I have lost count of the number of scans I have had. The first was back in 2011 when I was first diagnosed. This was a good one as the outcome showed no sign of cancer leading us to conclude that it had been successfully cut out.
The next two were dreadful. The first of these was at the beginning of September 2013 and this was the one that showed the cancer had spread to my liver and the surrounding area. This was followed by a further scan a month later in order that I could be approved for the Ipi/Nivolumab trial. This one was horrid as it showed that there had been significant growth in all the tumours but it was entirely to be expected as I hadn’t, at that stage, had any treatment.
The next scan was the amazing, brilliant, it-might-actually-not-be-as-bleak-as-it-looked one in January 2014. This one showed that the treatment was working and that the tumours had shrunk by nearly 50%. This Claire and Andy and I toasted with champagne before even getting the tube home!
After that there were scans every 6 weeks until November 2014 when they moved to be 12 weekly. So far, all of them have been good – they’ve shown either stability or in some cases, small amounts of shrinkage. I’ve said before that at every scan I always fear the worst my upcoming scan is no different. It’s due on 23rd July and I haven’t had treatment since 5th March and so my nerves are doing what nerves do…
It’s two days into the summer holidays and I’ve been having a really very lovely time with my boys. I am incredibly blessed and extremely biased but they really are wonderful boys and at this very early stage in the holiday I’m loving having them around and really enjoying their company. Yet, as is always the way it feels very bittersweet (a word that I’m sure I’ve horribly overused in the last two years). When I look at their little faces, when I hear them laugh, when they cuddle up to me on the sofa I am filled with an absolute dread that I will only be able to enjoy this for a very limited time. The more time I spend with them, especially now that I don’t work and so have a lot of time with them – the more painful it gets as the fear comes sneaking in and threatens the wonderful life we have together. These thoughts are hugely heightened pre-scan and most of the time I’m much better at keeping the under control.
So, like I do every night, I shall go sneaking into their room, straighten out their duvets, push their hair out of their faces and kiss them and tell the I love them. This is all that I can do. I cannot control the outcome of the scan but I can keep on hoping that this little ritual will continue for an awful lot longer….