On Tuesday, September 2nd, I had my scheduled MRI, blood work, and follow-up appointment with my specialist, as well as my monthly sandostatin shot, before I left on Thursday.
When I shared And the Verdict Is…, I reported that the preliminary results appeared stable. We were awaiting the radiologist’s final report and the blood work that they have to send out. (Read here for the account.)
I have to admit that each time I have gone in since my initial diagnosis of carcinoid cancer, I seem to go through a period of trying to prepare myself.
I wait for the “ball to drop.”
I do my utmost to never show negativity or give it that energy, yet I never want to lose my sense of reality so that I am taken by surprise at any news. It leaves me feeling just a bit unsettled until I can breathe again, though I handle it without most people ever knowing of my concern. Sometimes, that effort is worthy of an Oscar nomination.
I was not too worried when I left for my visit to Tulsa to spend time with my sister, but I wanted to make sure that I received the final report, just to be aware of those realities.
I received the email reply from my specialist yesterday. I was in the car with my sister when it came in. I broke down in tears in front of her, as if a dam had finally burst. She saw the evidence of what brews inside of me, despite my outward display.
Hi Coral, The final report on the MRI is stable or decreasing size of liver lesions. Chromogranin A is 762 slightly up from 703, Serotonin is 1650 slightly down from 1700. So bottom line. You are good to go! Best regards, Jim Park
I am good to go.
First of all, may I say that I love that my specialist and I have the kind of working (patient/doctor) relationship where we can email, and I can call him by his first name.
My next appointment will be next September. Next year. 2015.
I am good to go. I can let go of this for another year. Even though I know this is something that I will live with for the rest of my life, and get monthly injections of a medication that manages the symptoms associated with this crazy cancer, I do not have to anticipate another MRI or the blood work for twelve more months.
One year. Things will seem a bit more normal, whatever that means. Breathe easier.
Two years ago, I feared that I would not be able to use my passport. Today, I am figuring out when I need to have it renewed. It expires the month before my 60th birthday, and I am making plans. I will make absolutely certain that…
I am good to go!