Hello, comrades,
Here I am again. Not that I hadn’t thought about posting before, but… here I am once more, completely freaking out. My hands are freezing and sweating at the same time, and my brain is busily imagining every possible worst-case scenario: me disappearing from the world without achieving my lifelong dream of attaining immortality on Earth.
I went for a follow-up appointment with my oncologist a few weeks ago and mentioned that I had experienced some pain in my ribs, on the same side as my original cancer and the recurrence. However, lately, I hadn’t been feeling anything at all.
She examined me and said that she couldn’t feel anything apart from the bone. However, because I was clearly extremely anxious, sitting petrified in the chair, she told me she would refer me for a bone scan.
Usually, I am the one pushing for tests, but at that moment, I immediately regretted having said anything and began pondering the metaphysical question of whether ignorance really is bliss.
I had the scan recently, but not before giving one of the finest performances of my career as a patient. It began with the most embarrassing and humiliating experience of my life: being weighed in public.
Admittedly, I have put on weight, although my figure, double mastectomy and all, remains as spectacular as ever.
I vehemently disputed the figure on the scales with the radiographer, who presumably thought I was completely mad. To be fair, he was right.
Then came the cannulation, another performance deserving of a BAFTA:
“No, that bit is very painful.”
“Be careful.”
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“This vein is terrible.”
“That one won’t work.”
The poor man, with the patience of a saint, proceeded to cannulate me and, I must admit, I didn’t feel a thing. I apologised profusely and, most importantly, sincerely, while feeling like an absolute clown, which I am, not by profession but by vocation.
I had the bone scan last Friday, and today I received a letter confirming a telephone appointment with my oncologist on the 27th to discuss the results.
Naturally, I have started to panic. I have conducted numerous Google searches, interrogated several artificial intelligences and generally worked myself into a state of complete desperation.
When I was dealing with the recurrence, it was usually a nurse who called me with test results, not the oncologist. Therefore, naturally, I am now expecting the worst possible news.
And all of this happened while I was dyeing my beautiful hair!
Priorities first!
Knock, knock anyone out there?
x
Hi WildBreast
Thank you for bringing some humour into the difficult circumstances we collectively live with. I have metastatic TNBC and have had more CT scans, MRIs and PET/CTs than I can actually remember. It’s my experience that you automatically have an appointment with your oncologist to discuss the results. At the point they book the appointment, the scan results probably aren’t available to the consultant - following the scan, the images are reviewed by a specialist radiographer who writes a report to the oncologist. Scanxiety is a very real thing and I feel for you, but your appointment isn’t s confirmation of bad news. I have been through exactly the same thing whether my scans have shown progression or not. Hoping it’s not as bad as you fear.
Macmillan Support Line - 0808 808 00 00, 7 days a week between 8am-8pm
I am a Macmillan volunteer.
I have metastatic Triple Negative Breast Cancer, in remission
Thank you very much for all your support and lovely comments.
I had the appointment yesterday and was conveniently composed, thanks to the pharmaceutical assistance of diazepam, although I suspect I may have taken a little more than I should have. According to the oncologist, everything was fine. I feel so relieved. It is as though the guillotine hovering over my neck has finally been withdrawn, like Anne Boleyn might have felt if her conviction had been pardoned had Henry VIII possessed any sensitivity in his bones rather than reserving it entirely for his crotch. The universe has been lifted from my shoulders, and my kyphosis and trapezius muscles wont be in a desperate need of an overload of ibuprofen gel.
I may have been, too relax because I completely forgot to as for a copy of the report. My brain had apparently left the consultation before the rest of me.
And, Today I came to work even after two coffees, I still have an uncontrollable urge to return to bed and sleep for several days. My manager, rather disappointingly, has not suggested this as a reasonable adjustment. Instead, rather brutality, she has insisted that I perform some actual tasks.
Thank you again and good luck all with your treatments
xx
I am so pleased for you.
Macmillan Support Line - 0808 808 00 00, 7 days a week between 8am-8pm
I am a Macmillan volunteer.
I have metastatic Triple Negative Breast Cancer, in remission
