The results are in.....
Well hi there, it's been a while!
3 months since I last Bob-blogged and not much to report. I've been back at work for a few months now, and worked my way up from 3 to 4 days a week (it's daft how tiring sending emails and wrapping presents is...but it really is when you've done absolutely nothing for 5 months). I lost 5lbs of the stone and a half I put on during treatment, then promptly piled it all back on drinking copious amounts of sangria by a pool in Malaga. And I've gained a new leg-climbing, toe-nibbling, food-stealing kitten called Meg. Life has plodded on and I'm trying to get back to some 'normality'.
Today I was back at the hospital for the results from last month's MRI scan. The moment of truth - was it all worth it? I say a moment...we waited for 2 hours before being seen. There's nothing more annoying than seeing other people come and go while you sit waiting to find out some life changing news. We were regular fixtures on a merry-go-round of patients in a noisy, stuffy waiting room. Actually, it was pretty horrific. The reception staff stopped updating the white board once they'd got to an hour and 15 minute delay, so after we reached that milestone my paranoid brain went into overdrive, worrying that something had gone horribly wrong and they were preparing how to drop a bombshell. Ridiculous, considering I'd been completely cool about it up until that moment. But I was shaking, getting nervous butterflies in my tummy and definitely not a pleasure to be with (sorry Dad and Steve!). Perhaps my memories of waiting for ages to be seen at the Royal Marsden on the day they told me Bob was back had something to do with it.
When we finally got in to see my oncologist, she gave me the news I'd been waiting to hear. My scan was clear. No signs of any cancer. Hooray!
But then why was she talking to me like this was bad news? Why was she skirting around every question and not giving me straight answers? Why was she not even remotely happy or celebratory with me? It was an incredibly frustrating meeting where she told me my MRI report 'wasn't very interesting' and that going forward the only way to tell if my cancer was back would be to do an internal exam every 3 months and for me to notice any symptoms. Well firstly, you doing a pokey (figuratively and literally!) exam of my fandango isn't going to show you if the cancer has spread anywhere else, and secondly I haven't had any symptoms at any point, so for me to think something is wrong would take a lot and at that stage would probably mean Bob's pretty much moved in for good. I told her I wasn't happy with that, because the only reason they caught my recurring Bob was because of a scan. She told me it wasn't standard practice to do any scans as part of my follow up, but she would arrange an MRI for me in 6 months time, to help put my mind at ease. (Dad's back up on this and a nodding clinical nurse probably helped her decide it was safest to say yes!) Yes you absolutely bloody will, thank you! Because when I asked if she could give me any idea of what the likelihood of Bob coming back again was, she told me that my case was very rare. So how can you use 'standard practice' on a cancer that is doing things you've not seen it do before?! Gaaaah! You can't have it both ways, Mrs Oncologist!
It's so unbelievably frustrating and upsetting to feel like your doctors don't know what is going on or what is going to happen. And I totally get that every patient and every cancer is different, but my instinct is to feel like this isn't going to end well. I have come out of today's meeting feeling defeated and deflated and completely confused. I should be celebrating - the treatment did it's job and nothing has come back in the last 3 months. But how can you celebrate your body being battered and broken and still not knowing if you're going to live?
Being told you have cancer and going through treatment definitely makes you appreciate life and does make you realise you're not immortal, but today was the first day I really felt like I was running out of time. In not so many words (spit it out, woman!) my oncologist said that if my cancer comes back, they won't be able to cure it. Today was the first time I felt like I could really die. No one has ever said that there wasn't curative treatment available before - that there wasn't a plan in place for Bob's return. And I think that's why I'm so upset. Because today was a good day and I had a good result. But how do you keep living, knowing that your next appointment could end up with you dying?
The cancer is most likely to come back in the first year after treatment. I've already bashed out 3 months. I just need to get through these next 9 and maybe then I can start to feel a little more confident about the future. As the doctor said today, the more time that passes, the less I'll probably think about and worry about it coming back. She's probably right, but today I just want to know one way or another. I want to do everything I have planned for the rest of my life right this minute. I don't want to wait and plan and save and be sensible any more. I want everything right now. And I can't. And it's shit.
I can't stop crying. But I will keep telling myself that today was a good day. And hope that at some point, that sinks in. Because today I got the best news I could have asked for. So what am I crying about? I'm alive, and I might be alive for another 50 years yet. So why am I wasting time feeling sorry for myself? Come on heart, catch up. You got this girl.
Oh, and in case I haven't said it before....please go for your smear test. Pretty please. No one should feel like the complete lunatic I feel like right now. Please share this with all your lady friends. Cervical screening attendance is down, at a 20 year low. Why are we doing this to ourselves? Sort it out, girls! Spread the word - get your bits out for the nurse and don't end up a barren, bonkers bitch like me :)
LOVE YOURSELVES AND GO!