Tag Archives: Oncologist

Nothing to worry about

Woke up at 4:30 this morning to check my iPhone for the email from DHMC letting me know that I have test results available. It was there and suddenly I was wide awake. So was Steve.

Sure enough, the CT scan report supports what my oncologist said—nothing to worry about–but I wasn’t reassured until I saw it in writing. Does this mean I don’t have confidence in my oncologist? Or am I just a pessimist, expecting the “other shoe to drop”?

Everyone says I have such a positive attitude. I try. Really, I do.

But I’m more of a realist than an optimist. And the prognosis for ACC is “grim.” “Dismal.” If you believe the medical journal articles.

DDT use in residential areas was banned on November 20, 1969, one day and 43 years before my surgery. Yet twice a day I take mitotane, a DDT derivative. As of today I am still Stage 2. And the mitotane is supposed to keep me there. So I am committed to ingesting it for as long as I can. Regardless of the side effects.

But all chemotherapy is poison so I don’t suppose I’m any more special than the thousands of other people who take it every day.

I feel as though my life has been put on hold since my CT scan last week. I’ve heard other cancer patients say their lives are broken down into the time spans between scans.

In the last week I haven’t worked on my novel except to change Lexi Rae’s name to Poppy. And in order to firm up Poppy’s age, I had to research the hippie movement. (If you want to know the connection, you’ll just have to read the novel. Once I finish it….) And that was where I learned the date that DDT was banned.

Hard to believe that I was just months away from meeting my husband. This February we will celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary. And celebrate it we will with a trip to Hawaii. We’re planning on flying from Arizona to Hawaii then taking a seven-day cruise around the islands. That’s the plan today….but we’re learning to go with the flow….

 

What a difference a day makes

But does it? Yesterday was supposed to be my routine three-month scan at DHMC. Confirmation that I am one of the 20-30% of ACC patients who respond to mitotane. Whose cancer is kept from recurring by enduring the side effects of a DDT derivative.

We were disappointed that the CT scan report was not available by the time we met with my oncologist but we were pleased that he was able to bring up the scans on his computer.

We weren’t so pleased when he pointed out the arrow the radiologist had inserted next to the cyst on my thyroid. A new cyst? No, he was able to show us that it was on the April CT scan. It just happens that July is when the new batch of residents arrive with a fresh perspective on old problems.

The issue is that neither of us remembered hearing about a cyst on my thyroid. (And when I got home and reviewed the prior CT scan reports I found no mention of a cyst there either.) My oncologist “reassured” us that people have thyroid cancer and die of other causes without ever knowing they had it.

Somehow that was not reassuring. Seems as though that is what we’ve read about ACC. But it’s not my situation.

And the lesion on the liver. Another shocker. I can’t seem to find that in the prior CT scans but daughter Joy thinks that has been there right along.

The scan should have been read by today. My oncologist goes on a two week vacation next week. (My cancer has been a series of timing issues.) Luckily I see my endocrinologist next week. She should be able to address the thyroid cyst. She will address it.

And then there’s the atypical mole on my back, circled in black marker by my oncologist. It might not be so bad if I hadn’t already had two melanomas removed (11 years ago).

Am I worried? Not really. I know liver issues can be addressed in many ways. I probably won’t die from thyroid cancer. The mole, if a melanoma, most likely will be Stage 1 and require no further treatment other than removal.

I am disappointed. We had already decided that we were not going to overreact if anything new came out of the CT scan. Take our time and weigh our options. But deep down I was confident that there would be nothing new. And now there’s a thyroid cyst. And a liver lesion. Supposedly these aren’t new. Except they feel new.

So is today really any different than yesterday?

This morning I started a gentle yoga class. Not looking for a physical experience. Looking for the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. And the courage to change those I can.

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