computer program had pulled statistics to indicate specific results. The results showed the percentage of women with breast cancer over a five-year period who’d not take anti-hormone therapy vs. women who had taken it. The recurrence possibility for both categories was assessed and displayed on the screen. As we looked together, the doctor and I saw that taking the anti-hormone therapy drugs only would buy me a 2 percent increase in life expectancy.

After reviewing the results, Dr. N expected me to make a decision. It was an easy decision for me. I looked her straight in the eyes and said, “My Daddy always said if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. What I’ve been doing is working. You have evidence of it with my latest scan. I think I’ll continue to take the natural supplements and do exactly what I’ve been doing for the past three years. I don’t want to take Arimidex or any of the other anti-hormone therapy drugs.” The doctor smiled and nodded. I was surprised at her reaction. I expected to receive a dismissal as I had from my previous oncologist but as I asked if she’d continue to be my doctor, she answered in the affirmative.

It felt good to fight for my rights, although I hadn’t had to fight hard with my new doctor. It was my body and I was the one with the right to choose the treatment best suited for me. I’d tried three anti-hormone therapies in the past and each of them came with wicked side effects so I knew I didn’t want to travel that path again. The statistic chart did not impress me, although I was surprised to find there was such a thing available online and to know doctors use it. The program is called Predictor and you can find it by visiting this website. You’ll need to enter your age, tumor size, grade and other information. If you don’t have it all, enter as much as you do have but be forewarned, this is only a statistical tool. It is nothing other than that. It was interesting to see the results, but they did not affect
my decision. I’d made my decision right after I’d been given my Oncotype DX results.

Each person has to make their own choices. Do what feels best for you. Consult your doctor and make wise, informed decisions. If you don’t want to implement a recommended treatment, talk to your doctor and weigh the pros and cons. What’s worked for me may not work for you but I’m thankful my oncologist supports me in my decision. I’m blessed to be doing well after three years and I’m thankful to claim the status of NED right now. I could say if that ever changes, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, but why entertain negative thoughts? Today I am cancer free and hopefully I’ll be able to say that for years to come. God only knows what tomorrow holds. I’m glad I don’t shoulder that responsibility.

Ultrasound Results

We met with my new oncologist today. She's very nice and very professional. As she went over the results of the ultrasound, I was happy to hear there was nothing visible other than dense scar tissue. The pain I'd been experiencing was due to the regrowth of nerves in that area. Dr. Ninan explained it can take up to three years for nerves to regenerate and grow. Since I'm still having severe back pain, she wants me to have a bone scan next week. We'll discuss my treatment options depending on what that scan shows.

After we finished our time with the doctor, Phil and I wandered through the facility. I hadn't had a chance to learn my way around and the patient advocate assured me there were some areas I'd want to visit. We made our way up to the fifth floor to the rooftop terrace. There, patients had the freedom to lounge in outdoor breezes under the shade of the rooftop pergola. Comfy seating and complete quiet provided a getaway from the hustle and bustle of the downstairs areas. We also visited the chapel located on the second floor. This small worship area was beautifully designed and featured a lovely stained glass window. Worship services are held throughout the week and on Sundays. Phil was amazed at all the attention to detail in the center. He couldn't get over the fact that there was an onsite Hair Salon, Restaurant, Gift Shop, and Acupuncture center.

It was a good, productive morning. I was thankful he was able to go with me to my appointment. He's been having to work so many Saturdays lately, I was worried he couldn't go. It always makes me feel more at ease to have his moral support.

A little PTSD

A phone call. That's all it took to shake me to my core. I didn't even get to talk to a real person but the message on the other end of the phone speared me through and through - "This is --- from --- I need to talk to you about your test results. Can you please call me as soon as possible?" I wasn't expected that call and I certainly wasn't expecting it to affect me the way it did. I had an honest to goodness meltdown and I didn't realize it until I was in the middle of it.

We had been in the middle of eating dinner. I'd gone to my office to retrieve a book and saw the red light blinking on my desk phone indicating I had a message waiting. I picked up the receiver because I knew it would only take a second to hear the message and curiosity got the better of me. I wish I hadn't seen the red light.

I walked back into the dining room and told my husband I'd received a call from the endocrinologist's office. They wanted me to call them back about my recent ultrasound. As soon as I said the word ultrasound, I began sobbing uncontrollably. My bewildered husband took me into his arms and held me tight. I bawled like a baby, deep guttural sobs. When I came up for air, I looked into my husband's eyes. He hadn't said a word. I told him I didn't think I could survive another bout with cancer. At that point, he understood my deep seated pain. He hadn't thought of that. He sat down and held his head in his hands and began to weep. We cried until we couldn't cry any more and we didn't even know what we were crying about. We hadn't received any real news yet, only a message to call back as soon as possible. Why did we immediately fear the worst first?

