Week Nine - PET Scan Part Two - The Cancer is Gone!

It is crazy what the mind does when it is left up to its own devices.

I was up late reading a book the other night and a character dies. Nothing to do with cancer, he got shot on a Ferris wheel and fell to the ground (Stephen King deaths lol), but one thing led to another and he was cremated. Now, throughout this nonsense, not once have I entertained death. There is literally no reason to - from the first meeting with Dr Lala, she stressed we weren't fighting against the clock. It wasn't something that could spread to elsewhere in the body (which blew my mind as you'd think the absolute opposite for cancer of the blood!). But that night my mind was overcome with what if this, and what if that. 

What if I was one of the tiny percentile who were really unlucky? 

What if it had spread somewhere and this wasn't a case of dealing with just Lymphoma but dealing with lung or brain cancer? 

You have to remember, all my brain can think about is that Lymphoma is a cancer of the blood. The blood goes EVERYWHERE in the human body. How can it not spread?

So, for the first time, the thought of death crossed my mind. Which is a pretty sobering thought. I even thought that yeh, I would probably be cremated. Crazy thing to think about I know. 

Fortunately, I managed to put these thoughts in a little box and forget about it pretty soon after but yeh, it's been a tough few days since the PET scan. 

Talking about the PET scan, what an utter nonsense that was. Parking at the City Hospital was a joke as per, so I threw caution to the wind and parked in the CONSULTANT parking space because fuck 'em. The first alarm bell was them asking me when I last had a PET scan (no idea mate - September?) but apparently having no record of me visiting before. The second, and particularly clanging alarm bell was when the consultant freaked out that I'd only had my last chemo session the Wednesday prior. 

'We prefer there to be a bigger gap between treatment and having the PET scan Mr Quain...'

YOU BOOKED IT!

'So we aren't going to be able to do the scan today. Can you come back on Thursday?'

Now as you know, I hate this particular hospital and its an hours drive away. Oh and I've just fasted for 6 hours. So I wasn't thrilled about coming back. I was polite but furious in my response. My favourite line being something along the lines of...

'I'm sorry, I know this isn't your fault, but I've got a lot on with having cancer and could do without this...'

Ten minutes late... 'Mr Quain! We are going to do it today after all!'

I should think so pal.

So scan done, radioactive toilet trips survived and a week of going over every possible permutation (including the very worst) before the results come back on Tuesday at 10.30am.

Evie and I have been very calm and realistic throughout this journey, and we had a chat last night about what we were expecting, what we'd take as a positive, what would be disappointing, etc. As I mentioned last week in the blog, my legs have improved massively from where they were, and I couldn't feel any lumps in my neck. I was cautiously optimistic. But I also had the nagging doubt in my mind that shit really does happen and it has a habit of coming back to whack you when you least expect it. And I had no way of knowing how the 9cm mass in my chest had reacted to the treatment, as far as I was aware, it was still there. So I left the conversation with I'd take any positive outcome, be it small or large... I just needed some positivity to hang my (woolly) hat on and kickstart the next few months. 

It would also just be really nice to hear some good news.

So this morning, Evie and my parents accompanied me to the hospital to meet with Dr Lala.

As usual, it is tipping it down and freezing on a hospital visit day. But the hospital is forever hot and I am SWEATING with nerves. So shorts it is. 

I had to go in to the waiting room on my own, had my weight and height taken (still no growth spurt) and sat down next to an old fella singing very loudly Motown songs. Cute at first, but half an hour later, really annoying. 

I'm never that good with waiting, but when your life literally depends on it (maybe slightly dramatic, but we'll go with it), my mind was running riot. 

At about 11 or just after, Dr Lala popped out and gestured for me to come through whilst a nurse went to fetch Evie and my parents. 

Before we got to the room, Dr Lala turned and said to me - 'It's good!' 

To what extent it was good, I had no clue, but it was good! Within an instant, the elephant that I've been carrying on my shoulders for the last 3 months jumped off and I felt a foot taller, able to breathe again.

When the cavalry arrived, Lala was faffing about with the scan visuals, but I let her repeat her 'it's good!' line - mainly so everyone could have the moment I'd just had, but also to prove I wasn't dreaming.

(As an aside, I had a dream over the weekend that Mark Strong from Kingsman was my consultant and he was singing take me hooooome, country roadddd whilst giving me the results...!)

Then Lala played the money shot. Feast your eyes on THIS.

You see all the bright stuff on the left in my chest and neck? That's the bad shit. Now take a look to the right. IT HAS GONE!

Incredible. 

Remarkable.

UNBE-FUCKING-LIEVABLE!

I repeat: the cancer has gone. 

I still need to finish the treatment, starting with round 5 tomorrow, to ensure it stays gone so the battle isn't over yet - I will still be receiving treatment until 16th March next year, I will still be feeling shit and my immune system will continue to be very much at threat. But me and the ABVD have given the cancer an almighty walloping. 

I hoped for any sort of positive outcome - this is the best possible outcome. 

What an incredible thing to say. 

An almost impossible thing to say.

Another piece of good news is that the uber-potent and toxic Bleomycin will be removed from my treatment cocktail from tomorrow, so now I will only receive AVD, which is great news from a long-term perspective - something my heart and lungs will be very thankful for.

Sadly, it won't affect how heavy going the treatment is nor how rough I feel after, but that's ok. In terms of making deals with the devil, I'd have taken this one quicker than you could say piss off cancer.

For the first time in a long time, I can plan and look forward to things next year and further in to the future. Chicago is on like Donkey Kong. My comeback party is happening. Holidays can be booked. Life can be lived again. 

I've just got to get through the next 99 days and not give the cancer a single chance to come back. 

And we've got this far...

Thank you for everyone's support, kind words, doorstep drop offs, donations on the JustGiving and everything else so far. Every single one of you has made this day possible. So I hope you can celebrate tonight a little too, nothing too crazy - save that for the comeback special, but raise a glass to modern medicine and miracles for me.

The first battle has been won, but this isn't over yet. So let's keep LFG-ing and I'll see you again next time.