What is beginning to become fascinating to me is watching the way different people react to the same news. What is the news you ask? My latest scan reveals that the little shit on my lung decided to camp out for the winter. He’s small and insignificant (like most men – right ladies) – but still sticking around. The rest of the organs however are all clear – even the liver. That’s right, after removing over 30 tumours from my liver I am lucky enough to say that none of them have grown back. (Yet? I feel like I can’t finish that sentence with such a strong point. It is as if I am daring them to resurface. I’ll knock on wood.)
The plan now is for me to finish up the chemo (last day is April 1st – Aprils Fools Day – how fitting), and then surgically remove the last remaining morsel of my cancer in May. By end of May my surgeon has stated, “I am looking forward to giving you the news that you are cancer free”.
The scan results have caused a multitude of reactions – which I will now break down the most common:
Criers – People who cannot believe that my liver is clear and I am almost cancer free. They stare into my eyes with amazement as to why I am also not crying and smiling from ear to ear.
Skeptics – People who think the “cancer free” statement is a little too soon. Let’s just hold off throwing around that term until there is actually a clear scan.
Questioners – People who after every statement I give them follow up with a “And how do you feel about that?”. These conversations are the longest.
Neutrals – People who stay in the safe zone. They gage their reaction based off on the way I am speaking. What ever emotion I display, they mirror.
Drumroll for what category I feel I fit in to…….
All of the above. Well I haven’t cried, but I can understand why some have.
My perspective? Going in to the appointment it never crossed my mind that my surgeon could say, “Your scan is horrible and you are covered with tumours.” Did I know that was a possibility – yes. We had discussed that was a major risk from my back to back surgeries. I guess I was so focused on my lung results that I did not focus my energy on to thinking the absolute worst case scenario. So now my thoughts on the appointment are – Ok, five more bloody rounds of chemo and then another stupid surgery. Yes I know it is less invasive than my other two (you are not the first person to point that out) – I am not concerned about that. If you recall in the Fall I even asked my surgeon to just operate so I could stop worrying about that sucker. This “go get’m” attitude shifted when my surgeon dropped the words – chest tube. To take precautions after my surgery to ensure my lung is inflating on its own, I require a chest tube for a day or two. No thank you. I feel like that should be up for negotiation – which I made clear to my new chest surgeon. He does not understand my personality yet so he just stood there dumbfounded that I was even trying to make this into a debate. My liver surgeon stood by his side, leaning up against the table with his arms crossed. Body language to me, from him, was reading – Yep, typical Jamie. Always trying to negotiate her way out of everything.
You’re damn right. My last statement to my new chest surgeon was – “This chest tube thing. That will be up for discussion at our April appointment.” I will probably lose.