As I thought about it, the only logical answer was cancer post traumatic stress disorder. Just like soldiers who'd been in the midst of battle were traumatized, so were we. Cancer does that. Cancer is hard...no, it's not hard, it's extremely difficult, more difficult than you can imagine. It takes a lot of resolve to fight cancer. It's indescribable.

It took a while for both of us to calm down and get our minds off of the phone call. He was distracted with TV and I decided to down a pint of Ben and Jerry's Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream. Neither of us were really coping, but we did the best we could in the moment.

Tomorrow morning, I'll be sitting by the phone to see if it rings. If it hasn't by mid morning, I'm going to place a call to the endocrinologist's office. I am afraid of what I'll hear but I'm hoping for good news. Maybe I'm just shell shocked. Maybe I'll get good news.

I don't like PTSD. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. It's like a slowly exploding grenade blossoming into oblivion growing stronger and more dangerous minute by minute. I don't know how to manage it right now and maybe I never will but I know if I keep on using ice cream as my coping mechanism, I'm going to weigh 300 pounds and then things are going to really get hairy.

Good news!

The phone rang at 8:00 a.m. and naturally, I expected the worst. I had been waiting for a call from my oncologist about the results from my recent bone scan. I assumed, since they were calling so early, that the news must be bad. They were probably going to ask me to come into the office to discuss the test results and come up with a strategic plan of attack for the recurrence of cancer. I had steeled myself for this news and when I received just the opposite, had to ask the office to repeat the information to make sure I'd heard clearly..."Mrs. Annis, we have the results back from your bone scan. There was no evidence of metastatic disease. There was no evidence of a recurrence of cancer." I listened intently and thanked the caller for the good news. Before the call ended, I was told I needed to see a spine specialist to address the pain I'd been having. I'd take that any day over chemo or radiation.

When I got off the phone, I was overcome with emotion. The dam burst and all the feelings I'd held bottled up inside me for the past few days poured forth. I fell to the floor and lying face down, I began to weep. My weeping grew exponentially into torrential sobs of thanksgiving. I was so grateful to God for giving me such good news.

After regaining my composure, I wondered why I expected to receive bad news. Why didn't I expect to receive good news? Was I just preparing myself for the worst and hoping for the best? Maybe that was my coping mechanism or a survival tactic.  In any event, I was extremely blessed and I wasn't going to take this gift lightly. I immediately notified my family so they could share in my joy. My sweet husband wept openly and told me he was so worried and afraid he would lose me. I had no idea he felt this way and my heart ached as I watched him cry. The tears weren't sad ones but still, I felt his pain and the deep love he had in his heart for me. My children were happy and excited. I think they'd been worried the cancer might have returned too.

Thinking back to my initial diagnosis and the results of my Oncotype DX (a test that determines the possibility of recurrence based on the type of cancer and the hormones that feed it) I remembered my score was a 7 out of 100. The number 7 is very significant in Biblical times and is the number of completion. When I was given the results of that test in July 2 years ago, I felt God speak to my spirit and say, "It's over. It's done. It's complete, Bonnie." So I claimed it! I claimed that completeness but somewhere in the back of my mind, a little doubt started to fester and grow. That little doubt turned into a bigger fear and worry as time passed and things seemed out of control. But today, God reminded me of that day back in July. And that's why I was so overcome with emotion. God's promises are real and I know He is faithful. If I'd had time to focus on all of this before receiving the call from my doctor this morning, I would have answered the phone with expectancy. I would have looked forward to hearing the scan was completely clear instead of bracing for the worst. But even though I thought I was going to receive bad news, God blessed me with His very best. I am grateful. I am happy. And I am feeling very optimistic about my future.

As a breast cancer survivor, I can tell you cancer feels like it is constantly sneaking up on me. It seems to be lurking just around the corner ready to jump out and scare me to death. I can't live in fear because I know fear is the opposite of faith. I firmly believe God has honored my obedience to walk with Him in faith and that's why He's given me this wonderful test result. And this proves He isn't through with me just yet. There's something more He wants me to do to glorify Him. I don't know what it is just yet, but I'm going to be seeking His face and asking Him to guide me in the days ahead. Life is good and I am blessed. What more could I want?

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