Sunday, December 15, 2024. There is always a bit of anxiety prior to any tests that are tracking the state of the cancer in my body. I try not to imagine the worst, reminding myself that it’s nothing until they tell you it’s something. For CT scans, the niggling in my mind begins to set in once I take the first premeds 12 hours ahead of my appointment. It becomes a little more amplified when I pull over on my long drive to UCSF to take more premeds and apply lidocaine cream to the site of my port. A couple hours later I arrive at the radiology office, and soon my name is called. I typically settle into a friendly exchange with the nurse who is putting a line in my port for the contrast iodine. Once that’s done, I go back to the waiting room, where I distract myself with text messages or a game of solitaire. It’s not long before I’m lying on the CT scan table. My brain becomes very focused on the importance of this test once the port line is accessed for the contrast iodine. As the table glides gently in and out in concert with an automated voice instructing me to “breathe in, hold it, breathe,” I begin envisioning that the next five minutes will ultimately result in encouraging news. Once the the line is removed from my port, I grab a bottle of water as I head back to the car and make my way home. I spend the next few hours wondering how long it might be before the preliminary report is posted to MyChart. Sometimes a text notification of new test results will come in before I get home. If that happens, I pull over. It’s important to me to find out what the future might look like as soon as I can.
This past Thursday the CT scan results posted just as I arrived home. Rather than sitting in the garage to anxiously read the report alone, it really felt like Steve should hear the latest news with me. So I made my way into the house, and we both sat down as I pulled up the test results in MyChart. I began to read out-loud,
“Nodule at the posterior right upper lobe unchanged at least as far back as 6/4/2024“
“Left lower lobe superior segment nodule unchanged from prior exam“
“Mediastinal nodes are not significantly changed from prior exam“
“Heterogeneous right paratracheal node no significant change“
“AP window node, not significantly changed“
“No new or worsening adenopathy“
We looked at one another in disbelief. Stunned. Speechless, in fact. I had to read the findings two or three times to make sure I hadn’t missed something. I mean, seriously? Change/growth was anticipated, expected. This news is like a big, fat, extra special, beautifully wrapped Christmas present from the universe. And I happily accept it for what it is. A sweet moment to savor and appreciate as we near the end of 2024. For me personally it continues to be a remarkable year.
Happy Holidays. May yours be exquisite.
Faith is believing things when common sense tells you not to. —Fred Gailey, Miracle on 34th Street
lana has cancer 