Feeling pretty low today. A full day of appointments and scans in various hospitals. I think I’ve been triggered into a bit of a pensive mood by the text that came through about my psychologists appointment. It’s in the main hospital in palliative care not the main cancer centre.
The word ‘palliative’ has slightly freaked me out.
Intellectually I know that palliative care can happen at any time in your cancer journey, but it’s typically associated with end of life. It doesn’t help that when you google the definition. The other material or searches are about things like ‘the death rattle’; ‘do people’s eyes close when they die?’; ‘Does death smell?’ (Yes it does I have been up close and personal to that with my beloved Nan) and ‘end of life care options’.
Turns out google or their previous searchers aren’t up to speed with the broader definition of palliative either. It’s not just me then.
Reflecting on all of this, I’m wondering aren’t we all trying to ‘live as well as we can until we die’? If you’re not, don’t wait for stage 4 cancer to do it!
Back to my mood. I’m also feeling concerned. This is the closest succession of PET-CT scans I’ve ever had. My scans are so historically unreliable we want to do some additional ones to see if the picture is clearer and if I am on or off the trial and treatment programme.
So after my psychologists session, I’m waiting in line for yet another radioactive injection for my PET-CT, then to talk about family counselling and then for a CT scan. All in 4 different locations and 3 sites.
There is no way on earth that CT scan is not going to show disease progression. I can feel the secondary tumour under my arm, it’s making carrying my bag hard, there is also a suspected local reoccurrence near my mastectomy scar. This latter one I can feel and see and yet it hasn’t shown on any of the scans. Even the sonographer saw it and felt it with her finger, but nothing on the scan. Not big enough.
I’ve been bringing it up at every appointment. I know my body. I massage those massive scars across my chest every night and every morning so the muscle and skin doesn’t lock up further. All the layers of fascia that separate muscle from organs and bones are melted together by radiotherapy. This was once described to me as putting several layers of cling film on top of each other and then popping them in the microwave.
You get the picture.
Anyway back to the little lump. I know what my chest feels like and I know what is new. It was new in June and it’s still there. Just a bit bigger. It might be scar tissue or fat necrosis (think this means dead cells from fatty tissue). But I would bet a lot, perhaps even my life, that it is not.
I hope I’m wrong.
‘Have surgery, cut it/them out’ I hear you cry. It’s just not that bloody simple. I wish it was.
If I’m taken off this trial there is still no targeted treatment (or cure, that’s long gone) for Triple Negative Breast Cancer. The only way to get anything that MIGHT slow the spread is to find another clinical trial. Those of you that know me will not be surprised to know I have one in mind. BUT here’s the tricky bit: in order to get on a clinical trial you need a big enough piece of measurable disease. If we do surgery I won’t have this, but I won’t have the cancer lumps either. If it has spread elsewhere, we need something systemic (whole body), like more chemo. If we do surgery, this will delay more chemo. It will also be another big op. to recover from which will eat into quality of life in the short to medium term (which might be all we have).
It’s such a conundrum!
All my years in innovation, problem solving, insight and consulting are being stretched to their limit. I wish I was working on someone else’s problem not mine.
My gut feel says surgery. They are also talking about and recommending (until the latest growth) radiotherapy in the contralateral (left) side.
My gut still says surgery. I want us to get a good look at what is actually there, not what it looks like is there. I’m a reality girl. I just hope either surgery or rads are still on the cards.
I can’t bear the thought of just waiting for cancer to pop up and say ‘hi guys, I’m over here now, you can’t catch me!’.
I’m the meantime while contemplating all this I am rammed in my eighth carriage of the day and wishing I’d worn my ‘cancer on board badge’. Although wearing that feels like admitting defeat and I look and feel physically good and well today. I just have a scrabbled head and a growing sadness in my core.
Time to grab life with both hands again and get distracted for a few days…