The results from my first CT scan are back and they were not exactly good. Not unless a lot of findings are considered at least ‘interesting’ (which presumably they are, in a way, to technicians and researchers). Before I had the CT scan, the initial breast ultrasound showed a growth of “over 7 centimetres”. I imagined something approximately the size of a large hen’s egg. But the tumour in my breast is enormous, I’m afraid. It is approximately 9 centimetres by 5 centimetres, which is roughly the size of a bar of soap.
As if that wasn’t enough to hear, the CT scan identified some new issues with other organs in my body. Namely, some calcifications in my left lung and a 9 millimetre kidney stone. Until yesterday, I had never spared a single moment’s thought for my lungs or kidneys. Apparently, these two discoveries are somehow not (yet) a cause for concern either.
I do feel that my CT scan was not unlike an in-person trip to the supermarket. I went in for just one item and somehow came out with three. That’s awkward. I am filling up with regret. And tumour. Though it won’t be long until I start the chemotherapy. But who would have thought it? Only two weeks ago I was totally and blissfully unaware that I was already unwell. And yet I do not feel unwell, not in my mind and not in my body. I feel like a happy, healthy person who has been told they have cancer, that’s all.
I thought that I had done “really well” in my CT scan. I had confused the comforting words of the lovely staff with genuine optimism; it was 'only' encouragement. Now I will have to wait for the MRI scan results, as if patiently. To be honest, I am not in a great hurry to receive those. In fact, I would very much like to receive a phone call saying that the hospital is terribly sorry but there was an error in the diagnosis. And that I am, indeed, healthy. Alternatively, if this was all part of a TV show to demonstrate 'how the mind works in adversity', then I would be delighted. I would be able to laugh it off and there would be no hard feelings. It would even be a remarkable story to tell my children about one day. The truth is that I am worried that there could be fewer and fewer stories for me to live through - and even less time to tell them, to anyone. To be fair, this is the same for all of us. In that case, I may have to relive my old stories then. Sometimes it's the old stories which are the best ones anyway.
